The Memory of Sunlight
by WareTheVenom
Summary: Elatharia and Imoen were inseparable as children, despite their differences; with Imoen about, Elatharia always knew things would be alright in the end. Until Irenicus. Some things cannot be healed or forgotten. And when Imoen is dragged to Spellhold, Elatharia will do anything to get her sister back. Anything at all - no matter what Jaheira or anyone else has to say about it.
1. Prologue

**Welcome!  
I hope you like/spare a moment for this, my first Baldur's Gate fanfic. Inspiration came in the form of the release of EE, but this is based on the original...with a few of my own changes here and there, so you may notice a few minor alterations to characters etc (eg, I always liked the idea that Imoen's hair was naturally pink...), as well as plot additions, twists and so on, naturally.  
Thanks to the rather dark nature of the SoA material - and a morally ambiguous/sometimes psychopathic Charname (cheers for doing that, Irenicus) - the rating will probably rise to M eventually.  
Anyway, onwards! Let me know what you think. :)**

* * *

 **Prologue: Voices in the Dark and Things Best Left Unvoiced**

* * *

All there was…pain. Pain, and all the forms of suffering that there could, or would, ever be. A cage of iron digging in to raw skin, and manacles full of burning magic to stop any movement with hundreds of tiny needles forced into her skin beneath their too-tight press. He had blindfolded her again, but her eyes burned as if open and staring straight at the sun. He had taken her mask, baring her facial markings, and without it she felt more naked than if he had stripped her bare. That had come later. And then his cold gaze as he watched, talking all that time, had been just as terrible for it meant that everything would be remembered.

She knew that once there had been something else; many something elses, in fact. But for now all she knew was that manifold pain and suffering, for not always did such horrors need to be brought on by physical pain. Her captor knew that well.

He had removed her blindfold for the first time – oh those eons ago – only after he had left her alone in that cage for hours…maybe days. No food or water, nowhere to relieve herself. When first she had awoken, shivering and blinded, caged and manacled, she had screamed for help, demanded answers – where was she, who was he, why was he doing this, why was she captive? Why, Why, Why… And at the last she had cursed him, cursed all of Faerûn and wept bitter tears of frustration, horror and agony as she realised how her cruelly spiked manacles had shredded her skin as she thrashed.

Only once she had spent her rage and strength had he entered the room; the creak of a metal door, and the pad of a pair of light, evenly paced footsteps. She had heard the rumble of something else following him, the grinding of stone on stone – the tell-tale pounding of heavy footsteps made it clear to her that he had a golem at hand behind him, always. The clang of the door. _Ah, the Child of Bhaal has awoken._ He had paced around the cage as he talked in that deep, sombre tone, clipped and precise. He had all but rambled, of her heritage, of its 'untapped power'. Of her father the god Bhaal and his millennia-passed rise to the portfolios of Murder and Death. He had speculated on the heritage of her mother ( _such peculiar markings mar your face, Child of Bhaal. What manner of creature whelped you?_ ) and on the form Bhaal had taken to sire her. His tone was cold and dictatorial, but never angry.

His first spell had wormed into her mind without warning, shattering her thoughts like a hammer on thin glass. She had screamed and writhed anew until blood poured from her wrists and her mouth. He had not seemed to respond, only to express calm disappointment. And then he had left her. The next day he tried his 'spell' again and when she fought it he had sighed and opened the cage door, reaching in and plucking the blindfold from her.

The light was dim, but after so long in the darkness it took her several painful moments for her to adjust, seeing the blurred form of her tormentor and the backdrop of the dark, stone room. A few tables, arrayed with many…objects, not yet visible through her fogged sight, and the hulking form of the golem by the dark splodge of the door in the far wall.

 _You do not understand, do you, Child of Bhaal?_ Her captor had sighed, her epithet a mantra on his lips, with its own special rhythm and…reverence. _You hold so much potential within you, but you do nothing with the boon fate has dealt you. And you rant and rave at me, who could unlock this gift for you._ He might have scoffed, if his tone had not been so cold. And as he spoke, her unwilling vision cleared. Once it had, she wished it had not.

She had been staring past the man before her, determined not to meet his eyes when she could see so poorly, and slowly the long tables in the room had become clear. Upon them, laid out in neat rows upon pristine metal trays, were scalpels and tweezers of all sizes, carving knives, saws…as many knives as the most twisted torturer could name, and other implements she doubted had names in the tongues of the Prime Material Plane. Perhaps seeing her dawning horror, the man before her turned, looking over his shoulder to follow her gaze. He grunted an affirmative.

 _You do not understand. But you will, and they are some of the tools with which I shall begin the…process._

He had gestured imperiously to the hulking clay golem waiting by the door, speaking a command phrase, and the automaton had rumbled into movement, crossing the room in three quick, grinding strides to pluck the cage from its current alignment, tipping and twisting her confining structure until she lay on her back, her captor by her side. Only then did he turn back to face her, and she took in the visage of her tormentor for the first time. Dressed simply in a plain tunic and trousers, he was small for a human, muscular for an elf. He wore no badge or adornment, no insignia by which she might learn of him. And his face…was a horror. It appeared that at some stage the skin had been removed, and then reattached with metal wire stitches – a gap existed between the separated skin such that she could see the glisten of red muscle and tissue beneath. But his face did not appear fake; it fitted too well. He was bald, the skin of his scalp and neck terribly scarred, cracked and oozing in places. And he watched her horror without surprise or apparent blame with his thin, pale lips curved in a little smile displaying incongruously perfect teeth. But his eyes were expressionless, pale grey and staring steadily back at her.

 _Ah. You, who are so marred yourself yet you look upon me with horror. Trust me, you will learn. We should begin._ You will learn. The words sent a shudder of fear through her, familiar from a different voice – from dreams of creeping fear and encroaching darkness which she would rather endure for a decade than face this. Than know what they were about to begin.

After that, her hell had not abated. Every horror of reality and the mind, of the flesh and of the soul; he used them all. And over time, as his spells wormed ever further into her being, there had begun a change. It was hardly tangible, but rather a shift in consciousness. The blossoming of something which, at first, had felt golden and warm, but beneath that glow lay a darkness so powerful that the nightmares it brought had chased any semblance of sleep from her. Still, it crept at the fringes of her consciousness, something warm and golden promising release in its depths. But fear kept her from it, and no, the darkness in her had not ended; just as did her torment, it only grew.

Until…

A great rumbling had begun some time ago, the cage swaying sickeningly as the walls and ceiling shrieked and buckled around her. Blindfolded, manacled, crouched once more upright in her cage, she hung limp and longing for the stone to bury her. But more than that…begging all the gods that her captor died first. After a time, however, the deafening cacophony had faded, as if moving further distant from her stone room full of blood, and horror, and memories…and knives.

"Elatharia! Elatharia!" a familiar voice cut through the darkness without warning. No hint of the door opening, no footsteps on the bare cold stone.

The cell door groaned open, a cold hand settled on her shoulder.

"Wake up. Come on," a hint of desperation, maybe even despair, in that high voice which was so glorious to her senses in that moment, "We've got to get out of here!" Even whispered with such urgency, that voice made her think of summer sunlight, the lulling crash of waves, and the smell of dusty old tomes. Candlekeep…

"I-Imoen?" her voice cracked on the word, creaking up through a dry throat raw from screaming and lack of water. Her sister, after a fashion. And as the gentle fingers pulled free the blindfold, she knew it was her sister. No illusion, no transmutation, no _lie_ could ever copy her sister's goodness. And goodness welled up from Imoen in _waves_. It had something to do with her heritage.

Still, Elatharia scrambled back reflexively as she blinked into suddenly conjured light, illuminating the macabre room. Old habit crumbled at the sight of the fragile figure leaning towards her. Before her was not her disfigured captor but a familiar, dear form. It was taking longer than normal for her eyes to adjust to the light; it was brighter than her captor's.

"Hey, I know it hurts," Imoen crouched down beneath the orb of summoned light with one furtive glance over shoulder, flicking her tangled pink hair from her eyes when she looked back and tried to smile. The look did not really reach her eyes, which looked too big in her face now. Even so, the deep sea blue of them was as uncannily beautiful as ever. But she was thinner than she had been, and paler. Her feet and legs were bare, clad as she was only in a short black slip. She did not appear recently harmed (though their captor's healing methods were as clever as his tortures; wounds would close and vanish only to be remade) and she was clean but for her bare feet. Her hair looked tangled from sleep or agitated messing, as vibrant as ever. A cold fear crept through Elatharia's heart as she tried to regain her words, listening to Imoen mutter gentle nothings as she fiddled with the locks of the manacles.

Elatharia's eyes flitted back to the dress Imoen wore. Slit at each side and thin as well, it looked to be some kind of night dress. It fitted her newly-thin frame well. Too well. Like it had been made for her, a sharp contrast to the soiled roughspun sack Elatharia wore, the younger girl's clean, pale skin at odds with her own dirtied form. Knotted pink hair as opposed to matted, rancid black hair. The dried blood hopefully disguised the strands of gold which had begun to appear after Sarevok died. But nothing could be done about the markings on her face.

When the manacles slipped free, Elatharia ignored Imoen's sympathetic hiss at the sight of the pins inside, fresh blood blooming and slipping down her icy white arms. Instead she caught her little sister's chin in her fingers, turning Imoen's face to her own, staring into those blue eyes and seeing for herself the change. It took just that one look to see the loss of the curiosity and wonder and to understand that she had surely suffered as much as Elatharia, in her own way. _She's your little sister. You have to be strong for her._ Rage for all that had passed pushed aside her pain, and she pulled Imoen into her arms, clinging to her with a ferocity which the other girl shared, apparently unbothered by the grime upon Elatharia.

"He will pay for this," the elder sister growled when they drew apart and Imoen helped her clamber from the cage, "And we will get out of this."

She ignored the burn in her limbs, swaying a moment before letting go of Imoen and looking around, forcing her thoughts to the present and trying to remember what survival instinct she had in her. For a moment she stared dumbly into the room, grey and silver and nothing else in the bright white glow of her sister's conjured light. Some distant part of her remembered that she had been the one to teach Imoen that. Stupidly, she patted at her rough, shapeless dress for a moment, at her hair, her face. And then she remembered. With a wave of her hand, a twist of her wrist, she reached into the weave and changed the shade of the light to dull orange. A sidelong glance at her staring sister.

"It's more like his light. We don't know who might be watching outside the door," she pointed out, looking about the room for _something._ Something to cover herself, something to arm herself with which wasn't acquainted with her own skin…

"He hasn't let you out of here once, has he?" Imoen asked softly, keeping one arm around Elatharia's waist, "There's a way out, plain as…day. But there's no way to it while his spell shields are up. Except…something's happening. Someone's broken in, and they're attacking him and his golems! I found Jaheira and Minsc – they've gone to look for supplies."

"H-he took the others?" Elatharia's heart jolted and she looked once more at Imoen, who nodded solemnly, "What about Khalid…and Dynaheir?"

"He's…he's dead." Imoen's eyes flickered back to Elatharia briefly, her expression terrifyingly still, "Irenicus…our captor…he laid him out on a table and said 'do you see' and cut and said 'do you see?' And then he brought Jaheira to watch him die. And made me look at it all. And then…and then he did the same thing with Dynaheir. Oh, Minsc's screams…"

Her voice broke as tears spilled onto her cheeks, her face momentarily crumpling with grief and misery, but when Elatharia touched her arm, automatically seeking to comfort her sister even beyond her own horror and grief which swirled in her empty stomach, Imoen took a breath and mastered herself. She nodded to the doorway.

"He kept some of our things…in his quarters. I got them when he left to fight the new men," Imoen twisted about to show a cloth bag on her shoulder, "I've got our spellbooks, some of our old rings, and Gorion's enchanted cloak you kept. I woulda brought you something to wear, too, if I'd thought…"

"It doesn't matter," Elatharia tried not to snap, taking the bag from Imoen and slinging it over her own shoulder automatically, trying to straighten up when her sister's gaze flickered back to her warily, "I don't need to be clean until we get out of here. Do you know where we're meeting Jaheira and Minsc?"

"Yeah, not far," Imoen seemed to swallow a lump in her throat, nodding a little too forcefully as she crossed the room and moved to the open door. Its unknown darkness sent a chill through Elatharia, who had not seen that it was open before.

Feeling as if her joints were grinding as surely as the golems' and her head pounding so hard that the walls seemed to pulse around her, Elatharia followed Imoen, the light bobbing along behind them. She touched a hand to her sister's arm, catching her eye before they stepped out into that unknown corridor, keeping her voice hushed now as she spoke.

"You heard me before? I promise you, we will get out of here," she vowed.

Imoen just nodded, so young and lost in that moment. For all they had fought and suffered in Baldur's Gate to overthrow Sarevok, Imoen was so young. Barely nineteen. Elatharia was not much older, but she felt responsible. She was a Child of Bhaal; trouble followed her. If she had not deduced that Imoen had been tormented much as she had, she would have assumed her nature was the entire reason for their captivity. And Imoen? Gorion had said she had a far more glorious heritage, which showed in the silvery sheen of her beautiful eyes and the pink shade of her hair. She was an aasimar, one who bore the blood of a deva, solar or planetar. And now she looked upon her adoptive sister with a mixture of hopeful concern and shadowed fear.

"We will," Imoen agreed at last, again with that failed smile, "That's why I came for ya, remember? But you should know: we're in some kind of underground complex, and it's full of…terrible things. Not just rooms like…yours, not just automatons like his golems. He had whole rooms of…jars. Full of things. He's hunting for something, trying to make something and find something. We were part of that," again that guarded look, a careful glance down the hall, and a pat of Elatharia's hand, "We should go, right?"

"Right. Lead on, little sister."

Imoen did not smile, and Elatharia did not try to. They clutched each other's hands and stepped into the corridor, their light following and illuminating their path.

* * *

Outside of her room the corridors were dark, of plain hewn stone, uniformly formless except for the evenly spaced and unused torch brackets. Imoen's light led the way and the sisters crept through the eerie silence, past ominous metal doors, and dark unknown passageways until the glow of torchlight could be seen under the closed door ahead. The familiar boom of Minsc's voice could be heard from within, and for a moment the pair relaxed.

Buoyed by hope, they sped up along their course, only to collide with a dark figure rushing the other way, from around the corner beside them. Both parties leapt back with a yelp and bared steel gleamed in the conjured light from this previously unseen figure.

"Stand aside!" this new man snapped, his accent clipped and unfamiliar even to the young scholars of Candlekeep, that fortress whose wealth lay in its unending depth of knowledge, "I will not be denied my freedom!"

"Freedom?" Elatharia squinted past the light when he did not immediately make for them. Neither had prepared any spells, and both clutched little daggers that Imoen had unearthed from their bag. The man was indeed dressed in discoloured sackcloth clothing much like her own, though the beautiful pattern-welded katana he brandished between them looked anything but harmless. He held it with the practiced ease of its true owner, "You were a captive here just as we were?"

"You do not serve the bastard Jon Irenicus?" the man sounded hopeful and surprised, lowering his katana – though Elatharia continued to inch in front of Imoen. After a moment he stepped into the light, sheathing the blade in its incongruously decorative scabbard at his hip. Seeing his distinctive high cheekbones and almond eyes, glinting black in the light, she finally placed him as Kara-Turan.

"We do not," she agreed warily, lowering her knife as Imoen did hers.

"This place is under attack; it would be wise to escape together," the man ventured, and before Elatharia could speak Imoen was nodding.

"We need all the help we can get," the younger girl said, "We have two more friends waiting in the library," and she nodded to the closed door ahead.

"Then I will be glad to join you," the man looked – and sounded – intensely relieved, "I am no stranger to battle, and we could help each other." His calm smile proved to Elatharia that he had not been subjected to the same horrors as she or her sister, "With my weapon returned to me, I am more than happy to join with you. I am Yoshimo of Kara-Tur. And you are?"

"Imoen."

"Elatharia. Both of Candlekeep."

"Then let us away, friends."

"Right you are," Imoen agreed, looking a little pleased at least to have found a new helper as she voiced her agreement, and Elatharia could only nod as they moved for the door ahead. Yoshimo looked confident with that sword, and his wiry but muscular frame belied his profession as some kind of combat expert trained in stealth.

Imoen stepped through first into the library, followed next by Elatharia and last by Yoshimo, who allowed the girl to warn their other companions of his arrival amongst them, closing the door carefully behind himself. Beyond all was bright golden firelight and row upon row of books. At the centre of it all crouched Jaheira amongst a mismatched mess of arms and armour, papers and potions. Minsc loomed by her side, gigantic and muscular as ever, bald head tattooed unflatteringly with purple swirls. He had a black eye, and a long cut on his bare arm. It looked like they had been looking for armour, and had only managed to find a sleeveless leather jerkin which would fit his broad frame, otherwise he wore only loose sackcloth trousers, his large feet bare. Now he turned his expressive face towards the newcomers, and a blank look turned joyful, though he had done nothing to wipe away the tears streaking his cheeks. Dynaheir was gone, and she had been his to protect in the eyes of the Rashemi.

"Elatharia!" the berserker cried with such ebullient glee, so at odds with his massive frame…and adult years, bounding over to the Transmuter and lifting her into a crushing hug. Crouched upon his enormous shoulder, the hamster Boo squeaked accord, "Boo said evil would not prevail against one such as you, and I am glad to have listened!"

"Thank you. I…ah…won't ask how Boo evaded capture."

She tried to smile up at his tattooed face with at least a measure of the relief and gratitude she felt, but it was hard when she could see him curling his nose at the smell clinging to her, his – rather unobservant – eyes latching on to the black marks across her cheeks. They were a birthmark, but one her companions were unused to seeing. Squeezing his arm, she turned her face away lest he see the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry about Dynaheir, Minsc."

She sensed his face fall. His heavily accented voice, not given to long strings of words or displaying any emotions beyond a hatred of evil and a perpetual enthusiasm for seeing happiness everywhere, was broken and quiet when he answered.

"Minsc and Boo have failed our Dynaheir. Our captor slew her as we watched, and we could not stop him." His fists curled at his sides and he turned away, for once not knowing how best to display his anger.

Elatharia tried to speak, but no words rose past the lump in her throat. A glance to Imoen showed her pink haired sister was watching the exchange with Minsc from across the open area in the centre of this library, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, her chin trembling. She tried to smile to Elatharia, but looked away instead when only tears spilled and no smile would come. Yoshimo was carefully staring through the grate in the door, avoiding an intrusion upon this most awful of reunions.

That left Jaheira, the half-elven druid kneeling in the middle of the room, still sorting through the scavenged items with a focus that belied her desperation to avoid the needed communication with Elatharia. The weapons and armour looked ill-matched, as if scavenged from many different sources. No doubt they had come from many different…captives, in truth. Elatharia felt the blood drain from her face at the thought, and tried to steel herself for the ferocious druid's behaviour. Khalid was dead, Jaheira had watched it happen and the druidess was well known for channelling even the smallest amount of discomfort or unhappiness into overwrought aggression. But now did not seem the time to respond to something which had made the relationship between the two half-elves – Jaheira and Elatharia – very strained at times.

Right now, the druid was studiously refusing to look up at the sight of the Transmuter, even knowing the horrors that must surely have passed in the dungeons. For her part, Jaheira looked in a similar condition to Yoshimo and Minsc; dirty, dishevelled, but without the vacant stare or suspiciously unmarred skin of one who Irenicus had tormented as he had Imoen and Elatharia. For Jaheira there had been the horror of Khalid's torture…and a lashing, from the look of the unhealed red welts curling over her shoulders from her back, just visible from the neckline of her scavenged jerkin. Her hair had been pulled sharply back into a few blonde braids, and her expression was set into something blank and hard.

"We have found a bow that will do for Imoen, but the arrows are severely limited. Any clothes will be ill-fitting, but you have not had a chance to memorise any spells, I assume, so a little armour might keep you safe," the druid began abruptly, a little too fast.

Jaheira raised her head only briefly, her narrowed grey eyes flashing dangerously as she stood with a gesture towards the pile at her booted feet before moving as if to turn away, hefting a spear to rest against the crook of her elbow as she sought to look anywhere but at Elatharia. She had dressed in a worn leather jerkin over a rough shirt, tattered leggings tucked into boots so battered that a hole gaped at each scuffed heel, so large that they buckled around her narrow ankles. She looked thinner than before, like Imoen, bruises at her wrists suggesting she had been manacled – unlike Imoen. The chain about her neck, from which hung her wedding ring, now bore an additional golden band. Khalid's ring.

"J-Jaheira," Elatharia's words caught in her throat, just as they had with Minsc, and the druid's shoulders grew rigid, still turned away, "He was…a good man. And we will have our vengeance."

The druid whirled on her, grey eyes glistening with tears and nothing but rage upon her angular features.

"And if you continue to simper and whine he will have died for nothing. You do not know anything about pain, or grief, or…or love," her expression flashed with a new pulse of rage when Elatharia blanched and Imoen stepped up, palms out in a calming gesture. The druid's chin quivered, her hands shook…but she was not finished, "None of you know! You will all forget him when we have escaped but I…I will never live again. So I will have vengeance. You will help me find this man, this Irenicus, and I will drive my spear through his black heart because you owe me this, and you will not speak to me as if you care, or as if you know," her voice grew deeper with her wrath, eyes lingering as Minsc's had upon the markings marring Elatharia's face as if she saw Bhaal before her, not a young woman who had endured…everything, "Now pick up some things and let us move out. He died because of you. He should not have. It should have been you."

The druid's cold, hard tone was as the bare stone around them, and the others watched her in haunted silence for several long moments. Those words had stung like a whip, and inside Elatharia the golden light amongst the darkness unfurled just a little from where it coiled in her deepest thoughts. She began to quake with rage, not grief, not guilt. Just rage. With a snarl, she lunged for a blade in the pile of things before her, but Imoen caught her wrists immediately, as if she had been expecting it. When large blue eyes met Elatharia's green ones, there was a long look between them. As if the younger sister understood. None of the others had been looking, all too torn up with their own grief to watch the aftermath of Jaheira's speech. Did the druid really care nothing for Elatharia's suffering? For Imoen's? Or did she not understand?

 _Had Irenicus dissected your husband alive he could not have suffered as I have. If not for his determination that I live to suffer again, I would have died from my wounds a hundred times over._ But the words did not come, instead Elatharia knelt there, braced by Imoen, breathing in great rasps of pained air.

"Let it go. Let it pass. You know how she is, she's just grieving. She doesn't mean it," Imoen tried to soothe her, "She doesn't blame you. If she blames you, then she blames me, too."

But the anger settled to a low seethe, and with a grunt Elatharia pulled away, rising to her feet slowly, glaring daggers at Jaheira's back. As if sensing her stare, the other half-elf tensed again, looking over her shoulder coldly. The Transmuter's answering words came out in a hard snarl.

"I offered you kindness because no words would do for what has befallen. And in return you had only evil words for me. You are not the only one who has lost, or suffered. Get in line, druid. We all need to work together to get out alive."

Jaheira eyes grew cold at her tone but the druid straightened up and nodded, staying silent while Yoshimo, Elatharia and Imoen filtered through the things she and Minsc had gathered. There was little of use for them, though Yoshimo came upon his own torn up leather jerkin and pulled it on with a relieved smile. For her part, Elatharia found that kneeling was more painful than standing – it caused her limbs to ache and her head to throb. They did at least find something to bind her bleeding wrists with, though Jaheira did not seem in any mood to cast a healing spell over them.

Once all was ready, Elatharia turned to see Imoen staring blankly at the far door. She was rubbing at her arms and blinking away tears, swaying a little on her feet. And if there was anything to make the Transmuter push aside her own pain, despite the shaking of her legs and the judgemental eyes of Jaheira at her back, it was her sister's distress.

"You know the way out of here?" she asked as gently as she knew how. Imoen jumped when she put an arm around her sister's waist but did not pull away. After a moment she looped her arm around Elatharia's shoulders and they leaned heavily against each other – weary, in pain and afraid.

"Yes," Imoen agreed after a moment, "And I don't think he's coming back after this attack. The way…isn't pretty. There are things…in the tanks," her eyes lost focus for a moment but she nodded, "I know the way. Let's go – I…just want to go home, Elatharia? Can we go home?" she sounded almost delirious and there was little to say after that.

* * *

Jaheira's eyes had grown more hateful after her argument with Elatharia. But she had done as she was told, stalking ahead down the corridors with the summoned light to guide her and Minsc, following Imoen's instructions. The two sisters stayed in the middle of the group, one clutching a dagger with their spellbooks in a bag at her shoulder, the other holding a bow with only ten arrows to her quiver. Yoshimo brought up the rear, his katana flashing silver in the darkness that bloomed in their wake. No one asked why the youngest member of their group knew the way. Her apparent freedom, her state of dress…there was too much fear of the truth.

As they walked through the cold stone passageways the distant clash of steel, of thunderous magical explosions, grew ever closer. Imoen's grip on Elatharia only tightened and for her part the Transmuter's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throbbing temples. They passed the shattered door of a forge and paused to stare at the chaos created within. It looked like whoever had broken into the dungeons had been here to destroy anything that continued to function in the place. The duergar Irenicus had employed – no doubt to create his twisted weaponry – lay dead across the blood-slick floor, embers scattered and smouldering around them from the furnace. Most of the instruments in the room had been thrown on the fire.

Shuddering, Elatharia had turned to move on….and seen Jaheira staring wide-eyed into the next room, her mouth open but failing to form any vocalised words. Before anyone could stop her the druid stepped inside though Imoen cried out for her to come back.

"Oh no, no, _no_ ," the younger sister groaned, darting after Jaheira with her summoned light bobbing after her. Elatharia glanced up at Minsc for some explanation but the ranger was humming to Boo and looked oddly grey. Yoshimo just shrugged.

Once she followed her companions, however, Elatharia understood. This large room had once been host to rows of huge liquid-filled tanks guarded by chained goblins slaves from the looks of the dead bodies scattered at their bases. Only…the attackers of the dungeon had shattered the tanks and from them had poured not only viscous liquid but _things._ Most were humanoid in shape but twisted, stinking now in the open air, their skin raw or charred. A few were more healthy in appearance, all of them similar or even identical as far as Elatharia could tell – they were elven from their fragile forms, female, with long golden hair slick with the liquid in which they had been kept.

Following her sister and Jaheira it was hard not to gag at the scene and the smell, but as she rounded the next shattered tank – this one utterly empty and with no sign of a body before it – she realised the scene could get worse. There, at the centre of it all upon a broad wooden table, lay Khalid. The ruin of his body was too terrible to dwell over, though Jaheira had dropped to her knees before him and was taking the sight in as if it were her duty. Imoen was trying to pull her back, telling her that whatever she saw now of Khalid should not be the way she remembered her husband.

"Let go, child!" she exclaimed, wrenching free and whirling on both sisters as Elatharia joined Imoen. Tears were flowing thick and fast over the druid's cheeks, her chest heaving with sobs and her words twisted with her misery, "I will have the heart of the man who did this to my love!"

"Can…he not be brought back?" Elatharia suggested into the silence. It seemed a reasonable enough request – they could gather enough money…somehow…and have priests resurrect him. But Jaheira gaped at her as if she were mad.

"No," the druid told her coldly, "Not all things may be solved with magic, girl. Though it is surely a sentiment you share with our captor."

"Jaheira…" Imoen wanted to be reproachful but did not quite have the heart in this situation.

"No more words," the druid interrupted sharply, drawing herself up and steeling her gaze, "They will be of no use now. We must make our way out quickly – in case whoever did this returns," she looked at Imoen as if daring her to disagree, "And we will grieve when we are free."

"Very well," Elatharia agreed, eyeing Jaheira distrustfully. The druid's temper seemed unpredictable, "Though I still think you are just giving up."

The druid gave her a level stare, sending one last glance and a muttered prayer Khalid's way before pushing past the sisters. Imoen's gaze was still fixed upon Khalid but Elatharia found herself looking past him, to another shattered tank within an open cage.

"It looks like something escaped," she noted, not sure whether to feel relieved, hopeful or afraid, "Come on, we should go."

She had just managed to pull Imoen after her when a raw voice cut through the stinking air, making both of them jump. Jaheira and the others paused at the door, expressions twisting from incredulity to wary fear.

"Ahh…who be thee? Servants of the master?"

Imoen recoiled with a shout, putting a hand over her mouth as if she might be sick, her hand shaking. A chill ran through Elatharia as she turned around to see what Imoen was looking at – and beheld the one unbroken tank in the room. The twisted form of a man drifted within the jar, his withered hands braced against the glass and his chin only just reaching above the liquid to make his plea. His eyes rolled behind thin but leathery skin which sagged from his bones grotesquely. His feet kicked limply in the fluid in which he drifted.

"Please! Release me!" the creature cried, "I, Rielev, have only ever served you! I…I no longer wish to come back!"

* * *

After they spoke with Rielev, the twisted form half-seen in the fog of his container but his torn voice all too audible, they had learned of the true depths of their captor's evil. His claims to help those who had once served him had never been fulfilled. And there most of them lay, dead in the aftermath of the attack on the complex.

 _Death is…pretty_. Imoen's eyes had been vacant as she said it, staring into that tank as if she was watching Rielev's soul depart. Horror had almost overcome her at the realisation of what she had said, but Elatharia had taken her hand and promised her it was just this dungeon, that it was not her, not Imoen. But…she did not admit that she had felt it too.

After that a numbness had come over Elatharia, that same delirium that seemed to be working on Imoen as well. There was a subconsciously imposed blankness behind her eyes, forcing her to think only on how to escape, to ignore the pain in her starved body and the memories that now cut through to her mind in flashes limned in gold. The slash of a knife, the ring of steel, the timbre of that cold voice, a splash of blood… Something about the bodies in that room of tanks had made her skin crawl and her throat dry. The world pulsed with the golden light of Bhaal for every moment longer in that dungeon, impairing thought and lending a dreamlike edge to everything she saw and heard.

Regardless, the group continued on at Imoen's mumbled directions. In spite of her dazed state Elatharia did not miss the trepidation on her sister's face as they turned a corner and climbed a set of stairs. The door ahead was torn from its hinges, blasted outwards to lie along the top few steps. Its inner side was smooth as if newly painted, decorated with thin golden scrollwork. The room beyond was a scene of utter chaos, plush carpets torn up and scorched, elaborate tapestries pulled from their hanging places, armchairs and couches overturned. Several large wardrobes had been shattered along the walls; elaborate female clothes spilled from them along with boxes full of doubtlessly expensive jewellery.

Yoshimo had stalked forward even while the others lingered in the doorway. The Kara-Turan thief was twitchy and watchful, with a fixed expression of calm curiosity. Not a man to keep at your back, but he had thought to suggest that they take the boxes of jewels and put them in Elatharia's bag. At least they would have something to sell once they got out. No one had the heart to suggest aloud that they might not make their escape; Elatharia doubted any of them failed to think it.

Imoen hung back when the others entered the opulent room but rushed to Elatharia's side and pulled her back when the Transmuter moved to pass through the elaborate archway set in the far wall. She got only a glimpse of a high four-poster bed in a vaulted room. Though one of the curtains hanging over the bed was torn there was little chaos in there. Both sisters had jumped in shock at the sight of the elven woman standing just by that bed, her long golden hair sticky with that same viscous fluid in which Rielev had drifted.

She was stooping to pick up a pink shift from the ground when she saw the two sisters. Then her face had twisted in rage and she had rushed them, wearing armour that looked like it had been pulled free from a duergar's corpse and wielding a stolen knife. She had shrieked at Imoen, babbled words that were almost incoherent. _We are not her! I am not her, and he will not have me! You will not give me to him! We are not her, though he created us in her image!_

Minsc had managed to restrain her, but when she started to flail and eventually took up the idea of flinging her sword at Imoen a golden wrath had overcome Elatharia. She had stepped up to the struggling woman and cut her throat with her own flung blade _. It was a mercy. She would have killed us._ Jaheira's eyes had held judgement even as the impersonal rage had subsided and the sword had clattered from her fingers. Imoen had trouble looking away as Minsc staggered back in surprise from the body, attempting to persuade himself that the mad woman had been a force of evil that needed to be stopped.

After that Elatharia could not stop shaking, unable to shake the confused fog from her thoughts, but on Imoen had led them, through a small side door. Momentarily they were blinded by the bright light and the birdsong – for a moment they thought they were free and Minsc let up a cheer. Then Jaheira had hushed him angrily, pointing at the stone walls behind the trees, at the conjured sky and piping above it.

Only Imoen had been unsurprised by it all, stepping forward with familiar steps that none of them dared think too long on. For a moment only the birdsong reigned in this place…and then the dryads came. They begged for release, handing over their acorns to Jaheira to plant in the lands above. Their eyes had been sad as they watched the two sisters, one of these slender female forms with hair like moss and leaves reaching forward and touching Imoen's cheek sadly. _He has touched you as he has touched us, has he not? But he is dead inside, for all his study and his consideration. We are here to make him feel…but he feels nothing at all._

Imoen had barely responded though the words made Elatharia's stomach roil. Suddenly her sister had requested water from the dryads and they had smiled in that oddly inhuman way of theirs – too knowing, their large mottled eyes too old – and they had insisted the group eat and drink before risking the few remaining rooms, telling of the battle that had occurred between Irenicus and the intruders.

As they sat in silence, Imoen had slipped an arm through Elatharia's, leaning her head on her sister's shoulder as they tried to take in the forms of incantations in their spellbooks. It had felt good to have one unconditional ally with Jaheira so lost, Minsc so dulled and quiet, and this unknown newcomer Yoshimo dogging their steps.

Though the rest and the nourishment should have made their advance to the surface easier, Elatharia hardly felt it. Her eyes were on Imoen, or the next dark unknown corridor, her heart pounding and her thoughts so empty that no coherent thoughts would stick. She felt her surprise and fear as a distant thing when they came upon the bodies of those men who Yoshimo termed with surprise as 'Shadow Thieves', the building's attackers. He urged for caution when the clamour of battle sounded ever louder ahead of them but Imoen failed to listen and ran ahead, forcing the others to race after her burst of speed – which, by rights, should not have been possible in a body so frail.

It was as if she had known how close they were. The next set of double doors hung wide open and before they could think they were at the surface, almost blinded by the hot sunlight of a city wholly unknown to them. Their exit was greeted by a roar of rage and a huge blast of magic from somewhere ahead that almost threw them from their feet. With a mighty crash the tunnel behind them collapsed and even as Jaheira and Yoshimo shouted for them to make a retreat, unable to see who was fighting who in this blinding spell battle, Imoen had looked back at Elatharia, framed like an angel in the light. She had begun to smile, her hair a soft pink, blue eyes at last joyous and glittering, silhouetted by a pure blue sky and the shining orb of the sun…but then they had heard _his_ voice, and the girl's head had whipped around. In a flash she had sent a host of magic missiles fizzing his way and chaos had reigned. The cowled men surrounding Irenicus had turned on Imoen as well, wrapping her in a globe of invulnerability to drag her from her friends before any attempts could be made to stop them. And just like that, with a smug look of one who had planned for this, Irenicus had agreed to go if Imoen went too. And the depth of the girl's horror filled her face.

Elatharia had tried to reach her, kicking and biting anyone who made a grab for her, but to no avail. It had come to shouted vows. _I will save you. I promise you, Imoen. I promise you._

Then the host was gone, Irenicus and her sister with them, leaving a crowd of confused bystanders and dazed, dust-stained merchants staring at the four who had escaped the dungeon. As Elatharia's thoughts caught up with her Jaheira dropped her spear and screamed her agony until she knelt weeping on the ground, Minsc trying to comfort her past his own pain. Elatharia had just watched as the strangely garbed city watch dispersed the bystanders back to their stalls in this great bazaar, full of strange smells, colourful tents and stalls all arranged around the arc of tiered stone buildings. Yoshimo had come to her side as the watch paused, stopped in their advance of the group by a man in black who rather visibly handed their leader a purse of coin.

"These are Amnish soldiers, Elatharia," Yoshimo told her softly at the man approached them, "We are in Athkatla now, the capital of Amn."

"That's a long way from Baldur's Gate," she mumbled numbly, looking up at the endless blue sky, already feeling sweat trickling down her back from the blazing heat of the sun. Tears stung in her eyes and her limbs were shaking so badly it was a wonder she could stand. She ground her teeth, pushing past the ache in her chest that Imoen had left. She would get her sister back; she would save her - and there would be vengeance.

"I'm to take you to Gaelen Bayle in the Slums," the man said abruptly, his accent heavy and momentarily impenetrable, watching the pair before him with dark eyes veiled by heavy brows. In spite of the heat, he seemed entirely comfortable in his loose black trousers and shirt. A dagger hung on one hip, a longsword from the other.

"And who is that?" Elatharia demanded warily. The man before her smirked in that sudden, hard way that said he did not care one bit for her or her friends.

"He's a…spokesperson for the people who matter in this city. They've a business proposition for you, Elatharia of Candlekeep."

"How do you know my name?" she recoiled reflexively at that, wishing for her mask when the man kept staring in distaste for a few moments too long.

"Never mind that. The Shadow Thieves know everything, miss. Now come along. Time might run out."


	2. Old Friends in New Ventures

**Many thanks for the kind reviews and follows, they are much appreciated!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Old Friends in New Ventures, New Friends for Old Reasons**

* * *

Athkatla was sweltering compared to temperate (if slightly cool) Baldur's Gate. Elatharia had been heading in entirely the opposite direction from Amn when Irenicus had… But those were thoughts that would not do. Imoen was gone, and she needed to be found. She could not be allowed to linger in the presence of that maniacal wizard for any longer than was absolutely necessary. The Shadow Thief who had approached them rather too fortuitously outside the ruins said that Gaelen Bayle could help; Elatharia hoped for her sister's sake that this was no ruse.

The city was dizzyingly crowded, exotically dressed people thronging around the tents in Waukeen's Promenade with distracted purpose, staring at the lions and cockatrices arrayed by the visiting circus. It was far too busy for anyone to pay the bedraggled party any heed. All but one of them were barefoot, and although Jaheira and Minsc were at least wearing scavenged armour, Elatharia and Yoshimo were clad only in the rags they had awoken in.

The Shadow Thief stalked ahead of them, never once looking back at the group as he led them along the outer colonnade in the area, heading for a large gate set in the wall surrounding the marketplace. The distant salty scent of the sea, the brilliant sunshine, the warm air, all of the myriad smells of the market from perfumed people to cinnamon in the stalls…all of it was a welcome and adored change from what they had endured. But the panic of losing Imoen meant all of this passed in a half-noticed blur. Elatharia's hands were _still_ shaking as she readjusted the bag on her shoulder which held their spellbooks and her journal, her heart pounding, head aching. After everything that had happened, the knowledge of her sister's fear was close to the worst mental torture Irenicus could have inflicted.

"We will hardly stand out in this place, friend," Yoshimo noted, gently touching her elbow when she hardly even glanced his way. He wore a calm, slightly sympathetic expression, eyebrows pulled together, mouth pursed just so, and did not even look surprised when she stumbled from him with a startled gasp. "Athkatla is one of the largest cities on the Sword Coast, and poverty is as common as salt in the sea beyond us. Nor will you find the Shadow Thieves without power in the place…"

"I know of the Shadow Thieves," Elatharia told him curtly once she had righted herself, eyes scanning the crowd and noting a slight commotion outside the largest tent at the centre of the marketplace. She felt a little dizzy at the unfamiliar sights, the loud chatter and bustle all about – but it would not do to show it. "I was educated in Candlekeep as well as brought up there, you know. And I travelled the lands between Nashkel and Baldur's Gate for over a year before…" _captivity._ "It's maybe not so much as you've travelled, but it's enough. I think Imoen dreamed…dreams…about becoming a member," she swallowed hard, glancing again towards the Kara-Turan – who seemed to make an effort to meet her look with a solemn glance of his own.

"Very well. But I have lived in this city for several cycles of the moon now, and a word of warning – the Guild are powerful, and they may well keep whatever promise you get from them. But they are not to be trusted."

"You sound as though you have had dealings with them before."

"A man in my trade?" he laughed tightly, "I have been in their service every moment I was here, else I would have been one of the shapes bobbing in the water at sun up."

"Then perhaps you have somewhere else to go?" she hardly had time to form an opinion on the matter, though it could easily have sounded like a hint. At her side, Yoshimo just shrugged easily, settling a hand on his sword hilt subtly as they brushed past a group of men gathered outside the open door of a noisy tavern.

"I have not known you more than a few hours, but I would like to help if you will have me. What happened to your Imoen seems unfair, and I know more of this city and its factions than you do; I could be of some use to you."

"Petition accepted," Elatharia answered absently as they reached the district gates.

The Shadow Thief guide muttered something to one of the men on duty and a small side door opened immediately, giving them passage to the Slums District in all of its cluttered glory. Here houses were packed tightly in rows of uneven terraces; everything was squashed together, but nowhere was the same. The roads were cobbled and surprisingly clean; the grates dotted along street corners accompanied by the distant rush of water proved that this was owed to a sewer system. At the heart of it all sprawled the multi-storey complex of the Copper Coronet, taking up an entire side of one street, its doors open and patrons just beginning to step inside at this hour. The group passed this at speed, dodging patrons and rounding the next corner, revealing a tall house at the end of the next street, its roof covered in grass and a pungent stink emanating from its doors and windows which almost became unbearable as they approached. It had Elatharia and Yoshimo coughing and nearly gagging as they skirted around the complex which was surrounded by a high wall, and a plaque at its front gate read 'Jansen Residence'.

Behind that most awful of neighbours stood the only other detached house in the whole district. Slightly taller than the average building with five floors instead of three, it was otherwise wholly unremarkable. A small garden surrounded it, visibly ill-tended beyond its low walls. No number or name was painted at the gate, but they followed their guide all the same. Every window was dark, and it took a moment to realise that this was owed to thick black curtains and not just the failure of light to reach beyond the foggy glass.

Their guide knocked once on the tall black door and an answer came immediately. He slipped inside, and the young, athletic man standing beyond smiled at them toothily, gesturing for them to enter. Taking a deep breath, with only a brief glance back at Jaheira and Minsc, Elatharia nodded and stepped forth.

* * *

Gaelan Bayle was a shifty sort. Young, fairly good looking, muscular in that wiry way most of the Shadow Thieves seemed to be…but hounded by peculiar mannerisms that told of an underlying nervousness. He had a habit of standing too still, as if poised to jump or run, fidgeting endlessly with the edge of his tunic closest to his dagger hilt. And to make things stranger, he emitted a habitual exclamation to add feeling to more important moments.

Standing there in that strangely refined sitting room by his immaculate desk, surrounded by bookcases full of books that Elatharia doubted Gaelen read, he had explained the terms offered by his superiors. Twenty thousand gold for Imoen's release. He was at least kind enough to loan them a bag of holding in which to keep such an unconscionable amount of money. And additionally she was to see Renal Bloodscalp, overseer of the Docks District Guild post, on the following morning. No amount of haggling had brought the price for her sister down, and in the end she had given in. They were at least given lodgings in the multi-storey house; Minsc and Yoshimo were to share a room, Elatharia giving over the only double room to Jaheira and taking a room with two bunk beds for her own.

One look at that place, at the three empty beds and the unfurnished room, curtains open and displaying the Slums from above, Elatharia had dreaded staying there for the night. The darkness and the silence…even sitting there just waiting for her chance to use the washroom and the promise of a clean set of clothes, she could sense the dread, the creep of memories prickling over her skin, the burgeoning golden glow rising with her misery and rage. But there was no way she could ask Jaheira to stay in there with her. A brief pause outside the room allowed her to hear the druid's muffled crying.

So after bathing and dressing in the rudimentary black tunic and leggings issued by the Thieves' Guild, she pulled on a pair of rather uncomfortable boots and a spare cloak, forcing her thoughts into a linear position. Marching into the main study she probably gave Gaelan the fright of his life, asking without pause for a loan of a few gold to buy some proper boots, a mask for her wretched face and a belt with enough pouches for emergency spell components. While he fussed over counting out the coins, she shifted impatiently from foot to foot and was out the door in a moment when he handed them over.

Yoshimo caught her at the Slums exit on the way back to Waukeen's Promenade. He too was newly cleaned and dressed, his hair tied back into a small knot, the red tassel swinging from his katana pommel the only splash of colour on his person.

"You are brave to travel alone after all that has passed," he noted as they waited for the gates to be opened, "But perhaps not very wise."

"You came to drag me back in there?" Elatharia asked doubtfully, not looking back at him as the gates groaned open and she stepped through with the crowd into the road leading to the Promenade, "I don't even have good enough boots to get me that far," she paused, still staring straight ahead, a little above the sandy houses at the curve of the blue sky, "But if you can tell me where I can go to speak to someone who might know where Imoen has gone, then…"

"Meet me here in an hour," he flashed her a grin and shrugged when she looked at him, "I need to…acquire some knew things as well. We will need to go to the Government District for what you wish, although I would not hold out much hope. And Elatharia," he caught her arm urgently and she reflexively wrenched herself free, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat, "Perform no magic on these streets. It is forbidden in this place without a licence."

* * *

Elatharia arrived a little late to reconvene with Yoshimo, but when she did it was to see him waiting in the shadow of one of the towers by the Slums gates just away from the queue to get into Waukeen's Promenade. He was leaning casually against the pristine stone wall, newly clean and with his hair pulled back into a small knot with a red strip of cloth. He was dressed now in loose black linen trousers and a plain tunic with shining boots to match, a dark leather jerkin laced across his torso and his katana hanging from a new smooth black belt at his hips. He did not immediately recognise Elatharia, even as she approached him, though his dark eyes were scanning the crowd of poorly clothed Slums dwellers.

She had used some of her loaned money in order to acquire some new clothes as well – and for some hot water and privacy to dye the gold out of her hair at one of the small inns dotted around Waukeen's Promenade. It had taken an age to mix the right dyes (which she had snatched unseen from one of the stalls) so as to properly hide the golden strands brought on by Sarevok's death. She had been hiding it from friends and strangers ever since and had no wish to stop now.

Her hair was still wet, now pulled back into one long plait, and its cool weight was a blessing in this heat, the clean water seeping through her thin grey tunic. But none of this, nor her new (rather cheap and quickly bought) clothing could explain Yoshimo's failure to recognise her. That could only be explained by the mask she now wore across her cheekbones, giving her a little relief from the stares of the world. If they gave her a confused or suspicious second glance, at least it was not for what she really looked like. For her part, she felt the most relief to have all of these issues dealt with; her marred face hidden, the dirt cleaned away, her hair dyed to its uniform black once more and a pair of well fitted boots at her feet. The belt was a bonus, equipped with her loaned bag of holding along with a number of other pouches for spell components. It was her only concession against Yoshimo's warning; for all the world knew she could be a priest or a druid carrying such supplies.

"Yoshimo," she said, her tone flatter than she had intended. Perhaps once she would have found more amusement in his failure to recognise her, but right now she only had one thing on her mind. Imoen.

For a moment the Kara Turan blinked at her, a little wary with his hand casually resting upon his katana hilt, and then his eyes softened and a broad smile lit up his face, revealing a row of straight white teeth. At the sight of his merriment her heart recoiled – how could he be so calm and friendly after all that had passed, and all that he knew?

"Ah, Elatharia," he greeted, standing from where he had leant against the wall, "You have been much changed by this past hour."

 _Hardly. I have but sought to return to the way I was before, futile endeavour though that proved._ After all, the past time of her imprisonment had been the true cause for change in her, not the buying of a few items and a thorough bath.

"I need you to tell me where I can petition for Imoen's return. There must be someone in this city who will listen to reason," she pressed, ignoring his pleasantries. His expression smoothed to a blank stare at her words, almost as if she had just discussed the weather with him in Celestial for all he seemed to understand her.

"If you believe anyone in this city will listen to reason, you are mistaken," he told her evenly, "But if you require a wizarding licence or to simply acquaint yourself with those who are responsible for Imoen's capture, it is to the Cowled Wizard headquarters that we must go."

"Then we will," she stated, and gave him not a moment's hesitation. He screwed up his face doubtfully for a moment, squinting up at the bright sky as if she were mad for even trying, but then just shrugged and tapped her elbow as a hint for her to follow, again ignoring her flinch.

"Very well," Yoshimo sighed, "It is to the Government District that we must go."

* * *

Where the Slums was a cramped mass of rickety housing dominated by the Copper Coronet and Waukeen's Promenade was a sweltering cluster of stalls and tents swarming with people from every echelon of society, the Government District was a sweeping stone study in uncluttered calm. It was built atop a cliff overlooking the sea with the curve of the city visible along the rocky shore, culminating in the half-seen bob of sails at the Docks District. Its pale stone paving rose up in tiers of mighty, marble-adorned mansions with their long gardens, high fences and glimpses of glittering fountains. Its main square stood at the top of this cliff, wide and flat with smooth paving interspersed with ornate gardens and a broad central fountain.

Rigid guards stood by the mighty gates of the vast stone buildings which dominated this place, dressed in their strange broad hats and loose striped trousers, armoured in leather and mail with their halberds gleaming in the sunlight. A few well-dressed ladies meandered together in the gardens fanning themselves, and one of the buildings in the square stood with its gates open, allowing a constant stream of black and grey robed men to come and go holding papers, talking with their heads together by the doors as they headed inside or off to other buildings in the square. Those gates were flanked by two huge statues of identical grey stone men in deep cowls, hands together and hooded heads bowed. The walls were high and hummed with white runic inscriptions; the building was just visible beyond as a broad series of spires and arches around a central crystal globe which glittered painfully in the sun. It looked almost like a temple, but for the endless bustle in and out.

"That is the place, Elatharia," Yoshimo informed softly when she paused in awe to take in the sights, directing them towards that huge building which dominated the square, "The head office of the Cowled Wizards, the men who run this city."

Jolted back to reality, Elatharia forced a tense nod and set off at the fastest pace she could reach. Her heart was pounding audibly in her aching head and her limbs were beginning to groan in protest. Perhaps it had not been the wisest move to set out before eating immediately after her escape, knowing nothing of the city and its laws and trusting only in Yoshimo, but she knew that she could find no rest until she knew what had happened to her sister.

Ignoring the startled looks of the men around them, Elatharia pushed her way through the bustle of the officials, hardly registering the ornate statues and fountains in the gardens beyond the walls and heading straight up the steps to the gate. A bored looking youth in an ill-fitted grey robe raised his eyebrows at her as she and Yoshimo reached the broad wooden doors. He held a tightly rolled scroll which unfurled a little as she approached, a hovering quill scribbling unaided upon its white surface.

"Complaints? Request for alms?" he asked with a derisive glance at her simple grey tunic and leggings. His brows came together at the sight of her mask and his voice was a little more uncertain when he continued, "Injury compensation?"

"You tell me, lackey," Elatharia suggested impatiently, eyeing him coldly even as shadows flitted at the corners of her vision. "My sister was just stolen for no god- be-damned reason by your superiors. Where do _you_ think you should direct me?"

He blanched, glancing nervously towards the guards nearby. The Transmuter was unarmed, but Yoshimo was close at her elbow in his leathers – and with that katana on his hip.

"…complaints," the young man offered at last, the quill scratching a few more words before flitting aside to let the paper roll back up. "The first desk on your left."

And the doors opened to permit entry.

The hall beyond was as long and grand as the outside of the building had suggested, the floor covered in coloured marble, two rows of ornate columns helping to hold up the impressively high vaulted roof. Upon the walls hung colourful, elaborate tapestries depicting unfamiliar events from history, and between a few of the columns stood cluttered desks attended by harassed looking men all wearing the same cowled grey uniforms. Most of those entering and leaving the room were coming up and down the stairs at the far end of the hall, a path of smooth graven white stone that led away out of sight into higher levels of this mighty building. Voices echoed endlessly in the stone hall just as they had in the Great Hall of Candlekeep.

"This was your idea," Yoshimo reminded her mildly when Elatharia paused to stare and catch her breath.

Blinking herself from her weary, over-awed stupor, Elatharia turned towards the closest desk on their left. No queue waited before it and though its surface was covered in papers just as the other work stations, its attendant was snoozing with his head propped in his hand upon the desk. He sat up straight quickly enough when the Transmuter approached, looking blearily at her in confusion. Evidently few people came with complaints or enquiries; she doubted this bore any reflection of the city's true fairness.

"Can I help you?" the man pushed back his deep grey hood far enough to see her more clearly, watching the masked woman before him with evident and perhaps understandable mistrust.

"You can, I believe," she told him with a smile that did nothing to hide the coldness of her voice, "My sister Imoen, a stranger to this city just newly escaped from a kidnapping, was taken away by your colleagues unjustly."

"Taken away…to Spellhold," Yoshimo clarified and the man sat up straighter, rifling through a pile of papers at his elbow.

"She cast magic unlawfully then," he said at last, pulling free a small piece of paper and scrutinising it, nodding to himself before continuing, "Yes. A magic missile spell cast upon the mage Jon Irenicus in Waukeen's Promenade. Both were arrested and taken to Spellhold, our facility for keeping dangerous wizards away from the world."

"But she knew nothing of this place or its laws; I-Irenicus had held us captive…we just escaped and she…" Elatharia stopped short, her head spinning as the memories threatened to swallow her. But the clerk was just shaking his head.

"Any of those who practice unlawful spellcasting will either be taken to Spellhold or killed if they ignore their first warning," he told her firmly.

"She only cast one spell, no warning was…"

"That is not what it says here. You will have to await the recalibration of your sister and the test to ensure that she is no longer a harm to our nation. Good day."

And that was that. Elatharia was so full of rage, so impotent without the ability to cast, and so overcome by the need to kill that wretched man before her that Yoshimo had to drag her by the arm from the building, blinded as she was by the intense golden light. They were just stumbling onto the street and Elatharia was blinking past the rage and the blindness, about to turn to her companion to voice her wrath when she heard the distant ring of a familiar voice. Pausing, halfway to speech, she heard a few more answering cries of anger, and the voice sounded once more, higher and more urgent.

"Viconia?" And the Transmuter spun about without another word, half running down the next street towards the open square beyond, seeing the stake of wood rising up above a throng of fist-waving Amnians. She knew the trouble that dogged the owner of that voice.

"Burn the drow!"

"Underdark filth! Should've stayed in the dark with your spider god."

"Kill her!"

All familiar cries, rising up from the crowd where now Elatharia could perceive the top of a white-haired head against the pole. Elbowing her way through the crowd with Yoshimo following close behind, she at last reached the barrier before the pyre in time to see one of the Amnish guards approaching the piled wood with a torch, all in the shadow of a great gallows. So this was a public and wholly lawful execution. Just one more reason to hate Amn.

When last Elatharia had seen Viconia it had been at the _Splurging Sturgeon_ in Baldur's Gate, during their drunken celebrations after the defeat of Sarevok. In spite of her relief, she had been struggling with her own reasons for melancholy at the time and had noticed the same in the drow. When she had awoken the next morning and knocked on Viconia's door, she had been unsurprised to see the priestess had gone. Even so, her memories of Viconia had been of the beautiful, ebon-skinned drow dressed in smooth scale mail and black cloth, clutching an enchanted hammer and aglow with her goddess's divine favour. Now she stood shrieking insults and fearful pleas by turns at the baying mob around her, blue eyes narrowed in the bright sunlight and trained on the lit torch as the Amnish soldier approached the wood piled around her. She was dressed only in a tattered and muddied tunic and her striking yellow cloak, bare feet scrabbling against the pole behind her and bleeding where splinters had broken the skin. Her hands were tied back behind her body and the pole, her stunning white hair torn from its usually immaculate braids and hanging bloodied around her shoulders.

"Hand me a dagger," Elatharia demanded of Yoshimo, and the Kara-Turan did not hesitate in complying, though his expression betrayed his confusion. "And don't hesitate to run. Or help. Either way…you'll need to act fast."

And she certainly did.

Her rage pushed aside the shaking in her limbs, the longing for food and rest. She had been denied the attempt to get back her sister by a nation too law-bound and bureaucratic to consider that Imoen might be in danger, or for all intents and purposes innocent. And now she was about to watch one of her friends from before the horrors burn alive for prejudices of others. If there was one thing she knew about Viconia, it was that the drow rarely broke the law openly enough to be found out. Guards just arrested her for being alive. And that rang too true with the behaviour of the Amnish people she had seen thus far.

The crowd gasped immediately when Elatharia stepped over the low barricade, scrambling up the piles of wood without a thought for the fire approaching. At first the Amnish soldier paused, blinking up at her in surprise as she wielded a knife so close to the captive drow. Nor did his colleagues stationed at points around the crowd make a move. Perhaps they thought she was just going to speed up the death sentence, not revoke it. Viconia certainly thought this way.

"If you are going to kill me, rivvil, do it swif…" the drow turned to look at Elatharia only when the Transmuter's knife cut through the rope binding her wrists, and her scornful expression morphed into almost horrified shock.

"We have to go. Now!"

The drow did not need to be told again, taking hold of Elatharia's wrist and dragging her with an agile whirl down the other side of the pyre as the crowd exploded into movement. Several things happened at once; the crowd began to rush and writhe with some crazed onlookers running for the drow and others running away, the Amnish soldiers drew their weapons and charged forth, Viconia summoned a globe of darkness (one of the few drow abilities left to her) around the whole pyre area, and Yoshimo pulled them both over the barrier and back into the crowd, whirling on any protesting onlookers with his katana threateningly.

Then they were free and running, Viconia leading the way down a side alley behind the headquarters of the Cowled Wizards, past startled servants carrying baskets of food or other supplies through back doors, around a corner…and then a gnarled hand reached out through a doorway, clutching Viconia's arm with impossible strength and pulling both priestess and Transmuter inside. Their cries of fear sent Yoshimo stumbling in after them, but their 'assailant' was already holding up his hands, chuckling.

"I wondered if I could get that strength spell off in time," he admitted.

Elatharia did a double take, and then nearly doubled over when the smell of cabbage and turnips assailed her. Before them stood a gnome, surrounded by crates of vegetables stacked high to the ceilings of this storeroom. No taller than three feet, dressed in a combination of cloth and leather with goggles on his head and a few rings on his gnarled fingers, he was the absolute stereotype of gnomish eccentricity. Sprutty black hair stood out around his head, outdone by his prominent large ears. After a moment more of chuckling, he held out a hand to them.

"Jan Jansen," he told them with a toothy grin, "Happy indeed to help anyone running from the law. Oh, and licenced spellcaster," he took one critical look at Elatharia and nodded, "You'll be alright casting spells indoors as it turns out, even without a licence. But don't tell too many people, or the Cowls will fix their oversight. Now that I've saved you…would you be interested in buying some cabbages? Or turnips, perhaps?"

* * *

The group only reconvened at Gaelan Bayle's house when the sun was beginning to set, casting the Slums district in a surprisingly scenic shade of purple for a place so cramped and foul smelling. Jaheira had simply glowered at the sight of Viconia, and Minsc had given the drow a crushing hug which was not returned. The druid and ranger had sold their taken belongings and bought new clothing, though had kept their expenditure to necessities and leathers for armour. It occurred to Elatharia that Viconia would need some clothes too, but before she could suggest it one of the Guild servants had offered the drow a black tunic and leggings. She preferred the cloth slippers he offered her over the ill-fitting boots, a piece of wisdom Elatharia wished she herself had possessed before.

Meanwhile, their host seemed unable to take hints that they wanted to be alone to discuss their next move, interjecting their every few comments as they sat clustered around the fire in his sitting room. He seemed determined to remind them of their agreement with the Thieves' Guild and to recommend that they seek the direct employment of that establishment to achieve their goal of saving Imoen. Eventually they decided that their best option to have their discussion would be to head to the Copper Coronet, though Yoshimo suggested that they take seats upon the roof – as was customary in the good weather and not too late at night. He left them there at a table overlooking a previously unseen part of the Slums while he went to acquire their drinks.

"That one looks quite capable of stealing the ales he has gone for," Viconia commented appreciatively at Elatharia's side, watching the Kara-Turan head off down the stairs while the Transmuter looked out over the dimly lit city. From here she could make out the sprawl of cluttered houses, the shouts of playing children over the din of the tavern in the building below them…and the glint of a spherical addition to a distant building…

"Our new friend would not do something so unrighteous!" Minsc exclaimed earnestly from across the table, earning a fresh glower from Jaheira who sat by his side, dwarfed by his immense size, "He did so much for Goodness helping us escape the…the…"

"Be silent, ranger. Have your hamster speak for you next time," Jaheira suggested bitterly, staring all but blankly over Elatharia's shoulder when the wizard turned around to see the altercation from where she had been twisted in her chair, looking over the railing.

An awkward silence stretched over the group, and at last Viconia elbowed Elatharia while Minsc was murmuring to Boo and Jaheira was staring warily at the other patrons gathered at the tables on this roof. Mostly they were foppish young nobles out in this part of town to spite domineering parents, but a few were more dangerously armed and armoured. Her hawk-like gaze was lingering on a heavily armoured, battle-scarred dwarf hunched alone with a huge tankard at the far railing when Viconia disrupted Elatharia's following stare.

 _"From what you have told me of your plight, I understand that Imoen has been taken from you,"_ the drow noted, using the intricate gestures of drow sign language to communicate with Elatharia, hiding the movement of her hands beneath the table and out of sight of the others. The Transmuter, whose spell school required particularly fast and complicated hand-gestures to produce correct spells, had been quick to master the silent language – though this was a feat not replicated otherwise in their present company.

 _"Your point?"_ Elatharia demanded, more than a little uncomfortable. The memories were crawling at the back of her mind, tightening her chest. It felt hard to breathe.

 _"I know the aftermath of torture when I see it,_ khal'abbil _,"_ Viconia explained swiftly, " _For I am drow and I have both inflicted and suffered such things. You alone of this group suffered so…terribly. Has your captor now taken Imoen?"_

 _"Not so simple,"_ Elatharia admitted, and soon they were discoursing rapidly in the sign language and not bothering to hide it from Jaheira.

When at last Yoshimo returned bearing their ale, he was followed by a serving woman carrying plates of food as well. Jaheira stared down at her dinner, stirring it about and glowering while Elatharia asked Yoshimo for information on Athkatla and its surrounding areas. To some extent Viconia was helpful also, having become acquainted with the city and its underground complex of sewers, though she did not explain how or why.

At last Jaheira threw down her fork and placed her fists on the table, leaning forwards and turning the full force of her glare upon Elatharia.

"Enough of this endless chatter!" the druid exclaimed, and Minsc jumped by her side to hear such a tone, "You cannot seriously be considering aiding this Thieves' Guild? We should be looking outside the city walls where we can help in some sensible way _and_ gain enough wealth to get back Imoen…"

"I thought my sister's life was priceless to you," Elatharia commented coldly, leaning back in her chair and watching the druid's quivering stance. Viconia was observing the Bhaalspawn with a little crooked smile on her face, "I thought my sister always looked up to you as a mother."

"Imoen would not want us to be so immoral… Who knows what kind of dreadful things…" but there was doubt in Jaheira's eyes, some welling tears. Elatharia only paused a moment long enough to wonder why she felt no guilt where maybe once she would have.

"She would have been doing cartwheels at the chance! She will be so jealous of us when we tell her! If she has not been so destroyed by what has happened to her that she no longer resembles the person we knew," Elatharia's voice had dropped low with anger, and this rage felt somehow rough inside her, uncomfortable, as if something writhed within her trying to escape, "I will do anything to get her sooner. Anything at all. Including…"

A gruff voice interrupted the rather cruel and morbid suggestions she had been about to make as a shadow fell across their table. Yoshimo had evidently been watching this stranger advance, but the rest looked up in surprise to see the heavily bearded and armoured dwarf from across the terrace standing by their table. He was impressively ugly, with heavy brows and sunken eyes, deeply lined and scarred skin that looked thick and tough as boiled leather, with a chipped helm crooked on his head - which was surrounded by heavily braided auburn head and beard hair streaked with grey. The axe now on his back and the shield over his shoulder proved his trade, along with his burly frame. He was tall for one of his kind, standing at maybe five foot, but as broad, hugely muscular and well-bearded as expected. And if that was not enough, then the accent gave it away.

"If ye really be after _any_ mercenary work at all, and ye not mind where it take ye," he shrugged, a few thick scars catching the light with the movement, and continued when Elatharia just watched him, "I'm a mercenary by trade with a job goin' fer mercenaries. Ye like crypts and things that creep in the night?" A vicious grin spread across his face, thick lips parting to reveal chipped teeth, "Or maybe ye just like spillin' blood and hackin' things t' pieces. I've been betrayed by me fellows, and I'm after some revenge – and the book we were huntin' in the first place. There'll be plenty to sell off their bodies an' some more besides in the crypts."

"The city crypts?" Viconia sounded doubtful.

"Indeed. Many strange and terrible things have haunted those pathways by night over the years. It would be no surprise if things of great value lay within," Yoshimo interrupted.

Jaheira had gone pale, and Minsc was watching the dwarf with glazed eyes, evidently having struggled to keep up with the unfamiliar accent. A smile passed over Elatharia's face at the realisation that she was about to make a decision that could horrify the druid.

"I will accept your venture. But there are a few things you should know first."

"S'all the same to me," the dwarf shrugged, eyes glinting hungrily all the same, "Name's Korgan, by the way. Some add Bloodaxe to that."

"Surely you do not intend to tell…" Jaheira looked beyond horrified, actually.

"Jaheira, everyone who travels with me has the…right…to know," Elatharia looked up at the dwarf, gesturing to herself and then Viconia, "You should know that I am a child of Bhaal, and even while I travel with you I may be hunted as such. And she is a drow, currently under a disguise of mine."

A moment passed while Korgan looked between them, and then the dwarf just shrugged.

"Figures," he said, "Will be waitin' up here most nights. Lemme know when ye're ready."


	3. Mae'Var's Contact

**Thank you for your reviews! :D  
This was actually the first chapter I wrote for this story - let me know what you think. :)  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Lingering Struggle and Mae'Var's Contact  
**

* * *

 _Twenty-three days later_

 _10_ _th_ _Eleasias, 1369 – Year of the Gauntlet_

Throw…and catch. Throw…and catch. Juggling the knives helped Elatharia to keep the world still, real and in the present during the evenings when waking tended to blend with the past. It helped to push aside the dread of sleeping, or dreaming; where the past did become reality and the gold light came creeping in full of more nightmares than the deepest darkness. Since the promise of _that_ could not be pushed aside merely by the endless clamour and bustle of the Copper Coronet, drink and now a recurring game of dagger throwing with Yoshimo had become a necessary distraction.

At first, it was true that the tavern had rather daunted her with its vast hall, high and tiered almost like a theatre, full of rowdy and colourfully garbed patrons from all over the city. Tonight, adventurers from as far out as Sembia, Neverwinter – even a pair from the Moonshaes – sat at tables dotted around the broad main floor. Noblemen who had escaped their wealthy homes for the night seeking the excitement of rebellion – in a place not too far removed from the comforts of those homes – had gathered around the balconies, tormenting serving girls or flirting with glitteringly clothed women who they had paid to bear their company. Others vanished through the curtain-shrouded doorways up above and did not return for…prolonged periods of time.

One broad-shouldered young man, much like the others in bearing and dress, young and fussily-bearded with carefully coifed brown hair with a tall, was unusually without company and standing close at hand, watching the knife throwing competition amongst the other, drunker patrons. Elatharia might have given him no mind, had he not been watching her _before_ the competition had begun, when she had been sitting at the bar between Yoshimo and a heavily disguised Viconia. The man could not have mistaken her for a serving girl, enthusiastic drinking patron that she clearly was, nor a prostitute for she was clad in a simple grey tunic and dark leggings. Her boots were still dusty from the walk to the Umar Hills with Jaheira and the others. Her mask hid her cheekbones but was simple black and not at all suggestive.

Furthermore, though she was not dressed for battle visibly, the wands and daggers at her belt should have made her profession clear, not to mention her company. Yoshimo was clad in enough leather armour for both of them, the black and silver markings showing him to be a ward of the Shadow Thieves…and he was armed to the teeth, with a composite bow humming with magical enchantment over his shoulder, his katana at his hip even while he drank by her side. Viconia's long yellow cloak disguised her own mithral tunic and the enchanted mace at her hip, but with her elvish glamour the drow looked to be a beautiful – if rather haughty – moon elf with a cascade of ebon hair and large long-lashed eyes so green they could have made emeralds look bland.

Yet it was not Viconia who had caught this man's attentions…but Elatharia. After everything she had done to make herself look unremarkable, too! It had angered her to see that man watching her so closely, and in her current state of pre-sleep agitation, anger was a very bad idea. So Elatharia had challenged Yoshimo to a knife throwing contest, a habit they had been wont to act on of late in the less busy hours whilst waiting for word from their new taskmaster Mae'Var. The damnable Thieves' Guild representative had been less than forthcoming even after Elatharia had promised to stop Aerie following them and sent her off with Jaheira. The avariel had raged at the wrongness of her actions, and Elatharia had tried her very best to keep her memories at bay. They needed every penny they could get. For Imoen. To save Imoen.

The last knife cut through the air, quivering in the bull's eye on the board to the cheers of the gathered crowd. Victorious, the Kara-Turan bounty hunter gave a sweeping, courtly bow to their little crowd, declining offers of drinks from enthusiastic patrons.

"Well done, Yoshimo! You gave quite the show tonight," the barman called.

"Ha! I can dance on the head of a pin as well!" he chuckled, clapping Elatharia on the shoulder companionably before turning to go and pull free the knives as the crowd dispersed back to their central tables, exchanging coins as they went.

For her part Elatharia slid back onto a stool by the bar, absently watching Yoshimo before noticing look of cool curiosity upon Viconia's chiselled features from where she stood leaning nonchalantly at the bar. Elatharia began to turn to follow the drow's emerald gaze, only for her vision to be blocked by the same broad young man. Dressed in fine russet velvet, the pin at his throat suggesting some noble lineage - and he was smiling at her crookedly from behind a fussily sculpted beard.

"Good evening, my lady," he grinned at her, displaying a row of perfect white teeth as he smoothed otherwise well-ordered copper-brown hair from his brow, "You showed some fine skill back there."

"It wasn't me who won," Elatharia dismissed, indicating Yoshimo with a nod.

Picking up her half-finished glass of wine, the Transmuter eyed the ruby contents thoughtfully for a moment. It had really been too long untended to be safe now – life was hard as a Child of Bhaal. She met Viconia's eye and shrugged, drinking anyway. Maybe it would spare her the nobleman, at least. The drow snorted in understanding and came to her side, eyeing the man over her shoulder.

"He still hasn't left, _khal'abbil_ ," the priestess of Shar sighed dramatically.

Finishing her wine, Elatharia gave a pointedly frustrated sigh.

"Cyric's blood!" she hissed under her breath, turning back to face him, "Who are you and what do you want? Don't think I didn't see you watching me all evening."

The man hardly seemed put off, though his expression faltered a little when Yoshimo stalked past, and he did incline his head in apology.

"Forgive me my rudeness, and for my forwardness. I am Anomen Delryn of the Order of the Radiant Heart," he proclaimed, as if that were supposed to make her feel better, "I saw your druid friend earlier this afternoon and she told me that you need help raising money for a charitable cause. I came upon your other companion, the lovely Aerie, not long ago and she confirmed the story."

"'Friend' is a loose term really," Elatharia grimaced, leaning her elbows back against the counter, but finding it hard to look him in the eye when he searched her masked face with such curiosity. "And I'm surprised you've seen Jaheira. She and Minsc have been abroad in the wilds for a tenday." The thought of the druid returning filled her with fear that rivalled her dread of dreaming.

"I suspect our methods are not for your kind, Anomen Delryn," Yoshimo pointed out, his slightly accented voice as soft and calm as ever…but firm, "You may have heard from Jaheira of their exploits in the Umar Hills of late but…here in this city, you would hardly be willing to do as our leader wishes."

Anomen frowned in confusion, standing a little straighter.

"Good sir, I am – as I said – of the Order of the Radiant Heart. I have practiced the art of melee fighting with flail and shield since I was eight years old. I have experience leading warrior contingents into battle and am an accomplished caster of divine spells!"

"He has convinced me," Viconia whispered in Elatharia's ear, "Of his uselessness." Elatharia sniggered in return, but turned now to face the young man who was so eager to help.

"You do look like a noble, though," she pretended to muse, "But…unless you can donate twenty thousand gold to help me get back my sister, then I really don't see how you can help me. Short of trawling the streets with Aerie trying to find us some mercenary work…"

"Then that is what I shall do!" Anomen cried, to her dismay, "By all that is good in this world you shall have your sister back, my lady!" With this he gave a bow, seemed to consider kissing her hand, and strode away to wherever amongst the throng of people he had been speaking to Aerie earlier.

"He has not just been watching you all night, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia warned while Elatharia finished the drow's wine for her, "He has been watching you every evening. It is not really help that he wishes to give you." The underlying message of her words was underscored by her husky, suggestive tone.

"Then he would give me nothing at all…but regrets," Elatharia shrugged, and Viconia chuckled, raising a brow.

"Your Harpy would not think so," Yoshimo pointed out mildly at the Transmuter's other side, ignoring her dark glare, his own eyes innocently looking back at her, "He seems a noble, honest sort – if a little foolish." He flashed her his best disarming grin, but she pushed at his shoulder all the same with a half-serious snarl.

"So…Minsc then?" Viconia suggested with a wicked grin, leaning forward around Elatharia to meet Yoshimo's comically widened brown almond eyes before looking sidelong back at the Transmuter, "How much harm could it do you? Have you even really looked at a man since…? And he did not even have the courtesy to sleep with you before he left!" the drow raised her transmuted black brows when Elatharia stiffened at those words. Gods! She had not thought of him in…since…

"Is it settled then?" Yoshimo was laughing, oblivious, "You intend to promote that cleric's needs? You surprise me, Viconia. Did you not see the symbol of Helm on his shoulder?"

"Ugh! A Helmite?" Viconia fairly spat, reeling back into her seat properly, nudging Elatharia when the Transmuter continued to stare blankly at the wines behind the counter, "Terrible lovers. All duty, no thought for the woman. I take back my suggestion," the drow paused, that smile sliding back onto her face, her tone lowering, "…You'll just have to settle for the ranger!"

While Viconia and Yoshimo cackled at her sides, Elatharia spared a few moments to collect her thoughts and drag them from those strangely distant memories of days before Athkatla and Irenicus's dungeon. Once this was done, she began to consider the best ways to get her friends back for such merciless teasing, and was still contemplating which of them most deserved her revenge when a most familiar and unwelcome voice rang out behind her. Hard and commanding as ever, cutting through the tavern din.

"Your 'Harpy' would have a word with you, Elatharia," Jaheira demanded from close behind her.

When the Transmuter turned around on her stool to look at the hard-faced druid, it was to see the Harper still dressed in her travelling leathers, quarterstaff strapped to her back and her pale brown hair still braided tightly to her scalp. She had her hands on her hips and was looking at Elatharia with expectant grey eyes.

"Well?" the wizard asked, spreading her hands as if waiting to grasp any answer, "Are you waiting for me to apologise for calling you a Harpy? Well, it was the others who said it just now but I won't deny that it was my idea. It _is_ what you get when you cross a Harper with a vindictive, judgemental bitch."

Elatharia did not know what she had expected to see on the druid's face; she had not been consciously aiming for anything. She had not expected to see Jaheira look so sympathetic…so gods-be-damned _pitying_! In that moment the Transmuter shrank back from the druid as one who regretted an overly harsh jibe. Beside her Yoshimo looked just as calm and fairly amused as ever, and Viconia was watching the interaction with a look of faint curiosity.

"Maybe once I would have expected a greeting or even a smile," the druid muttered all but under her breath, taking the wizard's elbow and pulling her firmly but aggressively to her feet.

"What are you doing?" Elatharia hissed, sending a frustrated glance back to her friends at the bar when she tried and failed to break free from Jaheira's grip. Instead she found herself inexorably led to the exit, past drunken patrons and struggling, harried serving girls.

With a few more sputtered protests and a determined pull through the press of the doors, Elatharia stumbled out onto the quiet night-time streets of the Slums with Jaheira. The Copper Coronet was a vast, sprawling building making up a whole side of this long paved street, its colourful banners swaying idly in the cool breeze, its many open doorways helping light the otherwise dark road. Opposite stood a terrace of night-darkened shops, all sturdy stone bastions of Amn's power – even here in the Slums District – showing Baldur's Gate for the poorer contender that it was.

Under the awning of one of these shops, a little away from the golden light spilling from the Copper Coronet, stood the hulking figure of Minsc, listening intently to something the small, hunched form of Aerie was saying to an equally attentive Anomen. The men sent a little wave and a crooked grin respectively to Elatharia. She ignored them.

Yoshimo and Viconia were just catching up with them as Jaheira guided Elatharia to the others across the street. The wizard avoided their eyes. There was something about the outdoors that reminded her of all she had suffered below ground, a kind of contrary fear of the open sky that set her in mind of a small cage in a dark chamber full of knives far beneath the earth. Of locked doors, and a harsh voice, of restraints on her limbs and the bite of sharp steel for her skin, bores for her bones, burning spells for her mind, the endless cold explanation for her ears and the heavy, spiked body of a demon, twisted skin covered in spines sharp as nails. That had been to teach her humility. She had thought she would never heal…not even physically.

 _Heya! It's me, Imoen!_ The cheerful words, just an echo of reality sounded to her right, of lost times which had even then already been poisoned by murder, and Elatharia whirled with a blaze of golden light flashing behind her eyes, a scratching beneath her skin. Anger. Hatred. _Imoen – I will save you._

"Elatharia!" someone was shaking her arm.

Dazed, the wizard turned to see Jaheira at her side and the others clustered around her. Muttering assurances, she waved them away – and they did step back, although six sets of concerned eyes watched her as she looked to Jaheira. Praying to every god she knew, Elatharia hardened her look and quickly turned away from the druid's searching stare. It would not do for the half-elf to bring up old wounds. Now was not the time.

"How much have you made?" the druid asked instead, a little more softly than she might have done a few moments before.

"We have two thousand more from Thieves' Guild errands and mercenary jobs." Anomen's grunt of surprised disappointment only improved her rapidly darkening mood, so Elatharia ploughed on, though the sum they had gathered was only a quarter of what they needed and they were unlikely to find anything so lucrative and so brief again, "And for delivering this 'fair city' from the Cult of the Eyeless."

At the memory of that most recent endeavour she could not help but pour mockery into her words, shuddering at the thought of the endless swarms of beholders, of bleeding eye sockets and manic followers of a long-dead god. At least Korgan and Jan had been non-judgemental additions to the good working relationships she shared with Yoshimo and Viconia. The same could not be said for the near-disastrous venture she had endured with Jaheira, Minsc and Aerie to the Umar Hills, where only Viconia had stopped her from going mad with rage at their foolish sympathies and time-wasting empathy.

"Oh…" she held up a hand before Jaheira could start speaking again, already grinning in anticipation of what the druid would think and how horrified Anomen would be, "Jan promised me almost all the proceeds from his turnip-and-explosives business. He sells the turnips to this city's thriving gnome population, and explosives to those who want…a little extra for their money. If business gets tight I'll just active the _Slow_ wards on them all and alert the authorities. Then the city will owe us a pretty sum, too."

An incredulous silence hung in the still, humid air of the Slums for several moments before Jaheira managed to grit a few more words out.

"How much?"

"He will have handed it over to Gaelan by now," Elatharia shrugged, affecting a lack of concern and ignoring the crawling nervousness in her stomach, "Plus we have a job in hand tomorrow. Mae'Var's contact finally sent us a messenger – we are to meet him tomorrow at the base."

A swift glance at Anomen's bemused expression showed that most of these references to her nefarious activities had passed over his head, and he was busy making excuses for those little bits of information that he had actually understood. It was just as well. She would not want to put off meeting Mae'Var's contact…although she was already itching for an excuse to murder the Helmite.

"And you?" the Transmuter added into the silence, seeing Jaheira's already thin lips pressing together even more.

"We have little gold," Jaheira admitted, glaring back when Elatharia's expression flashed, "But we have several offers for work. We met Valygar Corthala in the eastern hills. He says there are…great spoils in his ancestral home, the Planar Sphere," doing things for monetary gain obviously hurt the druid's sensibilities but she ploughed on, "Also Nalia De'Arnise requires aid and will pay well. Her family's keep is overrun, and not far outside of Athkatla."

"Things for the next few tendays perhaps but hardly timely yet," Elatharia dismissed, her eagerness to hurt the druid blazing like the promise of a drug inside her, "We need more things, more contracts inside Athkatla, since we don't yet know what Mae'Var's contact has planned for us. We'll put them in the log and see how much Jan paid Gaelan."

Turning away, Elatharia headed for Gaelan Bayle's house, just around the corner – but Anomen's voice stopped her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and stopped in her tracks, not looking back while the others caught up with her.

"Forgive me, my lady but I have heard the Sigil Troupe in the Bridge District have lost an actor to kidnappers and the city is at a loss to find a certain murderer. Perhaps we could help Athkatla _and_ gain gold for you sister's release with such ventures?"

"We'll add them to the log," Elatharia allowed coldly while most of the others offered parting nods and headed off down the street for their lodgings at Gaelan's house.

"Th-thank you, Anomen."

Aerie's high voice rang fragile and reed-like behind her, and Elatharia turned to see the other spellcaster staring up at Anomen with those large almond eye, blue as clear sky. Though her voice held a childish awe, her angular features showed only a sad honesty, golden in the distant firelight and framed by intricately braided flaxen hair. Anomen smiled down at the fallen avariel almost gratefully, if a little patronisingly, raising her hand to his lips. In return she gave him a little smile before hurrying back to Elatharia, who stood waiting for the slender elf.

"He…he only wishes to…to d-do good here," Aerie admonished as she reached the Transmuter's side and they watched the cleric striding away in the opposite direction, but Elatharia shook her head doubtfully.

Sometimes it was too easy to forget that the avariel – who looked so young and innocent and sounded so unsure – had endured the torture of captivity along with the amputation of her hopelessly withered wings. Of them all she had suffered something close to Elatharia. That was why the Transmuter let the smaller woman slip an arm through hers as they walked and why she preferred to bunk with her in Gaelan Bayle's house, in spite of their widely varying views on life. A surrogate…but Elatharia pushed that thought away.

They walked on in silence, not bothering to catch up with their friends as they rounded the corner and passed the tight cluster of homes along the short side alley which sent them alongside the Jansen's startlingly verdant, sprawling home before they came to the doors of Gaelan's house. Jan's home always reeked so strongly of turnips that several days ago, shortly after he had helped them escape the soldiers' wrath at the drow's escape, Elatharia and Viconia had gone to complain. Recognising them, he had begged for their help to save his former lover and her daughter and in return had offered them nearly all the proceeds of his business, as she had promised Jaheira. Xzar may have whined and told her she was being insufferably charitable but sometimes it paid (quite literally) to be helpful. And it was probably a good thing the Zhentish wizard had left them a year ago in Baldur's Gate before the abduction and the horror…

Elatharia sighed wearily as they reached the gates of Gaelan's tall house as they waited for someone to answer the door. As ever every window of the tall building was obscured by dark curtains to hide the truth that candles burned within at every hour of the night.

At last someone answered Yoshimo's call of the password and the group of six trooped inside. Disarmingly as ever, the warded front door led straight into a cosy living space furnished with rich carpets, a merrily crackling fireplace adorned with colourful keepsakes and walls lined with full bookcases and paintings. It looked like the living room of a wealthy and bookish middle-aged man. But the man waiting for them at his eerily tidy (but always used) desk was anything but what was expected.

Gaelan Bayle had lost none of his shifty ways since their first meeting, always dressed in fighting leathers and with something sharp at his belt. As the days had passed and he had become a more familiar acquaintance, Elatharia had become increasingly aware of the scars at his jaw and neck which broke up his otherwise seamless boyish façade. There was a coolness about his pale, narrow eyes though that showed the true, calculating creature behind the cheerfully messy hair, the strong and regular features. And those ticks of his had only grown more obvious, especially the peculiar exclamatory mannerism which Renal had claimed came from too much time at sea gambling with Moonshae pirates (whatever that meant). He displayed all of these mannerisms now at the sight of Jaheira and Minsc with the more typical city dwellers.

"Coo! Well Tymora bless me, ain't you a pretty party together!" A kick of his heels, a hard tug at a loose thread of his tunic with fingers ending in bitten nails, "Come back for the night already, eh?"

"We have," Jaheira agreed stiffly as Yoshimo nodded to the group and Gaelan before sauntering through the side door leading to the stairs.

"We would know how much our goodly efforts have earned!" Minsc cried, making Viconia cringe at the volume, let alone the content. Gaelan's eyes flickered doubtfully to Elatharia and the wizard just shrugged.

"Jan came in earlier," Gaelan agreed after a moment, turning to the log book on his desk, "Coo! Three thousand gold he added to your pot. That's nine thousand four hundred and thirty two so far! Any more to add now?" There was a strange gleam in his eyes, a nervous twitching of his lips as he watched Elatharia. He almost seemed to relax at the sight of her head shaking a negative.

Viconia rolled her eyes at Minsc's dejected slump and brushed past Elatharia for the stairs, dispelling her glamour as she went with the command word Elatharia had taught her. The wizard saw just a flash of white hair before the drow vanished through the dark doorway.

"Boo says this quest to save young Imoen is taking longer than planned," Minsc complained, petting the animal which had scurried into the palm of one large hand.

"Perhaps that's because you didn't think about how much twenty thousand gold really is, Minsc, hmm?" Elatharia sighed, waving the bag of holding at him which they reserved for storing any gold or valuables that they intended to add to the fund. It was small enough to hang at her hip.

After a moment of Aerie's soothing words, Jaheira started to herd the Rashemi off to bed. With a sigh and a nod to their host, Elatharia followed with the avariel in tow. The house was tall and perpetually quiet, though many Shadow Thieves prowled its corridors night and day. A single narrow staircase wound up one side of the building, connecting five separate floors to each other. The third floor was reserved for Elatharia and her friends; other than this level, along with the sitting room and kitchen on the ground floor they had seen nothing else of the building. Although this felt more than a little strange, there was nothing much they could do about it. They were guests and at the mercy of their hosts.

There was little homeliness in their quarters; though five rooms were available, each large enough for at least two people (and three furnished with two sets of bunk beds) the group had stayed quite nuclear. Minsc and Yoshimo had the room on the left closest to the stairs. Jaheira had deemed it wise to keep someone they knew and trusted with someone they did not know – though it seemed likely that, if tested, Yoshimo could probably outwit the ranger whilst sleepwalking and, failing that, could just walk out of the room while Minsc snored. Still, it had truly felt safer this way. If anyone had the group's safety on his mind and nothing else, then it was Minsc.

Jaheira had taken the room opposite the men's, and it just so happened that her bedroom was the only one featuring a double bed. It had been intended for Elatharia as 'leader' but the druid had been distraught after they left the dungeons and had needed space and peace. Elatharia, for her part, had preferred not to be alone and shared the room next door with Viconia and Aerie.

Seeing Jaheira pause at her door now, Elatharia grimaced at the memory of how terribly they had argued right there in the dungeon with Khalid's body barely cold. How nothing could right the things they had said to each other.

"I would speak with you, Elatharia," the druid murmured wearily as the wizard moved to go past her. There was something unreadable but intense in the chiselled face of the half-elven druid.

"Oh," Aerie paused, blinking between them, before touching each on the shoulder, "G-goodnight then." The avariel squeezed between them and to the next doorway along.

* * *

The druid's room was not much larger than the chamber Elatharia shared with Viconia and Aerie, but in the place of two parallel bunk beds there stood a broad double bed. The Transmuter wondered how this enforced solitude in a bed made for two could help Jaheira. Surely it would just remind her of Khalid? Perhaps that was really what she wanted.

The wizard waited in silence, lingering by the closed door while her oldest remaining companion lit the fire across the room. There was little to take in while she waited; bare boarded walls, creaking plain floorboards, an empty bedside table and a full backpack now discarded by a doubtlessly empty chest beneath the windowsill. The heavy black curtains were open, revealing the twinkling night sky and the dark sprawl of Athkatla below. The glow of the Copper Coronet's lights was still just visible beyond the next row of houses.

At last the fire flared into life and Jaheira stood with typical soundless ease, turning to face Elatharia. Her expression was hard again, large almond eyes narrowed and glinting in the reddish light which cast such deep shadows beneath her high cheekbones. Scars peaked out from the neckline of her heavy green tunic, old memories of Irenicus's lashes. A slightly older white line curved over her jaw, sustained in the fight before their kidnap that eternity ago. And for all that observation, the expression on her face was not just hard; it was hard to read. Jaheira had a way of hiding her pain behind anger and though Elatharia knew it well, that veil of rage made it very hard to do anything but rail against the half-elf.

"These dalliances with the Thieves' Guild have to stop," the druid stated coolly, and just her authoritarian tone lit a fuse in Elatharia. She could feel her rage beginning to swell inside her, a brutal thing formed in Irenicus's dungeon. But the Transmuter just sneered, hands clenching into fists.

"You have no right to order me about like that," she replied as steadily as she could manage, "They are the only ones who have offered to get Imoen out of Spellhold. So unless you want me to prostitute myself to her captors – who already turned me away on our first day of freedom, in case you had forgotten – and unless the Harpers feel like helping out, then the Shadow Thieves are all we have."

"It is not right," Jaheira shook her head obstinately, "There are other ways to gain the money we need, at least. There is gold to be earned working outside of the city, as our venture in the Umar Hills proved. The gold that we brought back from there…"

"Was very useful," Elatharia agreed without a hint of warmth, "And it was wise of you to suggest that I buy the Robe of Vecna with what we had left over. But while we are in the city, the Shadow Thieves are a major source of income for us, considering the skills of those we know in this place…"

"You do not wear the Robe today," the druid interrupted as if Elatharia had never spoken that last sentence, raising her voice just enough to talk the Transmuter down, "Which means you have not been working for your…for Imoen's release today! Do you care nothing for her suffering? How it continues?" Jaheira's voice lowered, breaking just a little on the last word, "Have you no sympathy for what she endured before, in the dungeon and what h-he could do in Spellhold?"

The words hurt as badly as any blade. Elatharia stared at the druid disbelievingly, understanding at last. Blame. Jaheira blamed her for _everything_. And the druid continued her tirade while the Transmuter gaped.

"All you came out of there with was your anger and cruelty. You dally with the drow and the… _bounty hunter_ who we barely know and play at being Shadow Thieves but you are just hiding. You do not care, and do not feel guilt," Jaheira took a step towards her, tears filling her grey eyes, her voice almost imploring, "You do not know what we suffered." And she truly seemed to believe it. Elatharia had never spoken of her time in the dungeons.

"I…am doing all I can," Elatharia denied, "We have almost half of the money and it has been less than three tendays! We will meet with…our contact tomorrow and from there we will rise in the Thieves' Guild. And though you avoid saying it, Imoen is my sister. And I am a wizard; no one can understand the horror of Spellhold better than a mage."

A blank look crossed Jaheira's face. _You are nothing like her. She is not your sister. You are a child of Bhaal,_ her eyes seemed to say.

"No, you do not understand," the druid told her shakily, "You were not tortured – she was. And some of his evil spilled over to me, and to…K-Khalid. All you did was watch. You did not suffer."

 _But I did. I did!_ Left with the memory of torment and agony, but with none of the scars to show it. She would never persuade Jaheira of the truth, and the words would not come regardless. Seeing the other woman's denial and bitterness, Elatharia's rage warred with icy misery. Irenicus had been careful to ensure she would never be able to admit to the reality. Only Imoen would ever understand, and he had separated them. Jaheira might deny it but the truth gnawed at Elatharia: why both her and Imoen? What did they share that he would need them both?

Pushing her thoughts aside, she gritted her teeth and met Jaheira's tear filled glare.

"You are the one who understands nothing," Elatharia spat, backing up, "You refuse to see reality because you need someone to blame. I didn't kill Khalid! I wasn't there! Imoen was, and whatever Irenicus wanted, he wanted us equally for it. But you always blamed me, bitch that you are. Throwing insults, making demands," the druid blanched at these words, only for her glare to worsen, "You may care more about honour than my sister's life but I will do everything to get her back from Spellhold. I don't care how. I will kill every one of the Cowled Wizards if I have to," a beat passed, and then she let her next words pour out with vicious sneer, "And I would not stop there."

"She is nothing like you," Jaheira growled as Elatharia turned to open the door with shaking hands, "And I stay for her only, not for you, cursed that you are. Everything that has befallen _is_ because of you. And you know it."

A slow smile spread across Elatharia's face at those words. It was something about the way that Jaheira's pain about Khalid's murder called to the golden power that curled at the back of her mind and made it _glow_.

"Then I shall endeavour to find my sister, the sooner to get rid of you," the Transmuter uttered, and stalked from the room.

* * *

When Elatharia reached her bunk in the plain, dark room she shared with the unlikely combination of a drow and an avariel, she had expected them both to be in Reverie. Seeing Aerie so snugly tucked under her blankets with her back turned to the drow's bunk, she was sincerely glad that Viconia had already been with the group when they had helped the circus. It had given enough room for the avariel to call an uneasy truce before a battle could start. Not to mention Elatharia's firmness on the topic of Viconia. They had travelled together while she went to Nashkel, the bandit camp, Cloakwood mines and dealt with matters in Baldur's Gate, along with everything in between. She would never have allowed the reunion with Viconia to be sundered by Aerie.

Minsc was snoring so loudly that the Transmuter could hear him from the washroom at the end of the corridor. A bowl of water had been left out for her in expectation of her habits; it only took a cantrip to heat it to wash herself before bed. Still, it was very late when she slipped into her bunk above Aerie's. All was silent but for the gentle breathing of the room's two other occupants. Her lowlight vision had shown to her that Aerie had not stirred, but as she settled under her own covers she saw Viconia turn over to face her, lying in the bunk parallel to hers.

The drow's eyes glowed a faint red in the darkness, for her kind were adapted to pitch black but Elatharia's own human night vision could show to her only that the Sharan cleric was now in her drow form, ebon skin contrasting with snow-white waves of hair. Knowing the Transmuter could see her, the drow gave a little smile. She still found it hard to keep to a surface sleeping pattern.

 _"That was quite a conversation you two were just having,"_ the drow noted curiously, using the intricate gestures of Drow Sign Language to converse silently.

 _"Has she ever been anything but insufferable?"_ The Transmuter had to pause a moment to work out how to show the appropriate level of exasperation.

 _"Now you are talking like Edwin,"_ Viconia noted, smirking when the Transmuter twitched in surprise, " _A pity he went back to Thay, come to think of it. He was a deliciously bad influence on you, even if he never did know his true place as a male."_

 _"Indeed,"_ Elatharia agreed as enigmatically as she could. Really, when was the last time she had thought of him? Except for earlier in the Copper Coronet, thanks to Viconia of course… " _Regardless, we need to meet the contact tomorrow. Hopefully we will find something to prove Mae'Var's fickleness. I hardly need a reason to cut that man's throat out but I'd rather do it with Bloodscalp's blessing and get some of our money paid for Imoen."_

 _"Then we will be extra vigilant tomorrow. Study your spells,_ khal'abbil _, and I shall pray to Shar that he suffers."  
_

* * *

The Robe of Vecna was a showy thing, though in her heart Elatharia did agree with Jaheira; she really _should_ wear it. Perhaps it was the only thing she and the druid would ever agree on. Still, it made her feel uncomfortable dressing in it to go to Mae'Var's hideout early the next morning. Though she wore it beneath a long black cloak, the elegant robe was not as well suited to the task ahead as Viconia's Shadow Dragon scale, acquired after battle with said dragon outside the Umar Hills.

So early in the day the drow did not need Elatharia's Transmutations, slipping the eerily dark shirt of smoothly overlapping scales over a tunic of mithral so finely woven that it felt like cool silver silk. Dressed thusly, with black gloves and boots along with grey leggings, the drow's deep blue eyes and striking yellow cloak were the only splashes of colour on her person – but she was still a beguiling sight. After all, the light-devouring dragon scales had been woven to her exact specifications, the fine mithral shirt glinting silver at the neckline. The black armour smoothed over her figure flatteringly and made no sound when she moved. Deceptively light and unobtrusive it bore its original owner's magic protections and could probably stop a thrown spear from three paces.

Yoshimo was even more appropriately dressed, with black Shadow Thief leathers and an equally dark cloak. His boots were enchanted for stealth and the little smile just visible on his face beneath his low cowl showed just how much he enjoyed these clandestine adventures as they slipped from Gaelan's house shortly before the sunrise.

Meanwhile, the Robe of Vecna, though enchanted powerfully against most forms of magic, was not a thief's possession. A gentle lavender shade with strips of pastel green suede at the neckline, waist and hem, its silken material had seemed to mould to Elatharia's figure the moment she donned it that first day. It wrapped around her, baring her right leg to mid-thigh, and fastened simply just above her right hip with three silver buttons. And it made her feel terribly out of place in the Thieves' Guild, even mostly hidden beneath her thin black cloak and with her mask concealing her disfigurements.

Still, there was little choice in the matter. She would not go to Mae'Var's hideout unprepared for battle. That was the way things had to be so long as she was working as a spy for Renal. It helped that she travelled with Viconia and Yoshimo. Though the Kara-Turan appeared to be on poor terms with the Shadow Thief spokesman, it still helped to have an accepted rogue with her – and a bounty hunter no less. And Viconia? A drow always helped one's ne'er do well credentials.

Though Amn had a much hotter climate than more northerly Baldur's Gate, it was still on the coast and privy to the buffeting winds of the Sea of Swords. In the Docks District this was particularly evident, bringing with it the reek of fish left out to dry and not at all sweetened by the horrors streaming down the gutters here where the sewers did not reach. The wind, especially icy this early in the morning even in hot Amn, was howling down through the tall cramped buildings arcing around each other down the sloped tiers of the docks when Elatharia, Yoshimo and Viconia arrived on their path to Mae'Var's hideout, down amongst the abandoned guild houses and warehouses by the older parts of the docks.

At this early hour the streets were all but deserted, just the echoing cries of seagulls circling overhead and the distant crash and clatter of dockhands setting up for the day. Beggars were curled up in alleys and street corners, taverns were quiet and even the backstreet brothels had closed their doors. There were few soldiers on patrol around here; the Shadow Thieves reigned true in this place, with their headquarters sprawled through a series of buildings and tunnels all the way along the north section of the 'abandoned' old harbour, leading down to a warren of rooms and passages deep beneath the Docks.

Elatharia gave a cursory glance to the darkly hooded figure slouched in the doorway which led to Renal Bloodscalp's terrace, the above-ground Thieves' Guild headquarters serving as the foil to Aran Linvail's subterranean Shadow Thief complex. Something about those leading men made her uncomfortable. They had an arrogant confidence, a dangerousness not to be underestimated. She could never trust them. And unlike Yoshimo (or indeed Imoen) she had never truly taken to the thieving arts. She felt like she could never belong – but she needed to gain their 'trust' and pay off their fee for saving Imoen, so here she was on the way to meet the contact at Mae'Var's hideout. Whoever he was, he was an early riser. Or a late sleeper.

Mae'Var's hideout stood in the lowest part of the Old Harbour, close to the scaffolds hanging over the lapping salt water, moored boats just visible bobbing across the bay at New Harbour. It was a ramshackle place; kept thus to keep the soldiers off their tail. Inside was a different matter.

The hooded figure at the door endured in much the same attitude as his counterpart back up the hill at Renal's place, but here he nodded and opened the door before the three guests could speak. Beyond lay the unmanned counter of a shopkeeper; the bolts of cloth on display were a ruse for trade in the black market of potions, scrolls, arms and armour but the shopkeeper was evidently still in bed.

The trio passed through the storeroom beyond and into a cosy sitting room, reminiscent of Gaelan's. A group of tired looking youths in the black and silver of Shadow Thieves were playing cards at one of the round tables between the stairs which led down into the basement (Mae'Var's favourite place, decorated with all manner of torture equipment) and the opposite stairs up. A young man caught Elatharia's eye as she entered the room and waved her up the stairs.

All remained rather subdued as they passed through; the doors to the practice chambers on the ground floor had been shut, and the man on the door of the first flood ignored them. Evidently Mae'Var was not receiving visitors in his quarters or his office. The next floor consisted of sleeping facilities for thieves under Mae'Var's pay; the top floor was much the same, but for a central sitting room and a stairway across the chamber leading to the roof. It was in this sitting room that Elatharia was supposed to be meeting Mae'Var's man at such an ungodly hour.

She, Viconia and Yoshimo stepped within to see the fire still bright in the large hearth, illuminating dark wooden flooring and long walls covered in (stolen) paintings and innumerable (stolen) trinkets and trophies. A central table was strewn with an unopened bottle of wine, a bowl of grapes and some savoury snack which looked like a peculiar type of breakfast. Some herbal tea sat in an ornate pot by the elbow of a lone man, seated with his back to them. He was perusing a large dog-eared tome, his food untouched.

It was the smell of herbal tea that caught Elatharia's attention and jolted her still with recognition. Viconia almost walked straight into the stricken Transmuter when she froze in the doorway, but the masked wizard was not paying any heed to her companions. Heart pounding like a drum in her ears, she focused her gaze with new purpose upon the man before her, just a few steps away across a dark rug, now sipping at his tea.

Something about the tilt of his head suggested that he knew he had company, but he was otherwise apparently oblivious. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in simple black breeches (a little worn at the knees) tucked into high, well-polished black boots, his deep red shirt loose and thin, rolled up to his elbows as he flicked through the book. Dark lines of intricate, calligraphic tattoos coiled around his forearms, and upon seeing those very familiar, symmetrical patterns there was no mistaking this man.

In spite of her surprise and confusion – and maybe just a little manic distress as well – a little smirk tugged at Elatharia's mouth and she squeezed Viconia's elbow to stop the drow from saying anything. She wanted to see how he would behave, and whether he knew his visitor was _her_. So for a few patient moments she just watched him, noting how his hair had grown out further, curling a little around his high collar – thick and black, it was now streaked with reddish brown, no doubt after days in the Amnish sun. When he raised his head, about to speak, she saw a lock at one side had been braided with some colourful beads in the fashion of the locals. It never did do to stand out in Amn if you were a wizard, much less if you were a Red Wizard of Thay!

"I presume you simpering fools are awaiting my greeting," he droned imperiously, still not turning around, and Elatharia stifled a snort, "(As if such simpletons would deserve my courtesy.) Well. My name is Edwin Odesseiron – if you simians require a less syllable intensive workout you may call me 'sir'. And you should know that my expectations for this group are exceedingly _low_."

Elatharia did snort at that, nudging Viconia when the drow looked significantly less impressed. A glance back at Yoshimo showed the Kara-Turan to be leaning against the door frame, arms folded nonchalantly, a confused look suffusing his face. When Elatharia looked back around, it was to see that Edwin's shoulders had gone rigid at the sound of her disbelief. She could sense his sneer as he slowly closed the book before him. He started talking as he turned around, accent haughty and over-pronounced. The will to laugh faded a little as reality caught up with her, the pit of her stomach dropping gradually.

"Such a display of ignorance and irreverence of your betters proves that Mae'Var has outdone himself, sending me naught but sniggering monkeys to do his work," Edwin gestured in vain at the empty room as he stood sharply, spinning around but not really seeing the trio before him, "Somebody get this jerk a banana!"

But no one was at hand to listen and then his deep brown eyes snagged on Viconia. Momentarily he blanched, seeing only the ebon skin of drow – in spite of her distinctive cloak – before recognising her.

"Hello, Edwin," Elatharia greeted as levelly as she could manage, one eyebrow arching enough that he could probably make it out above her velvet mask.


	4. A Deliciously Bad Influence

**Once again, many thank yous for the very kind reviews and to those following this story! :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: A Deliciously Bad Influence**

* * *

"Hello, Edwin," Elatharia greeted, one eyebrow arching enough that he could make it out above her velvet mask.

Edwin knew he was gaping, that he had lost control of his expression, and with effort dragged himself back to sense, raking a hand through his hair to give himself a moment. He had not expected this. But there she was, standing in the doorway with Viconia glaring at her side and an unfamiliar Kara-Turan watching the proceedings curiously.

For a moment he was confused. When was the last time he had seen her? Regardless, it was hard to miss her, with that black cloth band covering her face from eyebrows to cheekbones, tied behind dark hair which had never been that tangled when they had travelled together. And it was a different mask, but the large green eyes watching him were the same. With that cloth covering her face, all he could see of her was her lips – pursed now as she tried to contain her amusement – and the smooth, familiar features of jaw, eyes and brow. She held herself so still, so poised, that her expressions might have been considered distant, hard even, her chin a little pointed though set in a fairly oval face.

Edwin watched the Transmuter, trying to reign in his previous rage, as well as his newer confusion and surprise.

Yes, it was Elatharia behind that mask and that cloak, but with that pale, flattering robe beneath; narrow waist, one shapely leg visible, pale hands fiddling with the clasp of her cloak when the silence stretched. Recalling their last interaction, his gaze traced the line of her neck upwards from where her hand lingered. Seeing his stare, she shifted uncomfortably, opening her mouth to speak.

At last he mastered himself, coughing sharply and relaxing his stance, clasping his hands behind his back. Levelling Viconia with a hard glare, Edwin prayed to Kossuth that she would not say something foolish and blow his cover. Fortunately she proved wise enough to realise his intent. And looking back at Elatharia, seeing her green eyes dart back to his from the sight of the swirling tattoos just visible at his tunic's neckline he knew that there was going to have be a change of plan. There was no way he was going to pass up the chance to increase his own power – and a creature of her heritage would always be surrounded with such prospects. The fact that she had always been so…predisposed…to him made this a lot easier.

"I thought I told you to meet me at the tavern?" he bluffed, rolling his eyes and hoping she remembered him well enough after six months to know that those wretched guild members were all listening in to their conversation and she needed to play along.

"Your man failed to relay any details so we came here," Elatharia shrugged. That dress…

"Well this is no place for a man of my stature to speak of business. Come. It is a little way to the Bridge District."

He swept past her, raising a warning eyebrow towards Viconia as he grasped his black cloak from its place by the door and swung it around his shoulders.

* * *

The last time Elatharia had seen Edwin Odesseiron he had been very angry. He had confronted her about Dynaheir at the Friendly Arm Inn just before they went to Candlekeep. He had demanded that she help him kill the Wychlaran; for her spellbook, for the fun of it, and because she could never be permitted to enter such a place of forbidden knowledge. Really it was because his father's fellow Tharchions had demanded it as a part of some elaborate, politically motivated plan. He had seemed to think that her innocence, and her poorly veiled interest in him, would make it easier to hide this from her, and that seducing her would be the best way to persuade her. She had been foolish in those days, she realised. She had wanted to believe that he wanted her and for a moment or two she had actually considered agreeing.

All red robes and blazing eyes he had been then, his long Houppelande robe a vibrant ruby shade, his hair black and short, just curling around his ears. He had shaken her by the shoulders, pressing her up against the wall and grinding his teeth in frustration. It was an uncommon display of strength from him, but it had hardly been violent. If anything, her heart had been racing for every reason _but_ fear.

Sensing that he was not getting through to her he had growled and pressed his forehead to hers as if somehow hoping to impart his thoughts in this manner. Her disbelieving laughter had died in her throat then. She may have been fighting a war against the Iron Throne and she may have been an increasingly accomplished spellcaster. But she was also young, and insecure, and having this wizard whose power blazed like an igniting inferno holding her like that, eyes darkening as they drifted to her mouth…it had made her feel wanted.

He had barged into her room when she was preparing her spells, her mask off, and not for a moment had he balked at the dark, indented markings across her cheeks. Instead he had stood so close to her, eyes clouding as he traced patterns thoughtfully over those lines as if he found them fascinating and maybe even beautiful. In those days she had almost been fooled.

He had taken a step closer, one hand moving to her hip as his other thumb slid over her cheek to the tip of her chin, his lips parting subconsciously when he looked at hers as if he wanted…nothing more… But then with a growl he had straightened, stepping back, and demanded that she do as he wished. She had come to realise that this act of seduction had been just that – a way of getting her to agree to his whim regarding Dynaheir. When she had denied him he left in the night and vanished from her world. And now, seemingly purely by chance, they had met once more in Athkatla. The odds seemed…unlikely.

* * *

With a sneer to Viconia, entirely unaware of how the drow had lamented his departure the night before, Edwin had caught Elatharia by the elbow and guided her to a two person table, leaving the priestess and Yoshimo to wait at the bar (and hopefully watch for any eavesdroppers). The tavern hall of the Five Flagons Inn was small and not very busy at this time of day, just serving breakfast to a few tired-looking patrons.

No one seemed to have followed them, but Edwin watched the door closely, his eyes occasionally flitting over to the open stairway at one side of the room. In the quiet it was possible to hear the Sigil Troupe practicing their music and the month's plays on the floor below, as well as the shouts of town criers just starting up on the streets outside. Somewhere in the distance the great city gates ground open to let a few caravans rumble through, accompanied by the clopping of horses' hooves on the cobbles.

The Red Wizard stayed quiet once they were seated, his dark hood drawn up most likely to hide his face from those who may have been listening in. Elatharia fidgeted, feeling the familiar weight of his presence with the same sort of heavy pressure on her consciousness as she might have expected to endure a geas…perhaps under the effects of strong drugs and alcohol. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel anything more than a vague amusement or wild anger. Having him looming there across the table, staring around the room and not once at her, made her want to grasp onto his arm and beg him not to go. But then that kind of weakness made her want to storm out of the inn and never seek him out.

At last a serving girl emerged from the kitchen and brought their order to them. When she had settled the pot of herbal tea along with peculiarly presented pancakes complete with fruit and syrup, the Transmuter understood. Edwin looked up sharply when she laughed at her realisation. Her merriment made her dizzy. When was the last time she had felt like laughing? _Gods_.

"How long did it take you to find a place that would serve you Thayvian fare?" she inquired, not bothering to hide the teasing note in her voice.

"Much less long than it would take you, I imagine," he grunted dismissively, pouring himself a cup of tea before hesitating and pouring hers too with a sneer, "(Let it not be said that Edwin Odesseiron is a poor host)."

"Contentious," Elatharia smirked when he glared, watching him pulling a few pancakes onto his plate before continuing. Looking at the food was making her hungry and painfully nostalgic, "So what brings you so far from Thay, Edwin? I would have thought that you would have gone home."

She paused when he just watched her with that same unreadable hard expression. Her eyes fell to her tea, where she cradled the hot mug, seeing the steam rise.

"I could ask you the same question, Elatharia. Among several," his eyes narrowed, long lashes flashing as he glanced down momentarily to watch her spinning the cup in her hands, "Such as what all this is that I heard on the road about you and Sarevok. About your father." His voice was low, over-pronounced as usual, and his dark eyes – that smooth, deep brown shade that could look red in the sunlight – were watching her steadily.

"It's true. We were…I am…a Bhaalspawn," she told him as evenly as possible. She had been telling it to all of her new allies, and he had left before she had learned the truth for certain. She had even told Korgan, Jan and Yoshimo. Aerie had been determined to judge her on who she was for herself regardless. And if any of them were going to betray her then they would do it anyway.

Edwin's expression hardly changed, except for a slight softening of his eyes, the slightest hint of a smile. One long-fingered hand clasped and unclasped his tea cup. After a moment he just raised an eyebrow at her and gave a little nod. He hardly seemed alarmed, or surprised. Perhaps he was pleased, after their last encounter at the Friendly Arm had been so…friendly… that she had turned out to be part god. Maybe it helped his self-esteem.

"It may please you to learn that Dynaheir is dead," she muttered reflexively when her thoughts began to wheel away to old times.

"The death of any Rashemi witch lightens the load of filth on this world," he hardly sounded interested, actually. He would have killed her because he had been told to and he would not have cared.

It was Edwin who broke the silence when Elatharia failed to respond, her eyes fixed on the rising steam from her cup once more.

"Might I enquire as to how she died? A sudden conflagration in my honour, I hope?" he poured syrup and cut up the pancakes neatly, as if discussing the weather. That callousness used to disappoint her, or at least make her uncomfortable. Now she…did not care.

"Live dissection," she blurted, "That's what Imoen told me," she added softly, sipping her tea and slowly raising her eyes to meet his, "I don't think she was tortured before that, though. Made Minsc watch…but I get the impression it was for Imoen's benefit, really," Elatharia shrugged, her skin prickling at the thought of that dungeon, confused by her own outward nonchalance, "The same for Khalid."

"Well. Your little troop really has depleted," his tone sounded curious, not bothered. His eyebrow twitched when she took a raspberry from his plate instead of her own, but he made no comment, "What calamity befell to lead to such horrors? Gnolls, ogres? Hobgoblins?" he leaned closer, eyes glinting, "Did you open a portal to the Hells, incompetent Transmuter?"

"No."

He sat back when she utterly failed to humour his teasing. It was beyond inappropriate. Not out of any sense of half-hearted morality, but simply because it made her feel _angry_.

"Regardless," his tone was serious again now, quieter and more rushed, "You should not be in this city, Elatharia," he told her when she began to choose her own pancakes, chewing angrily on her raspberry to stop herself from blurting out any more information, "There is a ban on unlicensed magic in this place. And rumours of a spellcaster caught recently…a 'Jon Irenicus'." She wondered why he was saying this; it seemed unlikely that he really _cared._

"He took us. That's why we're here," she started tearing at her pancakes rather than meet his eyes, but the words came pouring out, "He captured us on the road between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep, dragged us here to Athkatla gods know how long ago. I haven't thought about it. I don't want to know. Killed Khalid and Dynaheir, locked up Jaheira and Minsc. And to Imoen and me…" she looked up, angry now and aware that she was at last admitting far more than she had to anyone else, "Torture. Dissection. Mental disassembly. Too late to warn me, Edwin. A shame for you that he knew so well how to heal our wounds so he could do it again. And now he's taken my sister with him to Spellhold. And we're raising the funds for the Thieves' Guild to get her out."

Edwin possibly looked a little more serious, lips pursed and frown deepened.

"Ah," he said at last, leaning back and folding his arms slowly. His boots pressed against her feet as his legs stretched…neither relinquished, "Then in that case – on the condition that you return the favour when necessary – I believe I will just give you what you need to bring down Mae'Var and help you burn him alive."

* * *

He did, and all before dinner. Elatharia took Edwin at his word when he told her there were incriminating documents in Mae'Var's quarters, and they sent Yoshimo up to get the evidence whilst the two wizards and Viconia headed to the basement to confront the Thieves' Guild leader. He was, as ever, surrounded by his lackeys and actually in the process of strapping a young, bloodied man to a rack. No one stayed in this dungeon for long. Mae'Var loved killing too much.

He turned with a glower to face Elatharia as she strode past the empty cages towards him, his men bristling in the poorly lit, foul smelling room. She knew Edwin was already chanting for his first spell just out of the Guild House tyrant's sight, but all the same prayed that Yoshimo would arrive on time.

"What in all the Hells are you doing here, wizard?" Mae'Var snarled, his sallow face twisting readily into such a vicious expression.

He wore a dark apron over his Shadow Thief leathers and his spidery hands were covered in blood to the elbows. The other men in the room turned to watch, all of them the wiry well-armoured types favoured by the Guild. Several had their hands on weapons. Imbued with enhanced hearing (in truth to make it possible to know when Edwin's spell was completed) Elatharia could hear a few of those lackeys stalking around behind the cages even as they slipped out of sight.

"Well, I had just come to see which poor fool you were tormenting this fine morning," she shrugged, flipping back the sides of her cloak to free her arms. Mae'Var tensed, still glaring between her and Viconia, "But then it was brought to my attention that you have been keeping more than your fair share of the takings for yourself. And I thought…well, isn't this just one of many wonderful reasons to kill you?"

"You have no proof!" Mae'Var unsheathed his blade then in one long ringing movement, pale eyes gleaming, and teeth bared.

"Oh, but I do," Elatharia told him with an icy smile, her enchanted hearing picking up the faintest of sounds outside. It was enough. "Yoshimo!" she called, and with a nimble flick of her wrist, a simple twist of the Weave and a spellword, she heard the click of the lock in the door which led up to the street. The Kara-Turan stepped through behind Mae'Var and his men, brandishing his katana in one hand and a bundle of papers in the other. He threw her a wink over the heads of the treacherous Shadow Thieves between them.

"Here, Elatharia," he greeted, "I brought along some friends."

Chaos descended upon the basement. Mae'Var snarled and lunged for the Transmuter and all of his lackeys sprang into motion around them, unsheathing blades, letting crossbow bolts fly. But during his absence, Yoshimo had taken the incriminating documents straight to Renal Bloodscalp. Now he called to the men he had brought with him in his swift dash across the district, and they all flooded down the steps to intercept. Meanwhile, Edwin's _Dimension Door_ fizzed up right on time behind Elatharia and she stepped backwards through it, still smiling at Mae'Var even as a few crossbow bolts shattered off her _Stoneskin_ protection.

Viconia cried out to Shar for divine aid and leapt in front of Mae'Var, hammer glowing – and then Elatharia was whisked through space in a flash of white-silver air to find herself at Edwin's side. Although further down the hall, just before the myriad cages, it was possible to see the fight blooming beyond though no one may have thought to see the Red Wizard there. But he was already chanting again, flames crackling into being between his hands and alerting the rogue Shadow Thieves who had crept behind the cages to the presence of the two wizards.

"I taught you that spell," Elatharia reminded the Red Wizard, in reference to the _Dimension Door_. She could feel the heat of the rising fire magics he was conjuring, her hands already making the motions for her next spell. A genuine smile began to tug at her lips – this was perhaps a little exciting after all.

A few command words, and Edwin's motions sped up thanks to her Transmutation, permitting him to let the spell fly a few precious seconds sooner; bursts of fire curled away towards the closest group of advancing men, forcing them to dodge and jump aside, some crashing through the unlocked doorways of the cages. Taking her chance, and imbued by her own _Haste,_ Elatharia sent another spell forth to lock the doors behind those unfortunate attackers, temporarily depleting the number of people they had to face at once.

A _Slow_ spell sent to the other group of advancing men allowed Edwin to call up several acid arrows in a row. Well placed, three of those four men were picked off – only man of the previous group reached them. Elatharia stepped forward, taking him utterly off guard as she pressed one hand to his chest, whispering hissing command words and leeching the heat from him – it stopped him in his tracks, shuddering. His skin began to crack and bleed, icicles forming on his chin and frost at his lips while her other hand flicked at the air and brought forth a more familiar spell. Suddenly he went rigid, his skin becoming a dark grey as it solidified and crackled unerringly to stone. The combination of the two spells brought their usual effect: the man shattered, politely scattering dust rather than anything more unsavoury.

"Typical," Edwin muttered behind her and spat a few arcane phrases as she turned to the other four men, those she had slowed to a crawl. One had fallen to his knees, caught by two acid arrows and coughing up blood, and one was limping with an arrow through his gradually deteriorating thigh.

The Transmuter just smirked as Edwin sent a contained _Fireball_ into the cage. The explosion still shook the cellar, shattering the bars and so intense that the men within had no chance even to scream. The remaining men recoiled – in slow motion, of course – and a few of the others in the room stumbled mid-battle. A brief glance revealed Viconia ducking beneath Mae'Var's wickedly sharp blade.

Edwin's fireball was the turning point in the battle. The slowed men provided little trouble for the two wizards, and Yoshimo helped Viconia subdue Mae'Var while Bloodscalp's men made short work of his remaining lackeys. At the last only Mae'Var remained, the man he had been tormenting already helped down from his position poised upon the rack and with Viconia begrudgingly administering some healing spells upon him. For the most part it appeared he had been saved before any serious harm could be done, however.

Yoshimo was just binding Mae'Var's hands as Elatharia and Edwin approached down the macabre hall newly littered with the dead. The former leader of this Guild House had a man holding him down at each shoulder with his harms pulled tightly behind his back; he was unable to truly raise his head but he still managed to meet Elatharia's eyes with that same hateful snarl on his face. One eye was rapidly swelling and colouring brilliantly with bruising while blood ran from the side of his head in a river. His teeth were stained red, too and he was struggling to stay upright on his knees.

"Treacherous bastard," Mae'Var spat blood at Edwin's feet, "I let you live and protected you from those who hunt you. Do you expect this masked amateur can keep you safe?" he choked out a rasping laugh and Elatharia realised one of his lungs must have been punctured. The way he held himself suggested broken ribs. But his words to the Red Wizard were far more interesting than his injuries, and the Transmuter turned her gaze upon Edwin to see him smirking calmly back at Mae'Var.

"Wrong on all counts (wretched imbecile)," the Conjurer folded his arms, his the sleeves of his tunic riding up a little and revealing the tattoos spiralling around his forearms once more, "I never betrayed you. I never worked for you. And she," he gestured to Elatharia, dark eyes flashing over her in a way that made her heart jolt, "Is no amateur. (As if I would waste my time with her troop of baboons if that were so.)"

Mae'Var's gaze lolled to Elatharia, swaying when the men at his shoulders let go. Yoshimo lingered behind him, katana gleaming in the dull torchlight. The beaten guildmaster just stared at her, struggling for breath and maybe even consciousness as Bloodscalp's men retreated with wordless nods and mocking bows.

"The Shadow Thieves have given jurisdiction of this Guild House to you, Elatharia. And Renal Bloodscalp leaves _his_ fate to your discretion," one of the hooded men told her, pausing on the steps while the others left, jerking a hand disdainfully at Mae'Var. And with a clang of the door he left Elatharia, Edwin, Viconia and Yoshimo alone with their prisoner.

"You do not mean to let him live surely, _khal'abbil_?" Viconia enquired. Drying blood glistened on her black armour and shadows still crawled over her skin from her goddess's favour.

The Transmuter turned a slow smile upon the drow and held her blue gaze until Viconia nodded in understanding and gestured to Yoshimo to follow her back up the stairs. From the sounds of shouting and running above them it seemed that the Shadow Thieves were chasing out those still loyal to Mae'Var. Though the Kara-Turan paused for a long moment, something he saw in Elatharia's eyes reassured him that she knew what she was doing. With a ring of steel he sheathed his katana, face carefully blank, and followed after Viconia.

"You mean to use my own methods against me," Mae'Var stated, his eyes flickering over to the hanging cages, then to the hooks and racks of knives along the wall. A chill ran through Elatharia at the very thought and Edwin scoffed at her side, "Do not think I have failed to see how you stare at my captives with pity and my instruments with loathing," the fallen guildmaster rasped, sneering when Elatharia turned hateful eyes upon him.

"No," she told him simply, closing her eyes unconcernedly for a moment as she reached into the Weave, recalling the appropriate commands and gestures until she felt the rush of power and the air around her began to flicker with red fire. She would need this protection for what she had in mind. Edwin on the other hand would be protected by his tattoos and one very familiar ruby-topped ring.

Mae'Var's expression smoothed out in understanding. The fear lingering behind his every movement did not waver, however.

"I would never lower myself to your standards, Mae'Var," Elatharia told him with a mocking shake of her head, "Torture for the sake of torture…knives, the rack…cages," with every word her rage grew and the golden light behind her eyes rose to a blinding brightness until she could hardly see the man kneeling in his own blood before her, surrounded by the corpses of his fallen men. Shaking, she turned to Edwin instead to see him watching her curiously, eyes narrowed perceptively, "You remember what you said?"

"I said I would help you burn him alive," the Red Wizard agreed, his voice low and rough, his smile wicked and fierce and anything but gentle or kind.

"Then make good your promise," she told him almost desperately, shrugging into one of her most familiar spells as if it were her natural state; flames erupted along her arms and hands, crackling hungrily into the air in quite a different way from her summoned fire protection.

Mae'Var recoiled from her as she advanced, twisting and beginning to fall as Edwin began chanting behind her. She caught the injured guildmaster almost gently by the shoulders as he fell, the air beginning to thin and heat up, and her flaming hands ignited his clothes like fire touching oil. She lost herself in the inferno that followed, a combination of Edwin's fire magic and her own, safe behind her protections, and for several long immeasurable moments the golden light engulfed her in its hateful, murderous rapture.

Only when the fires dissipated, the magical control behind them saving the roof above, did Elatharia's eyes open. Ash drifted from her limp fingers and a laugh bubbled up from her chest. She felt Edwin's hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him slowly, and she smeared the ash onto his tunic when she swayed towards him, delirious. He did not even blanch at the mess like he normally would have and said nothing at all as her eyes took in the scene of chaos they had created. Only the stone steps remained for the door to the docks behind her; they had destroyed the exit by which Viconia and Yoshimo had left. The bars of most of the cages were half-melted and warped, white-hot light dying down within them. Not a body remained, just ash drifting back to the ground like snow around them.

"Well by the _gods_ I have missed you," she gasped through her laughter, eyes wide and thoughts scattered as she looked up at the wizard, hands fisting in his tunic and making the mess worse. She became aware of his fingers curling around her arms, his palms still hot from the flames. He was breathing hard just like she was and his eyes were black with something a lot like lust.

"Kossuth," he whispered, "How can you have changed so much since I left? (What is she doing travelling with those baboons?)"

"You should never have left," she told him as sternly as she could when the power of the magic had still not died down, stumbling back and almost falling, relying on him to keep her upright or risk falling on top of her while her grasp lingered on his shirt. Closing her eyes she laughed again as he staggered forward a little in an attempt to steady her, hardly registering that his gaze was sharpening again, a frown appearing, "That _power._ "

"Elatharia," his voice was a little more urgent now and his hands tightened on her shoulders. When she failed to respond, he shook her. "Elatharia!"

With the ebb of the magic and the settling of the ashes, the golden power dissipated too, coiling back into the furthest corners of her mind. Her eyes fluttered open, though the world remained blurred for a moment longer. Regaining her balance, she let go of Edwin's shirt, taking in the sight of the ash she had left behind on the previously deep red garment. His hands were still hot, large and gripping tight against her bare skin. His eyes were on hers unwaveringly – but her own gaze span and reeled and took in the chaotic room, her heart pounding now with the realisation of what they had managed. Until she caught the glint of metal to her right. Unerringly her sight snapped towards the rows of knives still hanging on the wall. _Irenicus. Imoen. Bhaal. Pain. Serrated skin hot and heavy digging into her own…_

Shuddering, she sagged in front of Edwin, all euphoria draining away.

"I…I have to leave this place…" The knives. She could imagine their biting edges digging through her skin, the blazing pain and trickle of hot blood, "The knives…"

One hot, long-fingered hand caught her chin, forcing her to look in the Thayvian's dark eyes. He was frowning deeply now, staring at her hard, unthinkingly close, his grip a little too tight and his lips pressed into a grimace.

"Very well, _master_ ," he sneered, "If I must. But we will speak of what happened today. And you owe me a new shirt."

* * *

 **Author's note: Sometimes I wonder if these two are going to prove that Valygar has the right idea. ;)**


	5. The Duties of Siblings

**Thank you to those who have reviewed this story and to those who are following it, your comments are greatly appreciated.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Duties of Sibling**

* * *

Elatharia awoke abruptly with a shriek, sitting up in the dark room drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Had she just killed…? Before her eyes Irenicus had murdered a whole family and, overcome by the power in her soul, she had stepped up at his urging and done the same…to her friends. And to Imoen. It had been so real; the smell of blood and filth, the sounds of screams and pleas.

She was alone in the room, the curtains drawn shut against the daylight and the fire cold in the hearth. Slowly her jumbled thoughts reorganised themselves and she remembered Edwin leading her out of the Guild House, around the building and back in through the main entrance. Viconia had been alarmed to see her so weakened and Yoshimo had questioned them for the sheer inferno they had created in the cellar below. It appeared that the building had been largely emptied of personnel except for a few servants cowering in the kitchen.

Viconia had quickly and expertly urged those servants into action; unsympathetically ordering a few of the maids to clean up after the mess the fighting had made. In the meantime Elatharia had asked to sleep, sagging dramatically against Edwin's side – though he had sighed as if long-suffering, his grip around her waist had been firm, hidden beneath her cloak. She had been all but asleep on her feet when he brought her to this room and left her on the bed.

Groaning and pushing tangled hair from her eyes, Elatharia pushed the thin sheet from her body, relieved to see that she still wore her Robe of Vecna though her cloak hung over the back of a nearby chair. Someone had left her boots at the end of the bed and her feet were bare, aching as she padded across the bare floorboards to push open the curtains. The light that spilled into the room held the dusky quality of evening, the sun glinting low on the horizon beyond and across the endless expanse of blue sea. It was hard to see the sails of the ships at the functioning docks in the north, to her left where the coast curved tightly. Seagulls were calling in the distance and somewhere far off a bell was ringing.

Blinking against the sun's light, Elatharia turned away, rubbing at fuzzy eyes and peering into the dim room. It was not particularly large, the bed she had slept in a little too big for one person and a little too small for two, the plain sheets tangled and bunched up from her awakening. A wardrobe stood closed by the simple wooden door and the long table against the far wall was strewn with scrolls, various inkpots and a tub of quills. Books had been lined up along the wall neatly. Several candles were arrayed along shelves above that table and a candelabra stood on the bedside table.

Still disorientated, but gradually realising what had happened, Elatharia moved to the wardrobe and slowly opened its doors to avoid anyone outside the room hearing her actions. Ah, there they were. Hung up in the middle of the clothing bar were two very familiar items of clothing; the vibrant red of the Red Wizard robe; a crimson Houppelande with a broad black sash and long matching cloak, lined and edged in gold cloth. Behind it hung the elaborate black Archmagi robe, a long cut-away jacket, with buttons only to the waist like a doublet. She ran her fingertips over both outfits without thinking, remembering buying one and first witnessing the other. They still smelled of incense and other conjuring ingredients. And that reminded her painfully of the past and all that had been lost.

Before the memories could crawl back into her consciousness and the tears could burn in her eyes, she closed the wardrobe and fumbled with the handle of the room's exit. The area beyond was familiar: the sitting room with the broad central table on the top floor of the Guild House. Edwin was sitting there again, leaning over the same book with another cup of herbal tea cradled in his hands. The fire was crackling merrily across the room and several candles flickered in clusters against the walls, maintaining a brightness which hurt her eyes.

"Finally she awakens. I had begun to wonder if I would be getting any sleep tonight," Edwin remarked absently, not looking up from his book as Elatharia approached and slid into the opposite chair. His spellbook was open at his elbow; she recognised his small but impressively calligraphic handwriting – and he had changed his tunic. This one was of a similar loose cut and thin style though black rather than red.

"Why your room?" her voice sounded raw. Edwin's eyes flickered up to meet hers for just a second before returning to the book, his eyebrows raising.

"We may have won this Guild House but we do not appear to have inherited any of the guild members just yet. And since you were determined to fall unconscious I had no choice but to take you to the one room in this place for which I had a key," he eyed her suspiciously, but seemed to think better of whatever he had been about to say.

Elatharia knew that could not have been the whole explanation and for several long moments the silence stretched.

"Are we alone?"

"Yes. Unless your Kara-Turan snake is lingering just out of sight at the top of the stairs (and I would not put it past such as him). Renal Bloodscalp's men have chased every one of those fools who dwelt here under Mae'Var's service from the building. Aside from me…that includes everyone who may have needed to venture up to these lofty heights. The drow is whipping the servants into shape. (Possibly figuratively.) I doubt there is any reason for her to join us."

The silence stretched as his attention returned to the book and for a moment more she watched him. Though his black hair was bleached paler in places by the sun, longer and featuring that one beaded braid of the Amnish style, he was much the same. A little leaner maybe. The firelight cast shadows beneath his broad, high cheekbones, and highlighted the reddish-brown of his eyes as he read. He was frowning down at the book, one hand moving up to rub at his carefully kempt beard, lips pursing in thought. Or maybe…it looked like he was struggling to concentrate in truth. She almost felt guilty.

Standing, Elatharia moved around the table until she could look over his shoulder. He tilted his head at her approached but did not speak or look up. He was perusing a detailed map, the kind which covered both faces of the open book, tiny writing scrawled upon its thin, crisp pages. Leaning closer to look, she was – to her shame – distracted momentarily by the black lines tapering to their conclusions at the curve between his neck and shoulder…and the slightest touch of his back against her body when he took a breath in. But she forced herself to concentrate, reminded herself that he had _left_ her in the Friendly Arm, and focused her gaze upon the writing.

"It's the Graveyard District," she realised at last, "What could you possibly be perusing a map of that place for, oh most moral of moral wizards?" she surprised herself with her suddenly teasing tone, leaning closer to make out the writing, "The entrance to the older tombs…"

Elatharia paused when his hand closed around her wrist and he turned his head to look at her at last. His breath tickled her neck and her skin burned with the phantom of expected touch. She felt very foolish for getting herself into this position, not daring to turn to see his face lest she inadvertently initiate something that she might regret.

"Child of Bhaal," his voice, so familiar for its resonance and its heavy accent, seemed altogether too good at saying that phrase.

Abruptly she wanted to get away from him. _Ah, the child of Bhaal has awoken…_

When she straightened and tried to pull back, he kept a firm hold on her wrist, turning to keep her in his sights and forcing her a little roughly to slump into the chair beside him. He was probably not strong enough to force her to stay there without an impressive amount of effort, but she was tired and those words made her _afraid_.

"The show you put on for me today in the cellar would not have been possible for you a year ago," the Red Wizard continued as if he had not just steered her into that chair and his hand was not still tight around her wrist, "It is no coincidence that between then and now you have discovered your true nature and been tormented by this…Irenicus. Now you wake from a bad dream, screaming for your sister. Forgive me if I am a little suspicious."

"I didn't choose it," Elatharia told him angrily, trying and failing to pull her arm free, flinching when his other hand moved to her hair line, pushing back a few strands as his thumb traced the skin there.

"You think I did not notice this?" he asked almost softly, "That you have dyed this?"

"No one else has."

He levelled her with a doubtful look, rubbing the dyed strands between his fingers and showing her the dark colour that came away on his skin.

"You have never been very subtle, Elatharia," he reminded her, "You may be used to the smell of the dye, but any fool who you move too close to can make it out. Your friends are either too lacking in curiosity or too suspicious of you to ask. But I am asking," he leaned forward, his voice lowering though he had claimed they were alone, "Your captor, Jon Irenicus," he said the strange name with an appropriate amount of emphasised difficulty, "He awoke something in you. Something that has made you stronger and changed you. It has made your hair change and your soul _darker_."

"I didn't choose it – the power," Elatharia denied again, her heart pounding with something almost like a rush of relief, eyes fixed on his. At last! Someone else had seen through her lies and masks.

"It is glorious," he told her fervently, so low and heartfelt that her eyes flickered to his lips, the way they formed the word. But then his expression hardened, his grip on her wrist tightening again, "But you struggle to control it. You lost control today. You let the power seduce you."

She felt her cheeks flush at his words and his tone, remembering how she had behaved and how he had responded at first. It seemed the power had seduced more than one of them in that moment, but she chose not to speak. She was too busy trying to will the redness from her skin.

"It is difficult to master," she admitted softly, staring at his hand upon her wrist rather than meet his eyes now, "But I believe it is possible to take control. With practice and time. But there _is_ no time – I must find Imoen before Irenicus…"

"You must do both. Seeking out Irenicus for yourself will most likely bring you the answers you need. Even if your precious sister were safely cloistered back in Candlekeep you would have to hunt for this man. He is the only person in this place who has any true understanding of who and what you are."

"He tortured me," Elatharia snapped, wrenching her arm free at last, "And he tormented my sister. He…there are things…there was…I will hunt him down and tear him apart…I will…"

Under the emotionless stare of the Red Wizard the rage left her abruptly. There it was, the essence within her clawing its way to the surface once more. Half a sob escaped her before she looked away and Edwin just folded his arms, watching her silently.

"Jaheira would say it is my true self. That my madness is all that is real of me…"

"Enough self-pity," the Red Wizard snapped, "It has never become you – nor anyone else for that matter. The druid is selfish and illogical. She enjoys blaming you for her own faults and so on. Forget her. Use her. Discard her. Destroy her, if necessary," his eyes were blazing with his intensity now, "But above all else, learn to control the power you have. It is a boon, and one you can use against the man who captured you."

A smile found its way to Elatharia's face then and she nodded, fists clenching against the lone tear that stole down her cheek. How could no one else have understood this? She was about to say more, to ask him why he was looking at that map, but the door crashed open suddenly and both wizards twisted about to see who had intruded upon their conversation.

"How _dare_ you…"Jaheira's distinctive accent immediately followed the crash of the door against the wall, only to tail off with a choked gasp.

Elatharia winced in realisation of what was about to happen, seeing Edwin's amused smirk as he observed the druid's entrance before actually risking looking around herself. Sure enough the druid was standing frozen in the doorway, a blank look of shock fast being overcome by a twisted mask of rage. Her eyes were fixed upon the Red Wizard, her hands balling into shaking fists at her sides.

"You," the druid snarled, "How is that you have found us in this place?"

"An unfortunate coincidence, Harper," Edwin drawled, "(Certainly when forced to look upon you)."

"As if I can believe that when I see you two sitting together as if Dynaheir never lived!" Jaheira's voice lowered with her rage and at last her eyes settled upon Elatharia, only for the druid to blanch, paling a little as if in disgust.

With a sickening jolt to her stomach, Elatharia realised that she had not been wearing her mask – Jaheira had looked upon her with horror for the druid had seen her true face. The Transmuter had not thought about it, since Edwin had never once given her such a look. An uncomfortable glance towards him showed that the Red Wizard was looking from Elatharia to Jaheira, one dark eyebrow raised thoughtfully.

"I had no part in Dynaheir's death," Edwin reminded at last, and Elatharia looked back around at the table with the druid distracted once more, wishing she had some means of covering her face. Alas, neither book nor teapot would do her much good, and the Thayvian was currently digging a hole for both of them, "I would offer my condolences (if I cared at all)."

"Wretched, evil, monstrous…"Jaheira spat, "You would have done it had you had the chance! You are just as bad as Jon Irenicus and our 'leader' is too selfish and cowardly to see it! Perhaps she is learning how to be just like…"

"I'd stop there if I were you, Harpy," Elatharia suggested, a blankness coming upon her at the mention of the torturer, accompanied by a special kind of cold rage which she had last felt only for Irenicus. There was no hint of the golden wrath, not even of its exhilarating tingle of power. She looked around again to see Jaheira still standing in the doorway, red-faced now, "Because if you keep talking like that I'm going to have to _make_ you stop."

The druid scoffed, eyes hard, but said no more. The stiffness in her shoulders suggested that she might actually have felt a little guilty for her words…or she was ready to defend them with a fight. But not even the Harper in a rage thought that she could win against Edwin _and_ Elatharia both when she was dressed only in leather, utterly without magical protections.

"Did you come here for a reason? Other than to try to weaken our chances some more?" Elatharia demanded, sucking in a breath to try to push away the phantom ringing of metal in her ears before she had to admit to both her companions that sometimes, when she truly felt that special anger, she had to endure the memory of Irenicus's knives as if they were real once more.

"I came here to strengthen our cause," the druid denied fiercely, "Though it was no easy feat to force where you might be from Gaelan Bayle. I have spent my day finding for us some local work whilst you have been napping," her eyes drifted over the two wizards disgustedly, lingering on Elatharia's markings.

"We had conquered this Guild House to pay us fealty for your cause all before noon, Harper," Edwin sneered.

"What did you find?" Elatharia sighed before Jaheira could respond to that, rubbing wearily at her face, "With any luck this Guild House and one or two more well-paying jobs will get us what we need."

"Aerie and Anomen have heard from the Sigil Troupe at the Five Flagons Inn in the Bridge District. Apparently one of their number has been abducted along with a magical artefact. They have promised to pay well for the return of both and believe that their companion, Haer'Dalis, has been taken along with the item by an old enemy of theirs – a powerful mage – into his lair in the sewer…"

"Alright, we'll do it," Elatharia stood abruptly, gesturing impatiently for Jaheira to go, "Tell anyone we know who you can find in time that we'll be heading that way in an hour. I assume these people gave you some information regarding whereabouts inside the sewer the wizard lives?"

"They did," Jaheira agreed curtly, nodding in disdainful acceptance before casting one more hateful glance towards Edwin and stalking out of the room.

"Feel like coming with us to the sewers?" Elatharia asked, rubbing her face angrily one more time before turning towards the room she had awoken in, opening the door and peering inside. There was her cloak…and there, upon the bedside table, was her mask. She jumped in surprise when Edwin responded from directly beside her.

"No," he admitted sourly, pushing past her to enter the room – his room, "Though the promise of a powerful wizard's lair is more tempting," he added, something almost like humour flickering across his face as he opened the wardrobe and reached inside.

With him inside that room it suddenly seemed strange to follow and take up her cloak and mask. He had left her to sleep in his bed. His bed. And now he was rifling through his clothes in the wardrobe in silence as if nothing had ever happened, leaving her to eye the tangle she had made out of his sheets…

"I believe you have left some things," the Red Wizard cut in acerbically now, "Are you going to take them or did you intend to permanently leave your clutter in my way?"

"Well when you put it like that," the Transmuter muttered mutinously, moving straight for her mask and fastening it on tightly, not caring for the mess she made of her hair in the process. Sighing in relief, knowing no more people would look upon her with disgust that night, she pulled on her boots, picked up her cloak and turned to face Edwin.

The Red Wizard was watching her in the gloom as he buttoned up that Archmagi jacket, golden buttons glinting against the dark fabric as he turned. He was frowning, a look which only worsened when she adjusted her mask a little. Shivering under his gaze, she pulled on her cloak and wrapped it around herself, more self-conscious now than she had been when facing Jaheira. It occurred to her that she ought to buy some better dye for her hair…and that she should have lit the candles with a cantrip because she could only half-see his expression from that shadowy end of the room in which he stood. The way his eyes raked over her made her heart pound, her mouth go dry…and then her memories turned back to the dark dungeons and the demon's serrated skin.

"Must you insist upon wearing that mask still?" Edwin groused, adjusting his high collar and stepping to the door was a dramatic sigh. It occurred to her that he had spirited his spellbook away somehow without her noticing.

"You should have told me I wasn't wearing it," Elatharia shot back, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself and slipping past him back into the sitting room, "Jaheira already has enough reasons to hate me as it is."

"Then she should not feel the need to do so over something that you cannot control. She has always sought to muzzle you, and to control your strength of self as if by covering yourself you are improving upon the truth," he said every word as if they tasted sour, locking his bedroom door behind himself and striding past her for his cloak. When he saw her staring at him uncertainly his eyes flashed and he stopped in front of her, gesturing expansively, "What?" he demanded.

"It _is_ an improvement," Elatharia denied.

"Trust me, it is _not_ ," the Red Wizard told her fiercely, "Fear is as potent a tool as true power at times. If cowards and the likes of the _druid_ cower then…"

The Transmuter was just recoiling backwards in surprise at his tone when Viconia appeared in the doorway to the stairs, her armour freshly cleaned and her hammer gleaming at her hip. The drow arched an eyebrow at the sight of the two wizards; one white-faced and gaping, the other hot-eyed and glaring.

"I believe it is time to meet the others at Gaelan Bayle's house," the Sharan priestess sounded amused, "And we are all _desperate_ to go to help some poor fool in the sewers. I take it you are coming with us to this most healthy and reputable of places?" Her mocking tone, so full of suggestion, just drew a haughty nod from Edwin who moved passed her for his cloak and headed away down the stairs.

"Viconia," Elatharia warned a little desperately when the drow's smile spread wide upon the Red Wizard's exit.

"What happened in the basement, _khal'abbil_?" Viconia asked a little too knowingly, "And why do I get the sense that you are squandering this most fortuitous of reunions? He treats you just as he did before he left."

"He is a _Thayvian_ , Viconia. It is the closest thing we have to _drow_ up here on the surface. He treats me like that because he thinks he can _gain_ something," the Transmuter snapped, which only made the priestess laugh as Elatharia made as quick an exit as she could.

* * *

Something had changed. The anti-magic wards had stopped humming and no one had brought her first meal of the day. There had been a distant commotion the night before but she had thought nothing of it. Such things were not uncommon in this place of madmen. But that had never stopped her food being brought to her, mostly untouched though she always left it, and certainly the wards would never have been permitted to go out.

He had taken action at last. She knew it. And here she sat in her little cell, with just a bedroll for company on the cold stone floor and every day scored into the walls, waiting dutifully for her meal. Now she knew for certain that really all she had been waiting for was for _him_ to show the wizards what a mistake they had made, and how they should have run when they had the chance.

Running footsteps along the corridor outside her door had her scrambling to her feet, but no one came barging in. She recognised the insane gnome's voice screaming something about maintaining his dominion over the kitchen now that it was free for them all.

"They'll starve us out," Imoen whispered to herself as she crept upon cloth-slippers to the door, her pulse fluttering and her lungs tight. There was a gentle fizzing growing in her hands, a nauseous twist in her stomach, "Now he's killed all the Cowls they'll lock us down and starve us all."

It would be a mercy.

The door groaned open with little effort, unlocked and unwarded. She heard more running footsteps further off, in the direction of the dining hall and the kitchen beyond. Others going to join the crazed gnome and eat them all to their deaths. But she had to know; she had to see, though it felt as if it might be wiser to go with the others and seek her last meal. Though she could not remember the last time she had willingly eaten anything. Starvation.

It would be a mercy.

Every corridor in this place looked the same, winding into each other to stop any of the sane magic 'abusers' from being able to keep their bearings when blindfolded and taken for tests and interrogations. All grey stone and evenly spaced white-warded wooden doors. Behind some; sleep. Behind others; endless questions and tests. The first time they had taken her there, to those men hidden deep inside their grey cowls, she had laughed in their faces. She had laughed so hard that she wept. Because nothing they ever did would ever compare and while the days trickled by in these plain grey rooms she could persuade herself that there was nothing and never would be anything else.

Without a blindfold it became clear quickly that what had felt like an elaborate maze of corridors was in fact quite a simple series of passageways. It was not hard to make her way to the Grand Chamber, that place with which they had threatened all of the prisoners. The place where the worst of them were taken and locked in cages to await their deaths.

It would have been a mercy.

She was so intent upon the door at the end of the next hall that she did not notice the obstacle in her way until she tripped over it. With a shriek Imoen stumbled, only to slip on the blood of the corpse in her way and crash down onto her hands and knees. Whimpering, feeling the cold, sticky liquid seeping through her thin cloth trousers, she twisted about and looked upon the death-white face of the Cowled Wizard staring past her towards the door at the end of the hall.

At the sight of the blood, her skin crawled and her heart began to race. The liquid was smooth for now as it slid over her palms, between her fingers, cool against her lower legs, but it would become sticky and eventually dry. And though that part of herself which she knew and named _Imoen_ rebelled and she gagged, tears stinging her eyes…that part of her which made her skin creep, twisting inside her as if trying to escape, that part rejoiced and she watched the shining crimson blood trickle from her fingertips and drip to the floor in fascination. Her mouth was dry. And now she was shaking again.

Gasping, Imoen dragged herself to her feet, kicking off her soaked slippers before stumbling to the side, her bloodied hands struggling to find purchase on the wall as she leant there, catching her breath. The door ahead opened only once her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the dancing golden lights impeding her sight. She looked up sharply, seeing the dark room ahead. There was no point running; he would always find her. There was no use crying, no use saying anything or pulling away for a moment once he reached her. He would always find her.

And there would never be any mercy.

He waited beyond, a tall lean silhouette dressed in cloth trousers and with a leather vest over his shirt. The high black walls were lined with the warded cages she remembered and within each one cowered grey-robed men. Her captors, their guards. There was only one other door in this place, a metal vault door, and he stood in front of it, his slender hands clasping the lever in the floor before him, sleeves rolled up and showing arms so scarred that whatever remained could hardly be 'skin'. When she stepped through the entrance he looked up and gestured sharply. The door slammed shut and his pale eyes alighted upon her. His stitched face curled into a slow smile, forcing the dim light to cast deep shadows below his brow.

"Child," he greeted almost gently, "I knew you would find me. And you have arrived just in time."

She recoiled when he approached, turning and rushing for the door purely on instinct. When she pulled on the handle nothing happened, and then his hands closed around her elbows, warm and strong and she screamed in misery and rage for all that had passed. He dragged her back across the room, looming unyieldingly behind her as he forced her fingers around the lever with his own. Tears were falling fast down her cheeks when she felt his cool breath against her ear.

"See what you could reap, Child of Bhaal," he whispered, and forced her to pull the lever.

When the screams of the men died down in their cages she was dizzy with the horror and blinded by the golden light, swaying like a drunkard between the man who had so tormented her and the lever which had done the deed. She did not hear anyone else approach, nor did she see the unknown speaker. A woman, her voice a little rough, well-spoken, haughty.

"This is the one you intend to be my salvation, Brother?"

"Indeed, Sister," Irenicus's voice was loud behind Imoen – he still held her immobile against him, "It should not be long now. I have had little to think of but our plan whilst locked in this place playing my part. As I hope you have played yours."

"As ever," the woman responded disdainfully, as if whatever chores she had to do pained her, "The thieves are already afraid of us and we swell our ranks with their own," she sounded amused, and a little louder. Abruptly two icy fingers closed tightly around Imoen's chin and she gasped impotently, two black dots cutting through the golden light; eyes, somebody's eyes, "And I will lead your sister to this place, child. Now be good for my brother."

Released, Imoen swayed on her feet, still blind and dizzy, wishing she would never wake for whatever it was that was to come.

* * *

"Perhaps we should just bring him as he is," Viconia suggested softly, "So willing, so pliant."

"I doubt his companions would be very happy about that," Elatharia reminded the drow, trying not to smile while Aerie made a little sound of disbelief and Jaheira snarled openly.

"That wizard be coolin' nicely by now," Korgan noted from the arm of a chair nearby where he leaned, wiping blood from his axe. He was largely to blame for that state of affairs after Edwin had destroyed that wizard's protections, Elatharia had paralysed him and Viconia had preordained his doom with Shar's blessing.

"Can you dispel whatever it is that has him so…charmed?" Jaheira demanded, addressing both Aerie and Elatharia.

The latter turned the enchanted stone over in her hands, watching their conjured lights dancing on its sparkling burgundy surface for a thoughtful moment before looking up at the swaying tiefling smiling blankly at the four gathered around him. He was uncommonly handsome, with well-defined – if slightly sharp – regular features, his skin decorated with dark, tapering markings oddly similarly to Edwin's tattoos which rose up from his shoulders and curved around his cheeks. His long hair was a peculiar blue shade which put her in mind of Imoen – though this seemed strange since Jaheira and Viconia had both been adamant that this man was a tiefling. Dressed simply in a thin white shirt tucked into brown trousers, it was obvious that he was lithely muscular – and even swaying there under thrall he moved with uncommon grace.

"I can't – it requires skill with Abjuration. But Aerie can," Elatharia said, the avariel nodding at her side, "The stone has the command phrase to dispel the charm."

"This must be the man who was kidnapped from his home with the Sigil Troupe," Anomen agreed, clanking up to their side in his full, shining plate mail, his mace and shield strapped to his back, "Although, if he is a tiefling as you say then perhaps it would be wrong to unleash him back upon Athkatla."

Edwin sneered and barked an unamused laugh from where he had been leaning on the mantelpiece across the large circular room, reading one of the books from the full bookshelves lining the walls. He had conjured a fire within the hearth and had ignored their attempts to ascertain what to do with the captive man until Korgan had brought them the magical stone in an act of surprising altruism.

"If you think to judge all the world by your creed, then you will die a mass murderer," the Conjurer pointed out, eyeing Anomen with distaste, "Something which you would _claim_ to think…wrong. And besides, every member of the Sigil Troupe is a tiefling, in case you failed to notice."

"I never meant that we should leave him here," Anomen growled in an expected show of frustration, now looking to Elatharia more pleadingly, "And when Aerie and I spoke with them earlier they seemed very…"

"Persuasive?" Edwin did sound amused now, in that way which meant he had caught a fool in his trap and was about to thoroughly enjoy embarrassing them, "They would. Their leader's grandmother was a succubus, I believe."

"I…" Anomen straightened in surprise, blushing violently.

"T-tieflings are not…not like their demonic kin," Aerie explained gently, putting a hand on the cleric's arm until he looked down at her large blue eyes, "They are f-far less likely to be evil than the demon from whom they spring and if…if this one travels with the Sigil Troupe then I d-doubt he is evil."

Elatharia watched the others in silence, feeling their conversation pulling her thoughts back, their words reminding her of something…something she must _not..._ but there it was. The chamber, and the demon with its serrated skin. How it had cut her, _flayed_ her as it…and how Irenicus had watched dispassionately, arms folded and foot tapping. _To teach you humility, Child of Bhaal_. He had told her coolly when she had caught him unaware with an _Aganazzar's Scorcher_ spell, cutting through his magical protections and leaving him with a minor burn the size of a small coin on the back of his hand.

"Wise words," Jaheira was muttering to whatever Aerie had just said, gesturing impatiently at the tiefling, "We should dispel this and leave quickly."

"Especially when we'll be gettin' plenty rewards for this! From the Troupe and the city both – I never thought t' see the day!" Korgan sounded amused.

"Elatharia? The spell," Jaheira repeated from behind her.

Edwin slammed the book in his hands shut with a great burst of dust and Elatharia jolted back to reality with a gasp. She realised she had been staring at the flames crackling in the hearth, having turned about when Anomen and the Red Wizard disagreed. Edwin just raised an eyebrow at her when she glanced at him before turning around, the stone in her hands.

"Hurry. You are wasting time," Jaheira added now, earning a glare but little else from the Transmuter before the latter handed the stone over to Aerie, who began to utter the necessary command phrase.

"Why? Did you have somewhere to be, Harper?" Edwin enquired dismissively as he approached, sharing a long, serious look with Viconia.

Korgan came to join the group from his place at the armchair once Aerie's magic began to rise up around the tiefling. Everyone's hands were on their weapons, unsure of what was to come. The wizard they had killed in this lair had claimed the tiefling was a thief and the stone belonged to him, the lair's owner. Although how he had come to know of this wizard's stone without previously possessing it was something their eventual attacker had failed to explain. Now he lay dead in the next room, having failed also to offer enough proof (and gold) to stop them taking this 'Haer'Dalis' from his custody before Jaheira, Anomen and Aerie could join them in determining what had happened to the tiefling in this library.

Once Aerie had completed the phrase, a gentle blue glow passed momentarily over the tiefling before them and once it had gone he took in a sharp breath, shaking his head from side to side as if to clear it. Taking a more controlled posture than the one he had been in, he looked at them – and the stone held clearly in Aerie's hands – before bursting out laughing.

"Twould seem I got my just desserts," he chuckled in an unexpectedly deep voice, "I take it the chant reached you of my disappearance and my flock offered you a princely sum for my return?" he grinned when Elatharia nodded uncertainly, winking at her conspiratorially, "Truth be told that my Swan would settle for the stone, but you have done this humble Sparrow a great service and I am in your debt. Or at least…my Troupe is. Pray tell – what befell my taskmaster?"

"We killed 'im," Korgan offered bluntly, and the tiefling just nodded in understanding.

"Such comes to us all in time," he agreed merrily, "Now – to whom do I speak? My name is Haer'Dalis, Doomguard and bard…at your service. Tis quite a flock that stands before me," he appraised them all, his eyes lingering over Aerie and then Viconia thoughtfully.

He nodded through the introductions, seeming rather unsurprised by any of it though he stood before a drow, an avariel, a Red Wizard and a self-proclaimed Bhaalspawn.

"Your honesty is refreshing, my Raven," Haer'Dalis admitted softly once Elatharia had finished, "Though perhaps caution against telling the wrong berks may be warranted. The chant in these parts is of fear regarding ones such as yourself though such are only rumours."

"Hmm," Edwin sniffed derisively, "(Does he name everything alive after birds? And to speak in such uncivilised Sigil slang!)"

"I prefer to offer my own enlightenment upon those who make an impression, my Sparrowhawk. Though to hold only to birds can be a little limiting," Haer'Dalis hardly seemed offended, looking back to Elatharia with that same winning smile, "Now, shall I show you where the loot is hid to add to your purses – and in truth to regain my own possessions? Then perhaps we may be away."

* * *

Returning Haer'Dalis to his group had been fairly simple, though negotiating the wretched sewers had been rather hard going. However, leaving the Sigil Troupe had proven much harder once the magical stone they returned had been shown to be a portal key. Sucked into the fighting which ensued between the group which was tracking the actors had left Elatharia's group and Haer'Dalis's companions victorious but had also resulted in injuries – and the decision of the Troupe to leave. When Haer'Dalis offered his services it had been rather difficult to refuse after he had shown himself so capable with his twin enchanted blades and so he had stayed. He had also proven himself at least proficient in a few arcane incantations, though his spells were more limited than most of the other spellcasters.

"I need a drink after that," Korgan grunted when at last he, Anomen and Jaheira had been returned to their previous states of health thanks to a combined use of their healing spells – and Aerie's.

"I second your plan, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis agreed enthusiastically, approaching across the stage to where the dwarf was pulling himself up from his knees, blood still staining his chain armour. Korgan sent him a strange look for the phrasing but shrugged and stomped off.

"Anyone who's with me, we'll be up at the tavern swiggin' the best dwarven ale!" he cried over his shoulder as he and the tiefling made their way down through the rows of seating and up through the door which led to the main hall of the inn.

"I think the theatre agrees with him," Viconia noted dryly, earning a laugh from Elatharia and a giggle from Aerie, who looked at the drow almost bashfully for agreeing with the humour.

"I think we should join them," the avariel added after a moment.

"We have done well today," Anomen agreed, coming to her side. She blushed a little when he smiled down at her, looking away quickly and heading off for the bar before he noticed. He followed, regardless.

"You should return to Gaelan Bayle's house with the wealth we have gained tonight," Jaheira informed, watching Aerie and Anomen go with shrewd eyes before turning to where Elatharia was sitting on the edge of the stage rifling through the bag of holding in question, "I for one am going to return to that place and check on Minsc before bed," she came to stand in front of the edge of the stage where the Transmuter sat, looking up with reproachful eyes, "He was inconsolable when he heard that you had taken in the Thayvian again. Did you not know that Irenicus took Edwin's shape when he…when Dynaheir…"

"I wasn't there," Elatharia answered absently, staring down at the gold and gems arrayed in the bag rather than look up at the druid. She had felt a little dazed ever since Anomen's distrust of tieflings brought up the topic of demons, "I wonder how he knew about Edwin's mission to kill her, though."

"And here I was thinking Divination was a pointless school," Edwin noted from somewhere behind her on the stage. The wizard-based joke made her laugh momentarily, to Jaheira's horror, and then all of a sudden her throat tightened and she bit back tears. She had definitely had enough of this endless nostalgia for the past.

"You…both of you…" Jaheira looked genuinely taken aback, looking between the two wizards before throwing up her hands in disbelief, "How can you joke of such things?" she spared a moment to look towards Viconia who was perusing the scene of distant mountains painted across the back of the stage, before turning back to Elatharia with a sigh, "Sometimes I utterly despair of you, Elatharia. You should think of Gorion more often and remember his lessons of kindness and humility."

 _Humility. Do you know why I have summoned him to you, Child of Bhaal? It is to teach to you humility in the face of those who are stronger than you._

The words cut deeper than they should have, spoken by the druid in a surprisingly kind tone of voice, but the memory of Irenicus proved too much and Elatharia sneered lest she weep, tossing the bag of holding at the druid.

"You take it, Harpy," she suggested bitterly, "I intend to join the others."

Jaheira snatched the bag from the air and turned around sharply, leaving the theatre without another word or even an angry look over her shoulder. The Transmuter knew that the druid would have misunderstood the situation but there was no way she could solve it. Sighing, she pulled off her mask and rubbed her face, running her fingertips over the markings across her cheekbones as she thought of all that had happened that day. She was weary in spite of her nap from noon until evening. They had fought a great deal and she was utterly devoid of spells except for those few cantrips which were ingrained in her memory.

Not listening to the quiet conversation Edwin and Viconia were having nearby – from the Red Wizard's acerbic tone it must have been something fairly mundane – Elatharia reached into her personal bag of holding for her spellbook. Feeling the spine of a tome under her fingers she pulled out the object and opened it without thinking. Looking down, her heart jolted when she realised she had extracted her journal by mistake; the two books had been bound and gifted to her at the same time by Gorion and were consequently quite hard to tell apart by touch alone. She had been keeping up the habit and writing every day but had not once looked back for fear of what she would see. And now she saw Imoen's small, flowing script filling the pages before her. When had this happened? Imoen had been the one to bring both of their spellbooks and the journal, but she had assumed her sister had found them, not that she had somehow had the time to write in it and to know the date!

 _22_ _nd_ _Mirtul, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _Hello, Elatharia. I've decided to start writing in here because I don't think I will ever be able to talk to you out loud about what's happening to us – but I think that I'll go mad if I don't tell someone. Sometimes I get a glimpse of his journal, and if the date he uses is real then we've been here for over three tendays now…_

A hand settling upon her shoulder had Elatharia jumping sharply and she slammed the journal shut just as abruptly. Looking up, her thoughts spinning, she saw Viconia looking down at her with a measured look.

" _Khal'abbil_. We must speak of something that happened today."

"In the cellar? Viconia…"

"No, not of that," the drow denied quickly, offering a hand to help her back up to stand on the decking but Elatharia sighed, pushing herself off the edge and landing on her feet in front of the seating instead.

Edwin was standing a short distance away from the priestess, arms folded and frown deep while he watched their interaction with a look of distaste. When Elatharia moved off the decking, he gestured up at the ceiling and began to follow.

"I do not believe there is any conversation that we can have up there with some much needed wine that will get the attention of our simian companions while they drink and fornicate," he sounded surprisingly wistful.

"When was the last time you two agreed to have a conversation with me civilly – at the same time – about anything?" Elatharia asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at both of them as the drow descended the steps of the decking onto the walkway. Edwin gave her an impatient look, his hand closing around her elbow and guiding her up the step to join them, the smooth black fabric of his Archmagi robe brushing against her bare arm as she moved past him.

"More times than you might expect," Viconia shrugged, then leaned closer to add in a stage-whisper much like the Red Wizard's too-audible mutterings, "But do not tell the Red Wizard – I doubt he would wish to admit that he is capable of something so ordinary…or helpful."

A smile found its way to Elatharia's lips when she looked up to Edwin's face and saw his scandalised glower following the drow as she made her exit up the stairs to the tavern. When he sensed her watching he looked down slowly; only then did she realise how his hand still lingered lightly at her elbow. This close she could smell the incense and the lingering remnants of herbal tea – their sojourn through the sewers had been rebuffed by a few journeyman cantrips.

"Mae'Var defeated, the tiefling freed from a wizard's lair," she gestured at her personal bag of holding which now held a large number of the scrolls and used spellbooks taken from the mage they had slain, "And Planar travellers run from the city. Does this mean you're staying with us?" the real question was lingering between them unspoken – _why have you not gone back to Thay?_

"With Dynaheir dead at last and you now ruling over the Guild House do I have any way of escaping you?"

She did not point out that the death of Dynaheir actually had no bearing whatsoever on whether he stayed with her – unless he actively _wanted_ to and all that had been stopping him was the Wychlaran. Instead she just watched him for a moment, how his eyes searched her face without even realising it, the tattoos curling at the base of his neck, twisting away beneath his golden necklace with its red jewel, down behind the collar of his black jacket and shirt. Only when his hand shifted slightly on her elbow did she realise what they had been doing, lingering so close to each other and staring. Had he missed her too, then?

"We should go to join Viconia," Elatharia muttered, pulling back when he did and refastening her mask as she turned away.


	6. Temptations, Bargains and Lies

**A warning for some suggestive and disturbing references in this chapter (most specifically the paragraph that begins with Elatharia falling asleep and dropping her book).  
Many thanks for the reviews! Let me know what you think of this installment. ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Temptations, Bargains and Lies**

* * *

The tavern had soon proven too loud and smoke-filled, at least for anyone less drunk than Korgan and the many rowdy patrons who had gathered around Haer'Dalis while he played his lute; so Elatharia, Edwin and Viconia had bought a bottle of wine, borrowed some glasses and headed to the waterside terrace just outside. Before this, the tiefling had been speaking intently with Aerie before and had begun to offer her the occasional smile whilst playing some cheerful tune. Viconia had muttered something about whether or not the avariel would catch onto the tiefling's intent and if Anomen would ever stop shooting looks towards where Elatharia was sitting – and then abruptly Edwin had suggested they leave the tavern.

Though the two companions had said that they needed to talk to her about something – and it must have been something too secretive and nefarious for the ears of the likes of Aerie or Jaheira – they did not seem in a hurry to discuss it with her. Instead the three of them watched the river, drinking from their wine glasses on the wooden terrace of the Bridge District which spanned the water. To their left across one bank stood the city walls and to their right the rest of the night-quiet district arcing its way towards the city proper. Small boats were moored at the docking points on the level of the terrace below them, bobbing gentle in the faintly shimmering black water.

Edwin had gone to lean against the railing a few paces away, flicking through one of the books he and Elatharia had taken from the wizard's lair, twirling his half-empty wine glass in one hand and reading under the illumination of conjured light. The Transmuter found herself watching him thoughtfully, recalling meeting him in Nashkel and her many arguments with him and Dynaheir ever after. She remembered waking from her Bhaal-induced nightmares to see him watching her across the fire…and how when she had become trapped in the Cloakwood Mines it had been him and Imoen who found her with Yeslick, not Jaheira or Dynaheir. How he had aided them in killing the Red Wizards near Beregost and how his body had felt against hers when they hid from the Flaming Fist in Baldur's Gate. And again when he had demanded she kill Dynaheir in the Friendly Arm. Before abandoning her.

She had hidden her sadness and disappointment at the loss of him the next day when they moved on to Candlekeep and only Imoen had acknowledged that anything might be wrong, linking their arms and talking to her of everyone they would greet when they returned home. Then they had been captured and almost killed by the doppelgangers who waited within, and there had been no more time to think of Edwin. There had just been an empty space where once someone might have pointed out how she could cast a spell to create more power or demanded that she was not the best wizard in the party. Now, seeing his long fingers flicking through the book's pages, Elatharia's thoughts span to Imoen's diary entries again and she both longed and feared to read through that section of her journal. At least her sister had found a way of recording her torments rather than keeping them hidden.

"Some of the company you keep is counterproductive to the goals you aim for," Viconia said at last from the Transmuter's side on one of the benches arrayed along the riverside terrace.

"Is this all that you wish to speak to me of?" Elatharia demanded, half-relieved and half-annoyed.

Edwin shot her a look from the railing, closing his book slowly.

"In case you did not hear what the druid said earlier, your imbecile of a ranger believes that he saw me killing his Wychlaran whore."

"And you wouldn't have?"

"I _didn't_ ," Edwin snarled, curling his hands in annoyance in her direction. She laughed.

"Regardless, it seems unwise to bring Minsc into contact with Edwin, unless you intend to kill one of them," Viconia continued, her eyebrows raising as she watched the wizards, a little smile appearing, "Much as it is quite foolish to allow Jaheira to undermine your every move…"

"And to let Aerie or Anomen come with us to most of our city ventures, I know," Elatharia sighed, waving the words away, "If it was entirely up to me it would be just us, Yoshimo, Korgan, Jan and maybe Haer'Dalis," she admitted, "But it's not. The others have to stay because we need all the help we can get – and even if we don't all agree on life, these ventures are for Imoen and not for my peace of mind."

"Well, when one of us dies at the most inopportune moment thanks to your recklessness let it be on your head, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia told her firmly; the Transmuter just shrugged.

Elatharia did not see a choice, really. If she told Jaheira or Minsc or any of the others that they would no longer be welcome with her they would just follow her around the city until she had to take them back. Leaning back on the bench with a long sigh and a shake of her head, the drow seemed to recognise that this argument would be pointless.

"I don't trust him," Edwin put in sharply now.

"No one trusts you either, Red Wizard," Viconia pointed out softly, earning a distracted glare.

"Who? Haer'Dalis?" Elatharia asked, elbowing the drow.

"No. He is a Doomguard – they are unpredictable regarding how much they may be willing to die on any given day, but terribly predictable regarding loyalty." He paused. Elatharia recognised the hesitation in his voice but Viconia did not and stood with a stretch, leaving them the wine bottle rather pointedly.

"Well, if that is all the Red Wizard has to say of trust, I believe I would rather be sitting inside watching the Helmite fail to recognise the avariel's adoring gaze," the priestess informed them, and began to stroll away back up the terrace to the Five Flagons Inn.

"I speak of Yoshimo, this bounty hunter you have left so callously in charge of our hard won Guild House," Edwin elaborated once the drow had vanished into the night.

"Empty words, blank eyes," Elatharia agreed thoughtfully as the Thayvian approached at last, sitting beside her as she continued to watch the boats bobbing in the river.

Few lights were lit in the houses along the bridge and it was dark out here away from the glow streaming from the Five Flagons Inn. She felt the wizard's presence at her side as an ache on her skin, a dark shadow lingering at the corner of perceptions. She heard him pour the wine, his fingertips on hers to suggest she have some more. Swallowing nervously, she nodded reflexively and his touch lingered while he poured for her too. Needless to say that once he let go she took a hearty swallow of the alcohol, the sudden truth of his return making her as dizzy as she hoped the wine would. Ah to have something other than the fear of her nightmares to think of before bed!

"I would have thought from the way that you left him at the Guild House and how I hear from the drow that you keep him at your side that you _do_ trust him, Bhaalspawn. (One could almost believe that she is as much a simian as the others.)"

"Don't call me that!"

"A simian?" he sounded like he was smiling but there was something in his voice, low and thoughtful, that put her in mind of the way he had looked at her in the cellar after they had killed Mae'Var and she did _not_ want to look at him.

"No, Edwin," Elatharia sighed, downing the rest of her wine. She caught his eyes still lingering on her throat as she turned sharply to look at him now, if only to prove that she could do so without fear, "Don't call me a Bhaalspawn."

"Out here in the open?" his eyes were glinting in his conjured light as he leaned closer, his voice a whisper in her ear that made her go rigid, his lips so close that her skin tingled in expectation of touch, "Because that would be a valid reason," he moved back an inch, watching her from a distance that was neither close enough nor far enough, "But to deny it because you are afraid is foolish and childish."

"It's why Irenicus captured me!" she blurted, shoving at his chest uselessly, "Don't call me that! Don't talk like him!"

He frowned at the break in her voice, catching her chin in his hand.

"Did he come that close to you? Did he rape you?" his voice was harsh now, his blatant wording taking the fight out of the Transmuter. How had he known to ask that just from one moment of panic?

"No," she denied in a high voice, eyes wide.

"But he let someone else do it?"

She did not answer, shaking where she sat on the bench, not sure of the Red Wizard's intent. But once he saw the reality in her eyes, at least a little piece of it, he sat back with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, finishing his wine and staring out at nothing.

"Well, as if you needed any more reasons to kill him," he agreed softly, "Such wasteful torments are the choices of madmen and fools. Both of which he assuredly is."

"It was worse than that," she whispered, dispelling his conjured light and plunging them into darkness, "Just one of the torments he made for me. But it was…worse than what you are thinking. I can't…I can't say. I won't tell you."

"It may one day be necessary," the Red Wizard warned her. And the silence stretched.

"Edwin?" His arm was warm against hers, moving as he breathed; in the darkness it was easy to put a hand against his arm and lean closer to speak. She wanted to weep for how alive he felt.

"What?" he managed to maintain something of his usual annoyance, though faltered a little as her hand moved to fiddle with one of the golden buttons of the Archmagi jacket. There was no way he could see her in this low light; she could only just make out his shape beside her.

"Why are you travelling with us again?" she asked and he turned to look at her all the same. An inch, no less, and she could do what had not been finished in the Friendly Arm. She got the impression that he was waiting for something more to be said, so she continued, "It has been so long since you travelled with me. You could have moved on, gone back to Thay. But you came with us through the sewers today and you're…" _Here drinking wine with me in the dark and treating me as you did before, just like Viconia said._ It seemed they had their confrontation at the Friendly Arm as the final encounter from which to calibrate everything thereafter. It was as if they had remained trapped in that frustrated state of _almost_. Only now there was that great, shrieking panic in her that told her never to dare.

"(It is as if she is fishing for compliments, or too stupid to understand). Was I actually alone in the Friendly Arm that night?" he asked her ferociously. _His body against hers, his hand on her hip, his eyes on her mouth, fingers on her skin, his lips parting, eyes black with lust…_

"…Edwin…" her grip tightened on his arm, her heart pounding. He was hard to deny.

"Perhaps I linger because I did not want to leave. Perhaps there have been fewer choices on this path than you think. Perhaps the power in you and following you is too great to pass up."

"Thay won't have you back, will they?" Elatharia realised softly, lowering her head to his shoulder because the darkness made this so much easier. He grunted and made no move to put an arm around her but she stayed in that attitude all the same, "Dynaheir was the last straw. Your last chance. And you didn't kill her…because I wouldn't let you. Now you're here because this is the only place that will put up with your nefarious ways and will protect you at the same time. What did you do, Edwin? What drove you from Thay?"

"Be content that we have this in common, incompetent Transmuter," he muttered, his voice vibrating through her and making her smile in spite of everything, "That we are both unable to go home."

That had her thinking of the reasons for all of this, of Bhaal and the golden light.

"It _was_ glorious, wasn't it?" she did not need to tell him of what she referred; the inferno they had created in the cellar should not have been possible by rights. She tugged at one of the buttons on the jacket again, "Is it because of that? That you stay? Because of the power you saw? That you will stay." _And not really because of me at all._

"That power was both of us, egotistical creature. Perhaps more me than you (as if she could compete with me in such matters). If you are attempting to disassemble what happened in such a childish manner then perhaps I will suggest that you should sit up, child that you are proving yourself to be. Power is seductive because it is beautiful and addictive. You claim to be a wizard – you should know this, in spite of your School. Anything you saw today was as it should be; it was the essence in you that drove you to delirium. Until that point I was as you were. Seduced. The quest for more is the reason why we are wizards, is it not?"

Elatharia could not let a silence descend after that. He was a Red Wizard, and she would have expected nothing else. He was too warm against her, breathing steadily with his heart beating beneath her ear. Her voice should have been incredulous but it sounded breathy to her as she put her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up to find the glint of his eyes.

"A day in my company and you speak to me like that?"

"Would you have me lie?"

"No," she admitted as his hands slid to her waist.

How clear could someone be about wanting her? Or at least…the promise of power that dogged her steps. She could almost feel the touch of his lips against hers. She could almost accept it and she certainly wanted it...but…

"It's not that simple," she told him instead, "I am not as I was. It will take…more…time."

And really, what was she doing? Sex and seduction were just a game in Thay, were they not? Exile though he may be he was still a Red Wizard. She would be mad to expect anything more than his short temper and flashes of desire. This would not linger. He would move on. Perhaps to Viconia, whose greater beauty ought to have been more important to one of his fleeting, selfish desires.

But all he said was:

"Yes." And for all the world it sounded like he meant it, there in the darkness when he could not see her face.

Only then did she realise that Viconia had claimed to want to speak to her of something that had happened during the day…and that the drow had not, after all.

* * *

"Some passions burn brightly and pass in an instant – others linger as embers, in need of a breath to light them."

Viconia jumped to hear Haer'Dalis's voice close by her side where she leaned on the corner of the Five Flagon's Inn; it was not easy to sneak up on her, trained for a hundred years in the Underdark as she had been. It had swiftly become clear to her whilst with the wizards that Elatharia was anything but ready for the conversation they needed to have. If only the Transmuter realised how much she and the drow had in common it would have made it easier.

Upon leaving the scene she had been curious to see what the two wizards did when she left them. So Viconia had taken up her position out of sight by the inn and watched; she had seen them as clearly in the darkness as their feeble surfacer eyes might have observed the world in daylight. They evidently had not realised once the conjured light went out just how close they had come to each other, or somehow believed that the darkness served as a barrier of denial between them.

"I watched them for months before we came to Athkatla, tiefling," Viconia pointed out coldly, eyeing the bard as he came to join her carrying two cups of wine. She glanced disdainfully at him as he offered one to her, waving her empty glass between them, "They will always be this way. Especially now."

Haer'Dalis did not ask for clarification, just smiled and held her gaze as he took a sip from one of the mugs, running his tongue along his bottom lip where some of the liquid lingered to prove to her that he had really tasted it before offering the cup to her again. A little begrudgingly the drow took the cup and did the same; it was almost as if he knew that this was a drow custom to prove allegiance. She had a spell prepared to neutralise poison all the same, but he did not need to know that.

"What do you want of me, impudent male?" she demanded when he just continued to look at her with that little smile and those too-amused eyes. There was an honest mirth, a sparkle of interest in them that she really did not trust.

"Must I want something, beautiful Blackbird?" he asked too innocently.

"You say that to this wretched darthiir visage?" the priestess sneered, watching the road behind him now, suddenly suspicious. He may not be a surfacer of the Prime Material, but that hardly made him a creature of any society she could understand.

"I should like to see the truth of you, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her, bracing one arm against the one that held the cup and crossing his feet. It was almost as if he knew she needed him off-balance for this conversation to continue, "The berks of this city are hardly to be commended for their heartless rejection of a truth which must be surely more beautiful to behold for its honesty. Life is too short to be endured; it must be lived, do you not agree?"

"Of course not, fool," Viconia had never heard such hopeless drivel, "There is no difference in these concepts – and those who complain of their lot are both weak and undeserving of anything better. Have you nothing better to do than spout this nonsense to me? Is there not a tavern full of drunken fools awaiting your fanciful lute-playing?" she gestured back at the open doorway from which poured the painfully bright firelight along with the chatter and loud laughter of progressively more drunken patrons.

"I play only for those who can enjoy my talents, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis _still_ sounded amused, "I believe their drunken revelry has gone beyond such."

"Even the avariel?"

"Ah, I believe she sees only the paladin. A waste of a beautiful Dove if I were to be asked, indeed," his phrasing seemed pointed; he was not allowing her to tell him that she had not asked.

"He is not a paladin. You must be a great fool if you cannot tell the difference; as a tiefling should you not sense his aura if he were a paladin, male?"

"His heart is the same. A Peacock then. His show has caught her lovely eyes for now all the same," the tiefling seemed disinterested, still looking at the disguised drow though she had hoped her show of disdain would force him away, "And to confuse us all the War Dog of a dwarf has drunken eyes only for the other little paladin who was eating alone tonight. A pretty, Tiny Hawk with an aura made of sharpened pine needles," he grinned, "Needless to say…I avoided her, my Blackbird."

Before she could give him the satisfaction of success she twisted her almost-smile into a sneer. There was something interesting about someone who could, whether by instinct or not, recognise that someone so apparently small and harmless as Mazzy Fentan was one of the greatest fighters of the group's acquaintance. So far no surface male had come to the truthful conclusion; perhaps there was something to be said of Sigil, Haer'Dalis's home.

"You know I believe we have a little more in common than you may believe, my Blackbird," the tiefling uttered as if reading her thoughts, "Though my home lingers in the junction of the Planes floating in the open air and yours is here on this heavy Prime Material beneath the ground, Sigil has no sky and its berks are without the…polarity of these people of the surface here."

"My homeland is as full of absolutes as the surface, fool," Viconia spat, the idea of idolising Menzoberranzan as abhorrent as staying amongst the hateful surfacers forever.

"Then perhaps you would like Sigil?" the tiefling was incorrigible, leaning closer to tap his cup to hers with a wink, "Although perhaps the men there are too wilful for you. The women too, I might add. We are without prejudice in the Lady of Pain's city. Although…you would have to forego your goddess whilst there, lest risk our Lady's wrath."

"That sounds more like Menzoberranzan," Viconia muttered, suddenly finding that drinking the wine might be a good idea.

"Hmm. Yes," the tiefling's ebon gaze drifted to the side now, the multiple rings in his pointed ears glinting in the firelight behind him, "But all things change over time and I should wonder what will become of our cities," for a moment he seemed to drift off into more distant thoughts, still with that crooked smile – until his gaze sharpened and he stood suddenly, "Aha! Our errant leader returns to us! Where and wherefore goes your Red Wizard, my Raven?" the tiefling called. Viconia realised that his eyesight must have been as good as hers in the darkness, though the red hint of infravision did not show in his ebon irises.

"He went back to the Guild House…and wherefore?" Elatharia stopped by Viconia's side, holding the wine bottle loosely between her fingertips, frowning behind that mask of hers, "How should I know?" she sent a distrustful glance towards tiefling and drow both before meandering back through the inn's doors.

For his part, Haer'Dalis laughed heartily.

"She was not taken in by my ruse! Where and wherefore! Where and why!"

The Transmuter just raised the bottle in recognition of his words, lost to her dark thoughts by this time of night as Viconia knew all too well. Once the wizard had passed out of earshot Haer'Dalis turned back to the drow with a thoughtful look on his face, glancing down at his wine before watching her from beneath his brows.

"When do you think they will accept love, my Blackbird?" he asked softly.

The very question made the priestess want to gag and for a long moment she just stared at him in disgust. And still he kept his smile. Part of her wanted to hit him and the rest wanted to drag him to her bed. The only thing that stopped either response was the knowledge that he wanted her to react in one, either and both of those ways.

"Love, like trust, is for the foolish," Viconia denied eventually, "And for the dead."

"Oh, well," the tiefling pouted a little at that but, Shar damn him, his eyes _sparkled_ , "But we all die in the end. And even the wisest person will do something foolish eventually – else their own control belies their own foolishness."

"Such thoughts are weak, male," the drow sighed.

"Are they not only weak when the possessor is weak to begin with?"

"By Shar, fool, buy me more wine before I persuade the dwarf to cut your head from your shoulders!"

"With pleasure, my Blackbird," he grinned, bowing low and offering an arm to her which she ignored, "Will you not dance with me and add to the wondrous ever-growing entropy of this world?"

* * *

Elatharia was cursed with an alcohol tolerance that rivalled Korgan's. And – unlike the dwarf – she had not drunk innumerable flagons of Dwarven Ale. Still, a gentle detachedness had ruled her body and mind as she returned to the inn to see Haer'Dalis with Viconia at the doors. They had followed her inside, the drow joining her at the table they had sat at before while the tiefling went to Aerie, who was swaying from a few glasses of the weakest cider, and asked her to dance. She had blushed and agreed just as quickly, leaving Anomen's side with only a brief, shy glance at the priest who proceeded to watch the folk-dancing which the tiefling began with confusion and a little horror.

Regardless, the clapping and stamping soon had nearly the whole tavern joining in. Aerie was wide eyed and laughing by the end when Haer'Dalis caught her about the waist, pressing her to him a little shamelessly before kissing her hands with a reverence that had Viconia grumbling viciously.

For his part Korgan had, in his drunken stupor, seen Mazzy eating innocently at the single table by the stairs and gone to slur his attempts at niceties and muddled sexual harassments at her. She had endured it with a polite bafflement until he fell asleep leaning against the newel post – and then the halfling paladin had calmly finished her ale and sent Elatharia a slightly reproachful nod before slipping upstairs. After they had freed her from the Umar Hills the halfling had promised her aid to the group but had also needed a little time before returning to adventuring ways.

Left alone at his table, Anomen's attention had swiftly turned to Elatharia and she watched him cross the room towards her and Viconia with mounting dread. The drow seemed both sickened and disturbingly fascinated by the way Haer'Dalis was twirling Aerie around the tavern floor to the shouts and cheers of various patrons.

"My lady," the Helmite's rich, polite tones seemed too well-suited to cutting audibly through the clamour of the rowdy tavern. Watching him as he sat opposite her, Elatharia noted that he had a crooked grin that could rival Haer'Dalis's, "Have you given any thought to our next venture?"

"More than you, I'd imagine," Elatharia sighed.

Anomen frowned at that, glancing at Viconia as if she might back him up.

"I know I am young – though older than you, I believe, Elatharia – and that I have not travelled so widely as you but I am willing to help," he insisted in a wounded tone, "Were it not for the kindnesses of your friends Aerie and Jaheira I would believe myself unwelcome."

"Perhaps you are," Viconia suggested haughtily, frowning now as she returned her attention to the dancing.

Elatharia just shrugged, leaning forward with her cup though getting closer to the Helmite made her feel rather uncomfortable. He watched her with close interest, his smile recurring tentatively.

"In truth, Anomen, I don't care how worthy you are so long as you help us get to Imoen. And then if we need help after that, and she wants you to stay, then you can. Trust me, you'll like her better than you like me. And I won't blame you."

"Very well," he did not sound convinced, but at least she had not told him to leave, "Would you tell me a little of your sister? You seem to love her well."

"My one good trait," Elatharia agreed, raising her wine glass in salute. The alcohol had perhaps had more of an effect on her than she had thought, "She is kind and beautiful. Maybe a little too mischievous for you. An aasimar with pink hair and silver-blue eyes," she pretended to put a hint of bardic dramatics into her words but her attempts just made Viconia snigger, "Unlike yours truly."

She downed her wine. Her head _was_ swimming. And in the back of her thoughts the knives were ringing and she could not forget the little hurried spirals of Imoen's writing in her journal.

"She is not related to you?" Did Anomen sound a little shocked?

"Not a bit. In case you had forgotten, my father was Bhaal and my mother was…well, I don't know. Imoen is, as far as I know, not related to either of them. But we are both orphans, brought up as sisters in Candlekeep. She's even used to this," she pointed at her mask and the markings beneath.

"Well…if I may ask…why is it that you wear that mask? The tiefling's marks do not appear to disadvantage him." A glance at Aerie and Haer'Dalis. A hint of…jealousy? "Surely a scar could not be worse?"

"An accident," Elatharia dismissed with a wave of her hand. If her birth could be considered an accident.

Anything more that might have been said between them was stopped by the whooping arrival of Haer'Dalis, who swung onto the seat by Viconia with Aerie close by his side. It did not escape Elatharia's notice how the avariel turned to Anomen, still smiling from her exertion…but the Helmite could not manage the same crooked smile he had given the Transmuter before. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis was leaning over to say something to Viconia who rather surprisingly did not move away.

Had she not been so drunk and so distracted, Elatharia might have remembered to store this information for the future. It had been a long and confusing day, full of battle and death and struggles against the maddening pull she felt towards the Red Wizard who had just come back into her life. Perhaps things would be easier after a night of rest. It was hard to imagine barely twenty hours had passed since she met him again that morning – and there they had been on the bench in the dark, her hands on his shoulders and his at her waist; her rebuffing him and him fierce and willing right in front of her. There had been few words between them after that; he had taken some of the books they had collected and teleported out of her senses with the recommendation that they reconvene at the Guild House once she had slept properly.

The revelry in the tavern rather passed Elatharia by after that. On their way out they decided to leave Korgan; the dwarf lived in a tiny room close by the Copper Coronet not far from their own dwellings but was too heavy and drunk to move without either great effort or the risk of losing a limb.

It was well after midnight when the group got back to Gaelan Bayle's house; Aerie with her arm linked through Elatharia's and both swaying a little drunkenly, Haer'Dalis and Viconia lingering behind them. It was not clear to what extent the drow welcomed the tiefling's company but he seemed determined to speak to her and had nowhere else to live now that his Troupe had gone. They were stuck with each other. As for Anomen, he had left them with bows and a kiss on Aerie's hand outside the tavern, making his way home to the Government District.

Utterly spent and rather a little too inebriated for conversation, the Transmuter and the avariel had stumbled up to bed without a word to the others. Elatharia was not so much _drunk_ as weary and had retreated to one of the empty bedrooms, locking the door behind her and assuring Aerie beforehand that all was well; she just wanted to write in her journal and memorise some spells before bed. In truth she had intended to read through some of Imoen's journal entry to assuage some of the aching fear and curiosity it had elicited in her. But for all her trying she had fallen asleep there in that dark, empty room with its three other empty beds.

After waking up once when she dropped the journal on the floor she had entered a deep but fitful sleep and the dreams that had taken her were all too real. She was no longer in Athkatla but back in her room in the Friendly Arm with Edwin. Only in this reality, she had agreed to do as he willed to Dynaheir and he had taken that precious step forward, kissing her urgently until they were pulling at each other's clothes and stumbling to the bed. And then she was naked beneath him, his lips at her throat, moving over skin. Eventually when she was almost mad with need, golden light blinding her, his clothes were gone too and he was kissing her again, long and slow and deep, his body moving with hers until all thoughts were gone and those movements became more urgent. Her hands dug into his hips as she arched beneath him, crying out and revelling in the feeling of this person, warm and real, his skin smooth and familiar. Only…when she opened her eyes he was gone and in his place was a monster with red, serrated skin sharp as the sharpest knives.

And it was still moving.

 _This is to teach you humility. And you will learn._

Elatharia awoke with a scream, falling from her bed retching and shaking, drenched in sweat with tears leaking unbidden from her eyes. She barely managed to crawl to the chamber pot at the end of the bed before being violently sick. Once that was done she lay on the floor and wept. When at last her tears dried she dragged herself to her feet though her whole body shook, pulling on the robe of Vecna over her nightdress before snatching some of the standard issue cloth slippers from the cupboard because most of her things were in the room she shared with Aerie and Viconia.

It was not yet dawn, although not far off, and so there was still some difficulty in traversing the corridors of the dark building. She stopped off briefly in the kitchen for water to wash away the acidic taste in her mouth before stumbling from the utterly silent, still house out of the back door and into the gloomy street beyond. The wind was cool but gentle, bringing with it the typical bad smells of the cabbages and turnips from the Jansen residence, drowning out the equally terrible odours of the Slums. A few of the windows of the buildings across the street were open, washing hanging out; otherwise there were few sounds but for the occasional trills of early waking birds. The empty sky was deep blue, heralding the slow rise of the sun, though there were still a few stars to be seen.

Rubbing her arms against the cold, Elatharia stepped into the street and began to walk, trying to keep her mind blank – or at least to find something other than her nightmare to think about. She had not walked far when she heard a quiet scuffing. Armed with just a few cantrips and a belt knife, she realised she was hardly a threat to anyone but the sound was coming from just around the corner and it hardly sounded _terribly_ dangerous. So, trying her best to stay quiet, Elatharia crept around the corner and down the next alley, a path which opened onto a small yard accessible by a number of shops' back doors. As soon as her eyes alighted on what was going on, she regretted coming this way.

A man dressed in the black and silver of the Shadow Thieves was struggling in vain against the hold a woman had on his throat. The word 'woman' was a loose term to describe the manner of creature that held him so tightly. Though female in form, if rather skeletal in build, wearing a thin blue dress clasped at the shoulders, her skin was icy white, two long fangs protruding down over her lower lip in the place of canines. There was a feral twist to her bony face, framed by a mass of black curls, and her slit-pupils were looked straight over the man's shoulder and at Elatharia. Her irises were too large and glowed gold-limned green.

"Elatharia," a throaty female voice greeted her gently, and when the Transmuter twisted about with a gasp she saw another pale woman standing behind her, only this one did not appear to have fangs and her figure was less starved. Dressed in a long black leather tunic split at the hips, a large and ornate silver necklace glinting at her low neckline, she was tall and graceful though her face was broad and a little coarse, fairly short black hair pulled back into a tight braid. She was smiling kindly all the same, eyes a strikingly pale grey in the dim light. Tight mithral leggings glinted into visibility as she walked around Elatharia, gesturing for calm.

"Who are you?" the Transmuter snarled, attempting to look a lot more battle-ready than she felt.

"Friends if you will have us," the new woman promised gently, gesturing with her palm out to the fanged woman in a manner that suggested patience. The creature had the Shadow Thief's head wrenched to one side now, fangs poised at his jugular. His eyes were wide and rolling with panic.

"Friends? In what way? I believe that man is a member of an organisation to which I am allied."

"A brief state of affairs, I should hope. After you hear what I have to say," the black-clothed woman suggested, crossing the otherwise empty yard to stand beside her underling and the captive man, still smiling at Elatharia, "We know of your attempts to help your sister and we know of the man responsible. We would be willing to help you get her back – sooner than your Shadow Thieves and for far less cost. A few brief errands…and we would bring her to you whole and unharmed."

"How can you promise me that? How do you know anything about me or my sister? And how well she is?"

"As you may have guessed I and my servant here are hardly mortal," the woman eyed the captive man with distaste. He just stared pleadingly at Elatharia, apparently unable to speak, "I have built contacts in my long life, and for mutual hatred of the man Jon Irenicus I am offering you my aid. You may infiltrate Spellhold directly where I may not; and trust me this is the only way to get your sister back for even now she is a captive of Irenicus. He has newly broken his bonds and taken over the place."

"The Shadow Thieves said nothing of this," Elatharia denied, taking a few uncertain steps into the yard. There was no way she was going to trust this woman, but there was no particular love keeping her tied to the thieves of the city either. If she had a better offer to get back her sister then she would take it, and the life of one Shadow Thief be damned.

"They would not, for they are hoping to continue the lie that they can return your sister to you without a fight. They must maintain this illusion because they fear me. And if you doubt me, well," she spread her arms as if no one who ever lived was more honest than her, "Then go to the Government District tomorrow and ask for yourself about Spellhold."

"I have no reason to trust you. Can you give me a name? Anything to prove that you are something other than a trap?" It was difficult to bargain with creatures like this when utterly without magic. Her heart was pounding with the thrill of her fear.

"My name is Bodhi," the woman told her instantly, "And I am not without a kind heart. From this meeting I will await your answer…at your leisure – but do not forget, your sister is Irenicus's captive now. It would be wise to respond more swiftly. Unless of course you have the money the Guild requires."

"And the tasks you would ask of me? What of them?"

Bodhi smiled a little patronisingly now, gesturing at the captive man. It took a moment to realise that she had reached out and run a long black nail down his throat; this only became clear when he squirmed, eyes bulging, and a torrent of blood spurted from the wound. The woman holding him quickly latched onto the wound with her mouth and drained him dry.

Golden light blossomed in a hungry burst behind Elatharia's eyes and she staggered back, gasping. _Take control. You must take control._ She balled her hands into fists and ground her teeth, forcing the madness aside though she could not turn her gaze from the dying man. Maybe once she might have run, or shouted for help. But she would not deny anyone who offered aid for Imoen. No matter how evil they may be. And she did not care what that made her in the eyes of fools like Anomen.

"No task I ask of you will ever be more…or less odious than that," Bodhi answered smugly, "And I notice that you are hardly turning away."

"You wish me to be an assassin," Elatharia surmised softly, tearing her stare from the man when he slumped to the ground in front of the Vampiric woman who held him. Her mouth was stained red, blood dripping from her fangs. Bodhi looked unfazed but hardly interested, folding her arms now and tapping her foot expectantly, "You should probably know it has been noted of me before that I am anything but subtle."

"I do not need subtlety, Elatharia," Bodhi denied, glancing at the steadily lightening sky, "Think on what I have said. And should you wish to seek me out I will be awaiting you at night at the gate of the Graveyard."

With one final dead-eyed smile, Bodhi made as if to bow with her arms spread out…and her body dissolved into a fluttering mass of bats, swiftly followed in kind by her servant. With a burst of air the creatures scattered up and outwards, leaving in their wake not a hint of their passing but for Elatharia staring after them, gaping – and the fallen Shadow Thief lying in a pool of his own blood.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
Viconia's name for Elatharia, _khal'abbil,_ here translates as 'most trusted friend/ally'. Sources differ regarding this translation; some say it simply means 'my friend' (which would still be a big deal in drow terms, I suppose) but others give it the above meaning. Since _khaless_ means something like 'foolish trust' (and we all know Viconia's not the most emotionally trusting person, after all) I like the idea that _khal'_ would add that sense to the word for friend/ally.**


	7. Hypocrites, False Wisdom and Truths

**Chapter 6: Hypocrites, False Wisdom and Truths**

* * *

When Anomen burst into Gaelan Bayle's kitchen the next day, as unexpected as his entrance was, Elatharia had been a little too distracted to pay him much heed. She had gone back to her bed above Aerie's upon her return to the house, hoping that some company would take her mind off all that she had endured that night. But it had not worked and the morning had found her in a particularly bad mood. She had been watching the doorway, expecting Gaelan Bayle himself and planning a fierce interrogation, when the young cleric came barging through. Anomen nearly fell afoul of a particularly angry paralysis spell, but she held back just in time – perhaps to her greater dismay.

"I demand justice!"

The words were full of such rage that Aerie had spun around from her bowl of fruit and nuts with a yelp, bringing up various magical protections upon herself in her surprise. Although she was seated directly in line with the doorway, the setup of the table required that she had her back to it; her chair almost toppled as she scrambled aside, hands fluttering. Haer'Dalis burst into merry laughter from where he was sitting at the far end of the table with his crossed heels kicked up onto the surface and a cup of Amnish tea cradled in his hands.

Viconia only looked up when the cleric slammed his hands down on the table and repeated his wrathful assertion.

"I demand justice! Who is with me?"

To his credit his eyes only lingered briefly upon the drow opposite him – for he had never before seen her in her undisguised form. She sipped on her tea calmly, one eyebrow raised, tucking a fall of long white hair over her pointed ear before turning to look at Elatharia. The Transmuter was blinking up at Anomen with a frown, her spellbook limp in her fingers. She could not decide whether to be curious about this change in temperament or annoyed that his attack upon the table had almost made her spread butter across her spellbook rather than her breakfast.

"Justice for what? Who has wronged you, Anomen?" Aerie exclaimed, rushing to take hold of his arm. Haer'Dalis was now attempting to hide his chuckles behind his tea but he was failing. Viconia's blue eyes flashed over him in something which came dangerously close to amusement.

"An evil man has…has…" only then did Elatharia realise that Anomen's cheeks were streaked with tears, his eyes red and raw from crying. He was still shaking when he turned to face the avariel, towering over her in such a manner that he had to crane his head down and she hers up in order for them to meet each other's eyes, "He has slain my beautiful, good-hearted sister!"

His voice broke on the last word and Elatharia sat up a little straighter at that information.

"Oh my…by Baervan and all the Seldarine… _Anomen_ ," Aerie had grown pale, her large eyes filling immediately with sympathetic tears as she rubbed uselessly at his arms. He seemed to slump a little at the physical contact, closing his eyes miserably.

"Well now, who did such a thing?" Haer'Dalis may or may not have still been laughing, though he managed to keep a straight face to ask this question.

Anomen was about to respond when heavy footsteps resounded over the open back door's threshold. Elatharia did not need to look around to know that this was Minsc returning from practicing with his greatsword in the back yard.

"What is this talk of evil and goodness?" the Rashemi demanded, and Anomen looked across at him with distinct intimidated awe. Evidently Minsc had not put his tunic back on yet. Haer'Dalis stopped laughing.

"Anomen's sister has been murdered!" Aerie cried brokenly, beginning to guide Anomen by the arm to a chair, "Have you informed the authorities, Anomen?"

"No," the young man resisted her guidance now, his hands balling into fists as he glared a little wildly around the room, "I am familiar with her killer and I shall have his heart."

"By Shar, perhaps I misjudged the male," Viconia muttered under her breath, loud enough for only Elatharia to hear. The Transmuter elbowed her.

"Remember your own advice about Helmites," the young wizard reminded.

The drow grunted in agreement, her gaze drifting slowly over Haer'Dalis instead.

" _Anomen_ ," Aerie gasped, a deep frown marring her face as she gave the cleric a little shake, "You will regret that! Do you know for certain it was him?"

"I know it in my heart," the young man insisted, trying to look scandalised by her response.

"No! That is not enough!" the avariel had never sounded so angry. As ever Minsc chose to side with her, looming behind her now as he moved around the table – though he looked slightly confused, even as Aerie continued: "You have to tell the authorities! What were you planning on doing?"

"I will destroy him! His home, his…his…." Anomen stopped abruptly, staring down at her with wide eyes. In a quieter voice he added, "He must pay for his evil deeds."

As if sensing that she had achieved a minor victory, the avariel patted his arm lightly and began to steer him in the opposite direction, back to the door through which he had made his entrance. It looked like she was guiding him to the sitting room to persuade him from his murderous plan. Minsc watched them go for a moment with almost as much intensity as Haer'Dalis before suddenly wheeling on Elatharia and pointing at her across the table. Had she not known him so well, and been paying more attention to the hamster perched on his shoulder, the sight of the enormously tall and muscular Rashemi berserker aiming such a gesture her way may have made the Transmuter feel more than a little threatened.

"Jaheira has told me that you have been with the Red Wizard again, Elatharia," he exclaimed, struggling through the long sentence valiantly, his face twisting into something that actually looked like it bordered on a berserk rage, "Tell me it is not true! I will twist his head off myself for what he did to my Dynaheir!"

"Oh my, this is a very interesting day," Viconia noted silkily from Elatharia's side.

The Transmuter sat back slowly, folding her arms and staring levelly at the bald ranger. She still had that paralysis spell prepared and would be more than happy to use it. His turn of topic was making her think of her dream that night, if nothing else, and that made her _angry_.

"Minsc, do you want to help me find Imoen?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, for goodness!"

"And do you want to save her?"

"Yes!"

"Good, that means I don't particularly have the urge to kill you right now," the Transmuter continued conversationally. He seemed pleased by this, and Viconia snorted, "But if you are going to help find and save Imoen without Viconia bringing you back as a wraith, then you are going to have listen to me now and listen to me very carefully."

The ranger looked attentive, so she continued.

"Although Edwin Odesseiron was under contract to kill Dynaheir – and this is the part you should really pay attention to here, berserker – _he did not do it_. Not even when he left our group, although I am fairly certain he could have had us burning nicely all together in fireball after fireball back then had he really intended to. What you saw killing Dynaheir in the dungeons _was Irenicus_."

Minsc's eyes glazed over and he swayed slightly as if struggling to take in the information. After a moment his brows furrowed more and his lips twitched. Eventually he nodded.

"Good," Elatharia agreed slowly, leaning forward and splaying her hands across her spellbook, "So when I tell you that Edwin will probably be with us for quite a few of our coming ventures, you are not going to kill him, or harm him. Not even once, when Viconia has a healing spell or two at the ready. Alright? For goodness."

"I will not travel with a man of such evil!"

"Then you will not travel with me – and I suppose more importantly you won't be helping save Imoen, Minsc," Elatharia told him pointedly, "And unless he proves himself to be entirely useless and maybe even detrimental to the cause of finding Imoen I will never condone the violence you intend."

"I will not speak with him, then!" the ranger suggested rather than insisted, and the Transmuter shrugged, her mind already moving back to her buttered bread and sliced melon.

A moment or two passed in silence before Minsc noticed anything else new about this situation. When he spoke again, his voice was far calmer. Sometimes he was so easy to bargain with that Elatharia almost found him as endearing as she suspected Imoen or Aerie did.

"Aha! You are a new member of our band of goodness!" the ranger cried, noticing Haer'Dalis. The tiefling rose gracefully from his seat to shake the Rashemi's offered hand, although his raised eyebrows and crooked smile suggested a level of incredulity. To Elatharia's surprise he did not seem particularly overbalanced by the inevitable ferocity of Minsc's handshake.

"Coo! New arrivals?" Gaelan Bayle's voice sounded from behind the Rashemi; Minsc and Haer'Dalis parted to look at their host and Elatharia levelled a dead stare upon the all-too-innocent man in the doorway. He looked just as youthful and shifty as always, dressed in his typical black and silver Shadow Thief attire, "Has Yoshimo abandoned the cause, or taken up residence in Mae'Var's old home?"

"The latter, as I am sure you knew. And the druid has been out in the practice yard since dawn. But I think you knew that, too," Elatharia noted softly, and Gaelan's face smoothed out a little at her tone, "Just like you always know everything about this city; where people are, how to reach them. Probably even before the Cowled Wizards do. So…I was wondering – and don't doubt that your life depends on this answer – _why did you not tell me that Spellhold has been taken over and Irenicus has taken my sister captive?_ "

Her growled words caught them all by surprise. Gaelan blanched in shock, Minsc span back to face her with a cry, Haer'Dalis bothered to stop smiling and Viconia twisted about sharply to look the Transmuter in the eye.

"We…it only occurred late last night. Coo! It was only possible for word to travel to us by this morning," Gaelan spluttered, "I had come to offer you a change of terms related to this very topic." He was tugging at the tattered hem of his shirt above his dagger particularly fiercely now, "How is it that you came by this information?"

"How about you tell me your change in terms?" Elatharia suggested instead, standing slowly and knowing how ambiguous her angry expression could appear when veiled by her mask.

Gaelan slumped visibly.

"We propose to offer you our services at fifteen thousand gold instead of twenty thousand," he told her, "With the wealth that Jaheira brought back for you last night that puts you not far short of your total. You have ten thousand one hundred and twenty five raised."

To raise four thousand eight hundred and seventy five gold or take on the life of an assassin…to a more moral person this would hardly have been a difficult quandary. But Elatharia found that she was torn; perhaps it would not hurt to gather some more money and consider Bodhi's offer at the same time. She would probably have the appropriate sum before she ever needed to make a decision, anyway.

Gaelan was quick to leave the room when the Transmuter just raised her eyebrows at him, hardly impressed.

* * *

"You know nothing of these people – and you have seen for yourself that they are led by a woman who openly harbours and aids the feeding of vampires. (If she is not one herself.)"

Edwin's voice was more than a little scathing once Elatharia had told him of her encounter with Bodhi in the hour before dawn. Sighing disdainfully, he leaned back in his chair across the table from her, running his hands irritably through his hair and watching her with palpable exasperation.

"You do not come from Thay, and thus your knowledge is far less refined," he just raised an eyebrow when she sneered at him, gesturing at the numerous books strewn between them which they had taken from Haer'Dalis's dead captor, "(Who was it that had the sense to suggest we take these books? She must be even more foolish than I had thought.) I take it you have told no one else of this encounter? And I _pray_ that you did not accept." He growled his last words, as if daring her to disagree.

"Of course I didn't accept," Elatharia denied, folding her arms uncomfortably, able to frown more effectively back when she was not hampered by her mask – though the cloth item lay within arm's reach now in the event that someone else barged in, "I mean…I didn't decline either."

"Ah," the Red Wizard sighed.

"What? I had no spells prepared and I was unarmed! She didn't look the sort to be taken down easily by my one remaining _Shocking Grasp_ spell, Edwin! And she had a vampire right behind her." _And her promise of murder…is tempting._

"I did not say you should decline her offer. But be…cautious in agreeing. Anyone who seeks to meet you by recklessly killing a man to whom you are aligned is almost as unwise as yourself and should probably not be trusted."

"Since when did you grow so wise?"

"Logic and wisdom are almost the same thing, fool. Use your mind," he tapped his own temple, "(Though sometimes I wonder if I imagined that she has one.)"

"To answer your other question, I haven't told anyone else. Can you imagine: 'Oh, Jaheira, by the way – I was considering betraying the Thieves' Guild for a woman who I came across in the streets at night consorting with vampires. She killed a man right in front of me and I just asked "how soon can you get Imoen to me?"'"

Edwin's dead-eyed stare was weakened a little by the curve of his lips, which looked like they were threatening to rise into a smile.

"You are _so_ lucky that I have warded this Shadow Thief place against Divination, Transmuter," he growled, standing suddenly and moving around the table to approach her. He wore his Archmagi jacket over his shirt and trousers today, buttons gleaming to his waist, tails falling to the back of his knees; the sight made Elatharia smile…though his advancing form made something in her flutter tremulously. Gods, that _dream_.

"Nice to see that you have dressed in readiness for any and all ventures that I want to drag you along for," she pointed out, her voice a little weaker than she intended.

"Perhaps I am just prepared for any and all disasters that you might bring with you to this, my safe haven atop the Guild House," he sneered back, continuing his advance though she pulled back a little in her chair.

Without another word he caught both of her wrists in his hands, turning them over and inspecting the veins there closely. Though his touch was brief and tight she still looked up at his face with wide eyes, her mind spiralling back to the memories of her dream. She was only half-prepared for it when his fingers caught her chin, forcing her to tilt her head to one side and then the next, brushing her hair out of the way as he checked her skin. His touch was so light it was almost taunting.

"Edwin," she whispered, putting her hand over his and pulling it from her neck, "I wasn't bitten. We'd both know it by now if I had been."

He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers and grimaced, retreating with an angry hiss and a few muttered words in Mulhorandi.

"And where will you be dragging me next, 'master'."

"First to the Copper Coronet to see how drunk Aerie has persuaded Anomen to get and then I think we might actually have to speak to Jaheira for once. And then maybe we'll test how badly Minsc wants to rip your head off – his words – before we venture forth."

The Thayvian made a strangling gesture in her direction, snarling something incoherent, before his curiosity won.

"The would-be paladin…induced to drink by the idiotic avariel. That does not sound…"

"Quite correct? It is though; he wanted to murder a merchant lord in his own home today, and Aerie's valorous morality stayed his hand," she paused, then shrugged, "I checked with Gaelan Bayle first though; it turns out the merchant does not actually store any of his wealth in his house. Otherwise I might have suggested to Anomen that he ignore Aerie and I would have helped him storm the place."

* * *

As it turned out Anomen was very drunk.

"I almost…almost killed a man today!" the priest was all but wailing, swaying on his seat as Elatharia and Edwin approached through the fairly empty tavern hall.

It was just past midday and only the most committed of drinkers were about. A few of the prostitutes standing on the stairs by the door had leaned towards Edwin but the Red Wizard had sneered and threatened them with various spells before muttering something about venereal diseases.

"You did, Anomen, but you stayed your hand!" Aerie was assuring him, patting his arm and offering him a flagon of water. It clearly had not occurred to her that she could just cast something like a _Neutralise Poison_ spell upon him to solve the inebriation problem. Maybe she feared he would just start drinking again, or deep down felt that he would deserve any hangover he got.

"The thought though, Aerie," the priest gasped, blindly accepting the water and grimacing when he tasted it as if it were whisky, "I had the blasphemous thought. I was set to act against true judgment or consideration of honesty. I believed my scoundrel of a father and now he has turned me from my own home for defying his cruel influence! And all of it in the shadow…the shadow of my sister…"

Aerie looked proud of him, though she had been forced to endure his weeping and rambling for quite some time, looking up a little hopefully when she saw Elatharia approaching. Her expression tightened when she saw Edwin by the Transmuter's side, but she said nothing about him.

"Ha! We had not thought to see you so soon, my Raven. And my greetings to you, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis's unexpected voice made Elatharia jump just before he slipped between her and Edwin, the bard's hand briefly settling upon her lower back. He was carrying another cup of water, which he set in front of Anomen before sitting in the chair opposite Aerie and picking his lute up from the table, strumming on it thoughtfully while he watched her.

A little off balance from the bard's familiar touch, Elatharia looked around the large, all-but empty hall and turned back to her companions. Anomen was staring up at her now much like a guilty puppy, his eyes wide and tear-filled to boot. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his doublet askew over his shirt. Aerie was watching _him_ with a little scrunched up look of pity.

"Where is Viconia?" Elatharia asked after a moment of trying to work out what was really going on. Haer'Dalis did not really seem like the sympathetic sort; he looked to be a lot more interested in Aerie than in helping Anomen through his guilt and grief.

"I believe she was tired after yesterday," the tiefling answered after a moment, glancing towards the Transmuter with a look that was by no means _guilty_ but bore even less _innocence_. Behind her Edwin made a strangled choking noise at the implication, "Also, I believe the druid wanted to speak with you. Something about the Windspear Hills, or the Umar Hills. I cannot remember; all of your place names sound the same to me."

"Does she ever not want to?" Elatharia sighed, rolling her eyes before turning towards Aerie and jerking her chin towards the swaying Anomen, "Is he going to be able to travel with us tomorrow?"

"Y-yes," the avariel nodded after a moment, "Not any sooner than that, mind you. I would hate to leave him like this though, Elatharia."

"So caring," Haer'Dalis noted thoughtfully; Aerie blushed and glanced at him with a little smile. To Elatharia the words had seemed less like a compliment and more like an observation.

"Oh gods, my _sister_. My poor sister!" Anomen cried suddenly, reeling forwards for a moment before standing abruptly and staggering for a side door. Alarmed, Aerie scrambled to follow with a cup of water in one hand.

"He wails over his sister, considers her murderer, blames his father, thinks on his honour…and never considers what it is that he, failed-paladin Anomen, did wrong to allow this to happen," Edwin sneered, coming up to Elatharia's side and earning an amused glance from Haer'Dalis.

"The curse of paladins or those who would be like them, my Sparrowhawk," the tiefling agreed heartily.

"Could you not have found a more…majestic name for me, tiefling? (That is if he must insist upon these ridiculous names at all!)"

"I have been considering you, Red Wizard," Haer'Dalis added the title rather pointedly, mischief in his eyes, "And it occurred to me that maybe I had better term you 'Pseudodragon' instead?"

"Ugh, no! What is wrong with you, fool?"

"And now you sound like Viconia," the tiefling added with a laugh, eyes sparkling, "Before I persuaded her otherwise. Care to join me?" He gestured at the chair beside him.

"No! No, no, no," the wizard's response seemed inappropriately venomous, but Haer'Dalis's lingering smile had Elatharia laughing; she only laughed harder when the Red Wizard grasped her forearms from behind and dragged her to stand between himself and the seated bard, "Must you make me endure such people?" he hissed in her ear.

Still laughing, she turned to answer…only to realise how close he was.

"Forgive me for interrupting; are you a band of adventurers perchance?" a well-spoken voice, deep and powerful, sounded from just out of Elatharia's sight. She and Edwin sprang apart as if burned and she wheeled around to see who had addressed them.

"We are," she agreed automatically upon seeing the expensively attired man watching her curiously, his reddish hair speckled with silver and his regular face a little lined. He looked to be in his early forties, tall but muscular, dressed in black and red velvet, "But if you want us to do something for you then you'll have to pay well."

"Oh, I believe you will like my offer then, young woman," the man smiled immediately, displaying a row of straight white teeth.

"Speak then," the Transmuter suggested, not entirely rudely. She glanced to her side in mild surprise when she felt Haer'Dalis's shoulder brush hers. He was watching the man closely, wrists resting upon the pommels of his sheathed shortswords.

"Of course," the man agreed smoothly, "My name is Lord Jierdan Firkraag. I have a very lucrative offer for you regarding some problems I have been having with bandits and vermin on my land in the Windspear Hills."

* * *

"Ugh, how do you live in this stink?" Edwin was complaining as they passed the Jansen residence on their way to Gaelan Bayle's house.

The Conjurer had a conspicuously red handkerchief over his nose and mouth, placing his feet carefully upon the driest looking cobbles wherever they walked in the Slums. It occurred to Elatharia that the Red Wizard had never been anywhere so poor in his life. Tall, with his immaculately shined boots and that Archmagi jacket (even with the worn trousers) he stood out in this place of scurrying children, scattered beggars and few possessions.

"It's just as well that you have a mage's licence," Elatharia noted as they stepped through into the narrow passage alongside the Jansen house, "I think I've noticed every other person eyeing that necklace of yours."

"This is a treasured artefact of the Odesseiron household," Edwin answered almost off-hand, tugging at the golden torc absently, something dark in his eyes, "They would not be able to remove it from me if they tried. It will not respond to feeble attempts at robbery."

"Say that a little louder, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis suggested pointedly from behind them where he and Aerie were staggering under the load of a slumped Anomen.

When Elatharia twisted around to look at him it was with little surprise that she saw he was bearing the load with the cleric's arm slung across his shoulders. Aerie's smaller height and far lesser strength meant that, though she stood also with one of Anomen's arms across her shoulders, she could not actually add much beyond moral support. It did surprise the Transmuter however to see the grim look in the bard's eyes. He had seemed so carefree and irrepressible – even at the most inopportune of times. Now he looked…concerned. Maybe even angry.

"Something the matter?" Elatharia enquired, letting Edwin stand in uncomfortable annoyance by the Jansen wall while she approached her slower-moving companions. Haer'Dalis looked back at her with a small nod.

"That man you spoke with earlier, Firkraag. He is an untrustworthy Parrot if ever this Sparrow saw one. I am an actor…and I know that one was acting poorly. Tread carefully in this venture, my Raven."

Aerie gave a little gasp of wide-eyed surprise, looking between the bard and the Transmuter. Between tiefling and avariel, Anomen swayed dangerously and nearly sent Haer'Dalis staggering into the wall of the building beside Jan's home.

"If he pays us does it matter overmuch?" Elatharia asked sceptically; she had seen the self-satisfied look on Firkraag's face too – but he had offered much gold and they had no better offers.

"You don't mean that!" Aerie cried, frowning now, "Th-though your sister must be helped we can't just do what this man says if he is lying!" She gave Elatharia a reproachful look that bordered on the patronising even while Haer'Dalis glanced at the avariel with a wistful smile.

Her thoughts flashing back to Bodhi early that morning, Elatharia turned about quickly before Aerie could see her anger. There was something about the elf's blue eyes and her innocence that reminded her too much of Imoen. Even if the avariel's manner and temperament were not exactly like her sister's, Elatharia still found it difficult to display her anger towards Aerie.

"Come on, we need to get to the others and round up the troops," the Transmuter said instead, hurrying up to Edwin and grasping his unwilling arm to pull him with her, forcing him to skid on the cobblestones for a moment before regaining his proper footing. He tugged with the arm she held, possibly hoping to cause her the same indignity…and failed.

"Can we not just throw the cleric in the gutter and get out of this stinking place with a little more alacrity?" he complained.

"You're in an awful hurry to meet Minsc, Edwin," Elatharia noted as they stopped at the end of the alley to let a cart go past in the street ahead. She was fishing for amusement but it sounded distracted to her own ears. The Red Wizard looked down at her, something maybe like mischief dancing in his dark eyes.

"I have so many contingencies prepared that I could burn the house down with a flick of my wrist, incompetent Transmuter," he told her with a sly grin, "If you would survive such then I would recommend holding onto my arm with half the perseverance you are currently maintaining."

Realising that she had indeed kept her grip on him, Elatharia let go abruptly with an annoyed hiss – and maybe the hint of a blush too. Haer'Dalis made an amused noise from behind them.

"Well, Minsc has claimed that he will do nothing more dangerous than refuse to speak with you," the Transmuter muttered at last once they were crossing the street.

"I should have trusted you to dupe him into doing me a favour," the Red Wizard chuckled. Maybe he really meant it.

Upon entering Gaelan's house it was with surprise that Elatharia beheld Jaheira, Minsc and Yoshimo waiting for her within the sitting room. The berserker was already hopping from foot to foot across the room, looming in that far corner by the fire. Jaheira looked on her guard too, frowning darkly. Yoshimo was just turning around from the window, that placid smile on his face. He must have already been there and noted the approaching figures through the glass.

"Ah, Elatharia," the bounty hunter greeted calmly, even while Haer'Dalis staggered in with Anomen. Aerie followed fluttering her hands.

"Minsc, how about you take the drunkard upstairs to one of the spare rooms?" Elatharia suggested instead of responding.

For a moment the ranger failed to move, staring steadfastly at Edwin who had not acknowledged anyone else in the room but for a slight sneer, moving around to one of the bookcases as if no one were there at all. Eventually Minsc blinked and nodded with a startled grunt, moving to effortlessly take control of Anomen's lolling weight, guiding the groaning cleric through the side door and heading loudly up the stairs with Aerie in tow.

"What brings you here? Did you already grow tired of the Guild House?" Elatharia asked of Yoshimo rather than endure Jaheira's glare. The Transmuter saw a flicker of movement in the dark doorway to the kitchen as Viconia came to join them silently.

"I heard of your sister's worsened plight," Yoshimo admitted, "And I came to offer my services to any new quest you take. I understand how important speed will be now."

"Very well," the Transmuter accepted, watching him for a moment more and remembering what Edwin had said of him the night before.

"I had hoped you would reconsider," Jaheira growled from the centre of the room, a deceptively small – if fairly stocky – figure glowering from the Transmuter to the studiously distracted Conjurer, "And you have once more succeeded in disappointing me. As if I needed any more reasons to believe that you cared nothing for the suffering of Imoen, Minsc and myself."

"You speak as if our Raven has not suffered awfully also, Ptarmigan," Haer'Dalis noted softly and Elatharia stiffened at his observation. Jaheira's expression just darkened and she looked the tiefling up and down disdainfully.

"It is a fair assumption, Planewalker, but hardly accurate. I find it more likely that the demons of Irenicus's conjuring found a staunch ally in our leader. And perhaps I have little reason to trust you. Through your jokes and tunes you are the offspring of a demon, are you not? And an Outsider. Your part in the Balance is unknown to me, and perhaps not possible here."

"Perhaps I sit astride the fence and find my own 'balance', Ptarmigan. Perhaps I throw my lot on either side as I please and add to the Planes' ever increasing entropy instead," Haer'Dalis suggested, still smiling as he stepped out from behind Elatharia and into her view. He spared a sidelong glance at her, curiosity evident in his expression, "And perhaps you are so overcome by your own torments and sadness that you have missed the truth rather badly indeed."

Jaheira stiffened at this, frowning at the tiefling distrustfully before looking over Elatharia. After that confrontation a certain stillness had descended upon the group. Viconia had fully entered the room, her mouth open as if she might speak. The drow was dressed in just her mithral tunic and dark leggings, a small book in her hands. Yoshimo was leaning against the window sill with his arms folded and watching the proceedings with a small frown. Edwin was glaring down unseeingly at a book with his back to Jaheira. His knuckles were white where they gripped the cover.

And to her own eternal surprise, Elatharia cut in, stepping between the druid and the bard – trying her best to do anything but keep the subject on herself. Especially after what Edwin – and perhaps also Haer'Dalis – had deduced of her captivity.

"This argument will not solve our problems," she pointed out mildly to Jaheira, "But we have just spoken to a lord of the Windspear Hills who says he will pay us handsomely for solving the problem of bandits on his land. He has been driven from all of his lands but his castle by groups of armed men leading ogres, hobgoblins and the like. I have agreed – and anyone who will travel with me will be leaving tomorrow."

Still a little white from her poorly veiled anger, Jaheira looked to Elatharia with slightly dazed eyes. It took her a moment to understand what the Transmuter had just said. After a moment she stood a little straighter, as if recovering from great embarrassment, and nodded her head sharply, expression blank.

"Yes. I will have word sent to Mazzy, Korgan and Jan."

"We will prepare tonight. And suggest to them that we can stay together to allow us to leave earlier tomorrow. Yoshimo, you room with Minsc as usual. Anomen, Jan and maybe Korgan can have the other double bunk room - if the dwarf's conscious after last night. Mazzy can stay with Viconia, Aerie and me," she nodded towards Viconia, "Which means you get to keep the double room, Jaheira."

"And what of me, Transmuter?" Edwin inquired but she looked to Haer'Dalis now, unable to look the Red Wizard in the eye after what Jaheira and the tiefling had said.

"Haer'Dalis, that means you're going to have to share the last twin room with Edwin. We'll make our plans tonight and set out at dawn."

No one questioned her; perhaps the awkwardness after Jaheira's outburst played no small part. It turned out that the Guild House, under proper orders, could look after itself and pay its tithe without perpetual supervision for a while, so Yoshimo had no problems travelling with them. And as it turned out, the whole group agreed readily to go on this expedition to the Windspear Hills. By sundown even Anomen had crept down the stairs, red-eyed and dishevelled to find the entire group clustered around the kitchen table finishing a meal Korgan of all people had made for them.

Aerie had insisted on making and pouring tea for all of them; the cleric accepted his cup gratefully as he found a chair and placed himself between the avariel and Minsc. The berserker was eyeing Edwin dangerously; the Red Wizard sat at the far end of the table beside Elatharia, the Transmuter perusing a page in his book of maps. Haer'Dalis, on Aerie's other side from Anomen, was muttering about something with Viconia. Their discussion featured too many unfamiliar words to be followed and eventually descended into a hushed conversation in the drow tongue. Korgan was leering at Mazzy from the drow's side; the paladin had placed herself between Jaheira and Yoshimo to avoid sitting by the dwarf. She in turn was disdainfully eyeing his choice of beer over tea. Elatharia, much like Jaheira with Minsc, had opted to keep a free chair between herself and Jan, who sat beside Korgan. The gnome, much like the dwarf beside him, had an…unappealing way with his food – which he had insisted upon 'augmenting' with turnip juice. It felt like one of those spare chairs could be Imoen's. Maybe she would make Jaheira, Mazzy and Yoshimo move up and let her sister sit between the Kara-Turan and the Red Wizard rather than deal with Jan's food habits.

"To Korgan, my War Dog and his inexplicably edible kitchen skills!" Haer'Dalis cried.

The tiefling raised his cup once he had finished eating and most of the group were starting to sit back contentedly in their chairs. After a moment most of those around the table agreed with a small cheer, raising their cups and drinking also, though Mazzy did so with narrowed eyes. The exception was Edwin, who had been glaring at anyone who looked towards him since Jaheira's outburst earlier. Korgan looked a little embarrassed about the toast but in the end just drank along with the rest of them after Jan's nudges.

Haer'Dalis was continuing cheerfully, saying something that made Aerie blush and giggle. Anomen looked tired and was struggling with his food by her side, sending shy glances the avariel's way when she wasn't looking. Otherwise he kept his eyes on his plate and only looked up when spoken to; Jaheira was in a similar state and her pensiveness made the Transmuter wonder what it was that the druid had realised after her angry words. Apart from Minsc's glaring gaze fixed upon Edwin – and the Red Wizard's bad mood – the atmosphere in the room was one of surprising camaraderie. It made Elatharia wonder if she had chosen her group better than she had intended…or perhaps that she had been very fortunate. She hoped it would last; the better everyone was getting on the quicker they could get to Imoen.

Distracted by her thoughts and her perusal of the Windspear Hills map before her, Elatharia was hardly listening to the chatter around her, absently drinking with the rest of them but otherwise focused upon the map with her plates piled before her. She was looking through her spellbook and making notes on terrain simultaneously by the time conversation died down and people began to drift away to get ready for bed. Jaheira was first to leave, heading into the back yard to meditate under the tree there. Minsc went to bed shortly afterwards, as did Mazzy after completing a long conversation with Yoshimo about swordplay. Aerie and Anomen talked quietly for a while until the cleric went to bed (not yet knowing that he would be sharing the room with Jan and Korgan) and then the avariel changed her attention to Haer'Dalis. Viconia had an argument with Korgan that lasted until the dwarf belched loudly and announced he was going to bed, shortly followed by Jan.

When Viconia went outside to pray, passing Jaheira awkwardly in the doorway as the druid went upstairs to sleep, Aerie blushed and realised it was time to sleep too, offering a shy goodnight to Haer'Dalis – who kissed her hand. Once the avariel had gone, however, the tiefling picked up the book Viconia had left and followed the drow's path outside. That left Yoshimo sitting quietly sharpening his katana, along with Elatharia and Edwin – both of whom were now perusing their spellbooks. There was distinct tension in the Red Wizard's shoulders, however, and he looked up to the Kara-Turan repeatedly for several long minutes before finally speaking his mind.

"Is there a reason why you linger, bounty hunter? That blade must have been sharpened by now," the Conjurer spat, "(You think you can persuade us that it takes that long to hone an enchanted weapon?)"

"It is a technique for relaxation, good wizard," Yoshimo laughed gently, sheathing the weapon and standing smoothly, "But if it bothers you so I shall retire."

"Good. Go. (And far too late, if you ask me)."

Only once the Kara-Turan had gone with an apparently unbothered – and unhurried – goodnight to both lingering wizards did Edwin stand and relight the stove with a casual cantrip. Elatharia watched him as he poured more water into the kettle from the large jug on the side table. He looked tense as he settled the container over the fire to boil, not turning to face her and running his hands through his hair as he often did these days during times of stress.

"You've been this way since we got here, Edwin," Elatharia noted from her seat across the room, closing her spellbook slowly. He had left his open by her side; he had been memorising fireball spells and the like. Rubbing at her stinging eyes she dimmed her light cantrip to a gentle orange glow and waited for an answer.

"(It is so clever of her to notice)," the Conjurer muttered sarcastically, spinning about to face her now, his expression angry, "Is it little wonder? You let this druid believe that she is somehow a martyr for this cause? That she has suffered more than you? The bard gave you a perfect chance to refute her pig-headed assumptions – but oh, no you are too _kind_ to her pathetic ego to let that happen. Tell her. In detail," he curled his hands in annoyance, "Make her realise how lucky she was to get away from this with only a few whip scars over her shoulder. (Perhaps he should have given her more)."

For a moment Elatharia made no answer, folding her arms on the table, her eyes following the Red Wizard's progress as he added the tea to the boiled kettle and carried it over to where she sat. It was very dark outside, the wind whispering through the open window gentle and fairly warm. It should have been a lovely summer's night.

"Her opinions mean nothing," the Transmuter denied at last, "We spoke of this yesterday."

"But now I see that she is not only selfish and close-minded; she is delusional as well. But nor Irenicus has not geased you into silence. You think it is intelligent to get no sleep at night," his eyes took in her tired face, "But that is one thing that cannot make you a better wizard. Tell the druid the truth, and see her squirm, or leave her behind however you can. (And the Rashemi while she's at it, preferably.)"

"I can't leave her," the Transmuter groaned, "Imoen will want her to be with us."

She watched Edwin pour the tea and took up her cup without pause, holding tightly for the comforting warmth. She missed her sister more dearly than ever in that moment. Edwin's eyes flickered back to her as if he read her mind, his lips pursed thoughtfully.

"And I don't have any scars," the Transmuter admitted, "Even after everything he did, he healed me – I don't know how. Some kind of necromancy, like _Larloch's Minor Drain_ from one discrete form to another but not with a requirement of the self. And a thousand times more effective. I remember it all but I have nothing to show for it. And thus Jaheira, who has her whip scars, will not believe me. She saw the look in Imoen's eyes…what she was wearing…and understood. But Imoen is like her daughter, and she saw everything that happened to Minsc. She neither saw me nor keeps much sentiment for me, especially after Khalid's death. I am an easy excuse and to tell her would be to relive everything. I would rather she believes I am untouched and unaffected. At least somebody can believe that."

"I do not like this, Elatharia," Edwin sighed, sipping at his tea, "And I know that you should reconsider. Any fool who has spent half a day in Thay would realise the folly of what you perpetuate. But you are stubborn and contrary." The silence stretched as he stared off into the middle distance; if he cared that Elatharia was staring at _him_ he gave no sign of it. Afraid that he was trying to work out exactly what had happened to her, Elatharia fished for a change of subject.

"Edwin," the Transmuter began slyly after a moment, "This isn't all just coming from a long few hours spent in the same building as a berserker who may or may not want to kill you, is it?"

The Red Wizard glanced at her with a long-suffering expression as she smiled at him, pulling her feet up to rest on the edge of his chair. He gave her legs a long, frowning look that was probably meant to be one of annoyance before speaking again.

"No. Though it may have contributed to my mood," he admitted with an almost-smile. A pause, and then: "You do have some scars, Elatharia."

"What?" her heart flipped.

"Your wrists. When I looked at them today. He kept you in spiked manacles, did he not? Ones that you were presumably freed from upon escaping – and thus they healed on their own," he eased one of her arms towards him, turning her hand palm up and running the pad of his thumb over the little raised pink dots mottling her wrist, his other hand warm against her knee to balance himself – or so he would have claimed.

"He did," the Transmuter recalled, her voice barely a whisper as the Conjurer's hand slid under her knee and around her calf. She did not know whether to hate or love the Robe of Vecna for letting him do that. The touch of his hand around her lower leg, his other gently tracing the skin on her wrist, was a little maddening. She found herself gripping the arm of the hand that held her leg and he looked at her sharply, letting go of her wrist at least and sitting back a little.

"You should listen to me, incompetent Transmuter," Edwin uttered eventually, his hand absently drifting down her leg and back up again to the knee. Her heart was fluttering, her stomach fluttering distractingly. His eyes were intense though his expression was hard to read as he leaned closer, sliding his fingers under her mask and easing it over her head. She closed her eyes half in fear and half in longing as that hand moved to the back of her neck, forcing her to stay that close to him. She took a sharp breath in when he spoke again, unable to look away from his lips as he spoke, "I am a little older than you, and I have lived in Thay for most of my life. Trust me when I tell you who among your group will cause problems for your rise in this life. And when I of all people tell you that a lie is poorly chosen and the truth would be better."

He released her suddenly, pushing at her legs until they dropped from the side of his chair. She found herself glaring at him; unsure what exactly she was angry with him for. She gave him a half-hearted kick in the shin for good measure but the action hurt her bare foot more than his booted leg. He just watched her steadily, closing his spellbook and plucking it from the table. They finished their drinks in silence and Elatharia's thoughts began to turn to Viconia and Haer'Dalis, who still had not returned from the dark. Thinking of the vampires who roamed out there made her want to go out looking for them, but she was afraid of what she would see if she found them otherwise engaged. There was something about what Haer'Dalis had said earlier though, something about the way he said it…

Eventually the Transmuter stood with a sigh, tapping the Red Wizard's shoulder lightly in some semblance of a goodnight gesture. He shrugged and stood as well, looping her mask into her belt as he passed. When she failed to respond, just staring at the table with an expression of dismay, he gave her a little shake.

"What?" the Red Wizard demanded.

"Edwin, they've left us with all of the dirty plates," the Transmuter explained, her voice full of horror.

* * *

The two wizards had left the mess in the kitchen as it was and a short while later Elatharia was lying awake in her bunk bed, Aerie and Mazzy sound asleep in their parallel lower bunks. The upper bunk above Mazzy was still empty and she was beginning to worry about Viconia in earnest when the door cracked open and the drow slipped through. Trying not to heave a noisy sigh of annoyed relief, she waited until the priestess had changed into her night slip and clambered up into her bed before turning to Viconia and sending her best glare into the darkness. Two red eyes glowed back at her.

 _'Where have you been? I was starting to think you'd been murdered,'_ the Transmuter signed irritably.

"Hardly likely," the drow sounded amused, whispering because Elatharia could not see the returned gestures in the darkness.

 _'Avoid the question then. But I know you well enough to know that you would just admit it if you were 'sleeping' with the bard,'_ Elatharia noted, and continued when the drow failed to respond, ' _Does that mean you've actually found someone who you want to spend time talking to, Viconia?'_

"Elatharia, for all your triumphant suppositions – which I will kill you for should you repeat them – there will never be a position or situation more compromising than the one I saw of you and Edwin at the kitchen table today."

 _'Nothing happened,'_ the answer was automatic, and her guilt definitely showed on her face.

"Yes," the drow sounded painfully pleased with herself, "But, as I believe you were just attempting to suggest, the lack of 'something happening' is far more intriguing than the event of you both giving in. Do you know how much restraint it takes in a man to let that pass? And in a man as selfish and impulsive as Edwin Odesseiron it is almost unheard of."

 _'What was that book you and Haer'Dalis were sharing today?'_ Elatharia shot back, ' _A book of poems? Are you finding the love poems more interesting all of a sudden? Or did he point them out to you, first?'_


	8. A Brother by a Sister Slain

**Many thanks for the reviews, favourites and follows! :)  
Warnings for violence in this chapter, thanks mostly to Elatharia and her alignment, but I blame Korgan too...  
The chapter title is from Tennyson's poem 'The Princess'.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: A Brother by a Sister Slain**

* * *

The next morning came heralded not only by the habitual calls of wheeling seagulls and the distant town-criers but by that satisfying bustle of many awakening people getting ready for a day on the road. For a little while Elatharia lay in her bed listening to the world waking up; the creak of Jaheira's door as the druid headed for the stairs, the hushed voices of Aerie and Mazzy in the lower bunks of her room as they gathered their things and headed for the wash room before any of the others woke up. Once the avariel and halfling had made it into the corridor she heard Aerie's high voice rise into a giggle and Haer'Dalis's deeper, amused answer as they met on the corridor. Once the less couth thud and roll of Korgan falling out of bed in the room across the hall was heard, with Jan's immediately following chatter and Anomen's annoyed groaning, Elatharia realised she should join them all. It was a long few days they had ahead of them.

Though fragile morning light was streaming through the dark curtains, Viconia was less than enthusiastic about waking; something about her life in the Underdark meant that she found it easier to rise later – or even once the sun had set. Groaning, the drow turned over to face the wall, pulling the sheets up over her head. Elatharia smothered a laugh, buoyed by the hope of impending adventure and all the money they could gain for Imoen. There was something about this gathering sense of unified purpose that made her feel more hopeful than she had since…before her capture.

Tying on her mask and wrapping herself in a dressing gown she headed for the wash room before any of the men could take the impending vacancy once Mazzy and Aerie left. Once they were returning to their room for their travelling clothes they still came upon the sight of Korgan ambling bare-chested their way, and Aerie gave a shriek of horror. He seemed more interested in what his impressively hairy, barrel-chested physique would induce in Mazzy but the paladin kept her eyes to the floor and scurried for the bedroom while Elatharia covered Aerie's eyes and guided the avariel to their room. Korgan just laughed at them and suggested that they consider how fortunate that they had been to see him and not Jan.

Once dressed for the road in the Robe of Vecna and her trusty travelling boots Elatharia left the equally ready Aerie to help strap Mazzy into her armour and proceeded to check that everyone had gone downstairs (except Viconia, who the paladin and avariel could deal with). Anomen was just stumbling bleary eyed from his room, thankfully dressed in a shirt and trousers, doublet unbuttoned over the top. He mumbled a weary good-morning; a surreptitious glance past him revealed a spectacularly untidy room which had been vacated by both Jan and Korgan – who were making another baffled mess in the wash room at this point from the sounds of things.

The Helmite gave the backpack slung over her shoulder a guilty look.

"I shall be ready by the time we agreed, my lady," he promised. He sent a slightly uncomfortable glance into his room, considered heading for the wash room, and then turned for the stairs and the promise of breakfast.

The door to Haer'Dalis and Edwin's room was wide open and the room was utterly empty. Both beds were perfectly neat and no possessions littered the floor or bedside tables. She had heard them exchanging a few surprisingly civil words over an hour before – the Red Wizard was an early riser – so most likely both of them were already downstairs. Minsc and Yoshimo's door was open just a crack; the berserker's snoring had ceased which normally meant he was awake. A knock on the door and a polite 'come in' from Yoshimo revealed the Rashemi had left his bed in disarray but already gone downstairs with his hamster and backpack. The Kara-Turan was sitting on the bed inspecting some arrows, fully dressed in the black leather of Shadow Armour. He gave her a nod and a smile when she entered.

"I am ready," he answered her questioning look, picking up his quiver and standing, his backpack on his shoulder and cloak slung through the strap, "Shall we go down?"

Breakfast was a chaotic affair, even though Gaelan's unseen lackeys had indeed washed up after them _and_ been told to leave out pastries and tea for the group as a send-off. The Guild Master was hovering in the doorway when Elatharia and Yoshimo came through into the kitchen to see the floor strewn with unwisely placed backpacks.

Jaheira was frowning by the side table (pastry in hand) while the others chattered endlessly and inefficiently jostled for their favourite foods. There was no sign of Edwin in here, but Anomen was sorting through a pile of plate mail armour with a stricken look on his face at one end of the table while Aerie sat down at the other end with her fruit and nuts. Haer'Dalis was leaning across her for the teapot and a plate, saying something with a broad smile that made her giggle, while Minsc was plucking more pastries than he had a right to from the central pile. Mazzy was watching it all from her chair, now fully armoured, her hair pulled up into its usual braids and a spoon halfway to her lips. Aerie had started feeding Boo a few nuts when he ran past her on the table. When Mazzy noticed Elatharia and Yoshimo entering, she gestured at the rodent.

"Must he be permitted to have that animal scurrying amongst the plates whilst we eat?" the paladin demanded incredulously, "Surely 'tis not hygienic?"

"Probably not," Elatharia agreed after a moment of watching the scene unfolding, "Minsc, remove your Boo from the table. And remember that Korgan, Jan and Viconia still have to eat!"

The ranger recoiled in alarm at her tone, the hamster scurrying up his sleeve as he sat back with his plate piled with pastries. Yoshimo sniggered at the sight, plucking one item from the table and handing the Transmuter a plate when she approached. Some toast and a small orange would suit her.

"My armour," Anomen mumbled into the momentary lull, glancing with sorrowful eyes towards where Gaelan was just letting Viconia pass him in the doorway, "You say my father knew to have a servant leave it on your doorstep?"

"Aye, he left ya that note, did he not?" the Guild Master pointed out shiftily.

"Well, I suppose he could have left you without it…" Elatharia was about to say more, but Aerie cut in with a more thoughtful addition.

"That means he does still love you, Anomen!" she promised as the cleric looked down at the note in question.

"Indeed, if his promises that he cannot stand any reminder of my presence in the house are a comfort as well," Anomen pointed out miserably.

"Well, he looks to have done you a favour either way, my Peacock," Haer'Dalis suggested.

The Helmite's lip curled at the nickname but he looked to be too sorrowful to display the venom he wished. Any more conversation was temporarily destroyed by the thunderous arrival of Korgan and Jan making their way down the stairs.

"Aha, ye know yer audience lad! 'Twas a good tale – and I'm less inclined to kill ye fer it!" the dwarf was chortling as he and the gnome barrelled into the room, both now fully dressed and road-ready.

Mazzy fairly tripped in her haste to get to the seat between Anomen and Elatharia rather than risk Korgan having a chance to get near her. But even while the gnome and dwarf made their noisy entrance, choosing their breakfasts and engaging group members in conversations they might have preferred not to partake in, Elatharia was staring at Anomen. It was hard to see her glare behind her mask but he seemed to sense it and looked up to meet her eyes hesitantly.

"Anomen," she began slowly, her voice deceptively calm, "How did your father know to leave your armour outside the door?"

"I…I left him a note when I departed," the Helmite explained, "But all I said was…that I was leaving to join a friend in a worthy quest. It is possible he contacted the Radiant Heart and they suggested that I may well have meant you."

"The Heart did have to know where you lived to leave your reward after the defeat of the Eyeless cult," Gaelan put in from behind her. She ignored him, though the reminder possibly stayed some of her wrath.

"That's an awful lot of trouble to go to from a father who expelled his son," the Transmuter suggested.

"I would have just had the lot broken up for scrap – and maybe then left it at your door," Viconia suggested amicably at Elatharia's side. Korgan laughed at this, but it also earned a gasp of horror from Aerie and a dark frown from Mazzy.

"It is his way of causing me more guilt," Anomen admitted, lifting the large purple shield from where it rested against the table leg beside him and running his hands over the embossed surface, "This is the Delryn family shield. By forcing me to keep it he is implying that I am not worthy of it, and that I never shall be."

"Then you shall prove him otherwise, Anomen!" Aerie cried from the other end of the table. Haer'Dalis, spinning a coin between his fingers at her side, sent her a slightly fond glance, though his eyebrow quirked in amusement. Minsc nodded in hearty agreement of the avariel, pastry flaking everywhere as he chewed.

"Well, I for one would suggest that is enough navel gazing for one day," Jaheira cut in abruptly now, meeting Elatharia's eye from across the room, "We are wasting time."

"Agreed," Elatharia nodded as the druid stood, pulling on her cloak and pack.

It was a strange moment, to be in agreement with Jaheira, but she forced her way through it and got to her feet as well, heading for the sitting room to collect the Thayvian from where he was inevitably distracted by a book. There were advantages to large groups; safety in numbers, that satisfying feeling of collected purpose, and then there were disadvantages. Like young clerics who had chosen precisely the wrong time to have a family crisis. Wasn't that _her_ area of expertise?

* * *

They set out a little later than planned, but the promise of some activity out of the city had a spring in the step of a number of the travellers. Elatharia had not been out of the city for some time and looked forward to the change, while Viconia would be pleased to be free of the endless pressure of keeping up her disguise amongst bustling humanity. Haer'Dalis and Aerie were curious about what the countryside would look like; they speculated endlessly even before the group reached the city gates. Jaheira and Minsc had been out in the wilds much more recently but as ever would be much happier there. The druid actually looked like she might start smiling at the ranger's antics with his hamster when she thought no one was looking.

Mazzy had not left the city since returning from the Umar Hills but if she felt any nervousness after her ordeal in the shadow dungeons then she did not show it. She became quite involved in a conversation with Yoshimo about Kara-Tur and its customs, regarding what was honourable and what was not. For his part the Kara-Turan looked as blandly cheerful as ever but did not seem particularly interested in whether they stayed in the city. He had promised Elatharia his support and that would just have to do.

Korgan stomped at the far end of the group, watching every tavern they passed – all closed at this hour – as if determined to remember what he would be missing in the wilderness. Jan was starting to lag behind quite considerably by the time they left the city gates and were out on the open road; the gnome had his magnifying glasses on over his eyes and was fiddling with some small contraption. Edwin complained almost incessantly at first about why they could not have horses, although Elatharia had already explained it to him before they left: where they were headed, the foothills of the Cloud Peak Mountains, horses would be worse than useless. They would be a liability.

Thus they travelled on foot along the initially well-paved road out of Athkatla, through the first few miles of open grassland and farms full of swaying crops or teeming with wandering grazing livestock. They kept in twos or threes for the most part; Jaheira and Minsc leading the way, the druid watchful with her quarterstaff in hand and the ranger pondering the scenery with Boo. Next came Elatharia and Edwin who for the most part walked a little separately, only falling into different consecutive parts of the same discussion (on the benefits of a more balanced knowledge of wizarding Schools) when the party stopped to rest.

Behind them stalked Viconia, freed from her illusory form, her deep yellow hood pulled up; she was quiet, as was normal, keeping her eyes on the world around them – though Elatharia suspected the priestess might have been paying more attention to the conversation rolling on endlessly behind her than it appeared. This was a discussion on the acting arts which had initially erupted between Haer'Dalis and Jan once the gnome had caught up at the first rest point. Aerie had quickly joined in, blushing and giggling when the tiefling threw an arm around her narrow shoulders as he gestured to the distant hills and the half-seen shape of the De'Arnise Hold amongst them. In their wake Mazzy and Yoshimo's conversation had drawn in Anomen. Korgan was frowning at their backs and looked like he wanted nothing more than to set the group straight.

Eventually they turned north, off the well-kept eastbound road – which would have got them as far as distant Keczulla on the country's outskirts. Edwin groused that they could have taken the road for a few days longer and turned north by the Trade Way, that road which was so well-travelled that it took trade from as far south as Calimport to as far north as Waterdeep (though it sojourned as 'the Coast Way' between Nashkel and Baldur's Gate). Jaheira had responded acerbically that although it may have appeared to be easier and quicker to use the better road it would in fact double their journey time. The Umar Hills and their more distant neighbour the Windspear Hills were out in the western foothills of the Cloudpeaks and not reachable from the more easterly Trade Way.

They spent their first few days of travelling with little to occupy them but each other's company and the bright summer countryside of Amn. Thinking of her pact with Bodhi, Elatharia had insisted they not divert to Trademeet – the small town that kept the foothills supplied – at least not on their outward journey, and sensing her desperation about _something_ few had disagreed. The further from Athkatla they travelled the more she thought of Imoen in Irenicus's clutches again and wondered if it ought to have been a better idea to just accept Bodhi's offer. Was she condemning her sister to longer torments for a moral path that she did not care for anyway?

Distracted, Elatharia kept out of her companions' conversations. Every night when the others talked, laughed and argued she would sit back against a tree or a rock and hold her journal in her hands, turning it over and over once she had written in it but never opening the book to her sister's entry. _You will learn_. Her thoughts told her, more loudly every evening. But she was not ready. Not when a change in their prospects waited more than a tenday away.

After six relentless days of walking, the Cloudpeaks growing ever closer and loftier in their jagged, snowy splendour, the dry, uneven terrain of exotic woods and the odd hunter's cabin began to rise up more obviously. The foothills began to rise up and spread out around them, still heavily forested and full of innumerable plants and animals – enough to keep Jaheira and Minsc entertained. Though the sun beat down just as relentlessly in the almost eternal blue sky the wind was colder and fiercer…and at night wolves howled their mournful song.

They were a day's walk away from the Umar Hills, newly freed of its darkness, and two from the Windspear Hills when the rainclouds started to gather over the group. It was evening and Jaheira was just building the fire for the night, Korgan sorting through pots and pans in the expectation of Minsc returning with their dinner, when the first fat rain drops began to fall. The druid had thought ahead in this regard; they were to sleep beneath the overhang of a cliff this night. It was an impressively tall outcropping, a steep path carved up the side incidentally the main path to the Umar Hills. A small cabin stood at the top, smoke rising from its chimney. Since they had the entire cliff between them it hardly seemed inflammatory for the adventuring group to settle down for the night in their chosen spot.

Cursing to himself about the weather, Edwin huddled up against the cliff face on his bedroll with a book taken from his bag of holding and refused to look up at anyone, leaving Aerie to light the fire with a cantrip since Elatharia preferred to keep her _Burning Hands_ spell for more deadly encounters. Haer'Dalis sat upon a rock at the very edge of their shelter, looking up at the steadily darkening sky and the raindrops falling with calm wonder. Viconia had her back to this same rock, not necessarily aware of how close she and the tiefling were, while she watched the rest of the group. Her eyes were taking on a red sheen as the light faded, in spite of the firelight.

Jaheira and Korgan moved to help prepare the food when Minsc returned carrying a deer over his shoulders. Aerie politely declined to partake in any of the meat and asked the ranger to help her pick some berries and the like from the nearby woods. He agreed happily, and Anomen recommended that he escort them. Aerie had smiled up at him and linked her arm with his as he offered it. Jan was sitting by the fire next to Mazzy, still fiddling with his strange contraption while she polished her armour.

Elatharia was just settling herself next to Edwin, preparing to read over his shoulder or ask for a book from his apparently endless stash rather than risk talking to Jaheira, when Yoshimo sidled up to Haer'Dalis and broached a conversation. The tiefling had thus far been surprisingly good at ignoring him.

"You look as though you have never seen the rain, my friend," the Kara-Turan commented, standing beside the sitting tiefling, pulling his black cloak around his arms as he came so close to the edge of the natural shelter, "Does it not rain where you come from?"

"There is no rain where I come from, my Cuckoo," Haer'Dalis responded, turning to look at the bounty hunter with little of his usual mirth, resting his chin on his raised knee, dark eyes unreadable.

Jan, Mazzy, Jaheira and Korgan did not appear to be listening but something in the tiefling's tone of voice seemed important, and Elatharia met eyes with Viconia across the camp. The drow shrugged but it was obvious she had caught onto Haer'Dalis's tone as well. A glance up at Edwin's face showed that he appeared to be reading his book – so the Transmuter slipped a hand under his arm and up to the tome to cover the pages. Using the Drow Sign Language she knew he could understand, she posed him a question, watching Yoshimo's back as the Kara-Turan formulated a response to Haer'Dalis.

 _'Are you listening?'_ Elatharia signed.

"And how is that, friend?" the bounty hunter was asking.

"There is no _sky_ where I come from, Cuckoo," Haer'Dalis's response was strangely cold, the frown on his face ill-fitting for its rarity.

Edwin took hold of her hand, closing it into a fist to form the only word he could make in the sign language, giving it a little shake to add the correct tone. A firm ' _yes_.'

"No sky? How is that?" the questions were mundane but Haer'Dalis's frown was not abating.

"Sigil is not just a ring, Cuckoo. It is a city sprawled across the inside surface of a _tubular_ ring," the tiefling made the appropriate three dimension gesture with his hands, "I am surprised that one such as yourself has not heard of it. It is, after all, the crossroads for the Planes. And it has taught this humble Sparrow a great deal of the arts of deception," his voice lowered, his eyes narrowing, "And Enchantment, Cuckoo."

The Kara-Turan turned his head to look at the tiefling and chuckled, apparently not taking this for the awkward interaction that it _really_ was.

"My friend you do me wrong! I am merely making conversation, not trying to weave you some lies," the bounty hunter told him, holding up his hands in a palms-out gesture of peace, "I may have travelled far but there was little time for books along the way."

"Indeed. But this Sparrow has 'little time' for one who makes such pretences. I heard it in your voice, my Cuckoo," the tiefling warned, leaning forwards towards the Kara-Turan with his feet tensed against the rock as if ready to strike. Viconia – and everyone else in the camp by now – was watching this unusual display of aggression warily, "You were lying when you asked me of my home, and lying when you faked your surprise."

"Haer'Dalis, Haer'Dalis!" the bounty hunter sounded wounded now, backing off a step, "You are grumpy as a flea-bitten dog today! Truly I asked in honest ignorance. Perhaps it is hard for one of your experiences to underst…"

"Dogs is it?" the tiefling growled, chin lowered and black eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight – he was so dark and brooding in that moment that Elatharia almost laughed to think of how fiercely Aerie would have blushed, "A fitting cloak for a bloodhound. You've got the scent now, Cuckoo, have you not? And you shall bring the prey to the owner of your mysterious purpose. You veil it behind your polite manner and simple questions. But all the same, this Sparrow is not taken in though the rest of the flock may be."

"No master have I save my own conscience," Yoshimo denied, incredulous, "I merely wish to know what is such a burden to you that you strike at my innocent questions so!"

"Shackles as heavy as yours cannot be hidden from one who has been a slave," Haer'Dalis told him coldly, waving the Kara-Turan away and looking back out at the rain, "I tire of this dreadful acting. Leave me be, Yoshimo."

Looking a little embarrassed, the bounty hunter turned and headed for the fire to sit between Korgan and Jaheira and help with the preparation of the food. He met Elatharia's eyes as he passed and shrugged, eyebrows high with his incredulity. The rest of them seemed less than ready to take a side; Mazzy was staring straight down at her armour and absolutely _not_ looking up. Korgan gave a grunt and looked over momentarily at the tiefling with what may have been greater respect. Jaheira was frowning and looking between the bounty hunter and the bard. Jan seemed slightly amused but knew better than to say anything inappropriate at that moment at least. Haer'Dalis's shoulders were tense and he only turned his head a fraction when Viconia moved to sit on the rock beside him. It seemed an uncommonly emotional gesture for the drow to make, to accept that another was in distress, but Elatharia knew better; the priestess was acting as her spy in this situation.

The Transmuter was about to demand Edwin tell her what he was reading when he pointedly turned the book away from her – but then Aerie, Minsc and Anomen returned and watching her companions banter together took up her concentration. The avariel, ever empathic, spared a worried glance for Haer'Dalis – who still had his back to the group but was at least talking to Viconia. Anomen was talking to Aerie about some aspect of Helm and why it was important, however, and her attention was quickly diverted as they took places at the fire. She had an armful of collected nuts and berries to go with the vegetables Jaheira had found or kept preserved for them. Korgan was regaling Mazzy with stories of his Dwarvish poetry and Yoshimo was staring distractedly into the fire, not quite frowning. In fact, while they waited for Korgan to cook their stew Elatharia made it her mission to watch the bounty hunter from her relatively unobtrusive position by Edwin's side just away from the fire.

It quickly became obvious to her that the Kara-Turan was not a very _animated_ man. Once he had overcome his embarrassment, he started to look around at the others in the group but rarely interjected or even so much as moved from his place. For this Elatharia could hardly damn him; there was very little that he did which could ever be called offensive or even slightly annoying. Haer'Dalis's outburst seemed…peculiar. She began to wonder if it was a quirk of the tiefling's that set him on edge so around Yoshimo, rather than the other way around. She was, after all, more familiar with the latter than the former, and Haer'Dalis had admitted during the conversation to having been subject to slavery. Though this was one shocking piece of knowledge that she was hardly qualified to consider in any detail, Elatharia began to consider that there was something about Yoshimo that reminded the tiefling of his trauma rather than any well thought out logic.

Once the stew was ready and they started eating, the mood which had grown so tense eased greatly, even with the rain pouring around them. Haer'Dalis and Viconia moved to sit against the rock and face inwards once more; the bard seemed to have regained much of his cheerful demeanour and pulled forth a small harp once he had finished his food. As the night drew in this tune seemed to help lull most of the group to sleep; Anomen and Yoshimo took up watch a little way off (but still under the rudimentary shelter of the overhang) and those by the fire settled down for sleep. Haer'Dalis continued to play his tune while Viconia moved a little way off to pray to the darkness, and at last Elatharia turned back to Edwin and pulled at his arm.

"Show me what you're reading, Nefarious One," she insisted. He turned to sneer at her momentarily.

"Only if you tell me why you stare so each night at your own journal, Incompetent One," he responded. When she just raised a brow at him he rolled his eyes and twisted around so she could see a little more easily, "Here," he pointed with one finger, "This is the configuration I was explaining a few days ago. It is impossible to fully understand this without it coming into direct conflict with this," he turned to another page, detailing the fundamental theory behind Divination, "And thus my point is proved. It is not possible to be a competent Conjurer and consider every other School in detail. Just as it is all but impossible for a musician to play every instrument he learns as a virtuoso," he nodded disdainfully towards where Haer'Dalis sat.

"I don't see why knowing the theory should cause a problem, unless you're ethically opposed to Divination," Elatharia snorted at the thought, leaning closer and thinking nothing of resting her chin on the Red Wizard's upper arm to see the paragraphs he was pointing out more easily. He shifted a little and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away. Instead his readjustment made it easier for them both to see the book. Without her moving away.

"It is not so much ethical as functional. If you fully comprehended the complex depths of Abjuration, would you be able to have the understanding and connection to Transmutation that you do?" Edwin inquired, flicking to the chapter on Abjuration.

"Ugh, my head is hurting just looking at that!" Elatharia complained, seeing the diagrams and labels detailing various protection spells.

"You say this and yet you are quite capable of reaching into the Weave to dispel my conjured lights when you wish," he sounded exasperated, "How much of a leap must you really make? A little more discipline and you could…"

"Edwin, now you're just trying to sound superior," Elatharia chided without much venom, "I can dispel your lights in the same way as I can dispel my own; for me it's a Transmutation thing. And they are so opposite! Transmutation, Alteration; creating and shaping things. Abjuration; protecting things from being affected. But Conjuration and Divination always seemed a little linked to me. You are reaching out so abstractly with the Weave, and making it do as you want…"

"Gods, Elatharia," Edwin complained, "Let me give you a lesson in Conjuration. And then maybe you can teach me of Divination. Though you will have to excuse me if I close my eyes whilst you do."

They kept at this conversation for some time, until Viconia returned and Mazzy turned around to gesture for them to be quiet. Then Edwin pointed out a paragraph for her to read in silence, and try as she might the peaceful quiet of the group and rhythmic patter of the rain set her eyes to closing and her mind fogging. She drifted into sleep leaning against the Red Wizard and woke briefly when the book slipped from his sleep-claimed fingers. He muttered something in Mulhorandi and they shifted again, still leaning against the wall with her arm through his, her head on his shoulder and their knees touching. The book dropping from his lap and onto the ground woke them again and this time Edwin groaned in annoyance, pushing feebly at her and stretching his back uncomfortably before finally lying down upon his bedroll instead of simply sitting on it as he had been. Also bleary and hardly capable of coherent thought, Elatharia had considered forcing him to let her stay with him but was just thinking better of it and reaching for her bedroll when she noticed Viconia and Haer'Dalis still muttering together, foreheads so close that they were nearly touching. The tiefling had his hand on her arm and her eyes were searching his intently.

Suddenly the drow stilled, eyes losing focus, just as Yoshimo stood abruptly and shook the snoozing Anomen at his side. Haer'Dalis thought to ask Viconia what was wrong but she twisted about to look into the darkness without saying anything fully coherent.

"Ambush!" she cried at last just before Yoshimo echoed her words, and the drow scrambled across the camp for her shield. She kept low and was already well protected in her armour and mithral shirt…or so Elatharia had assumed, just shaking Edwin awake violently when a host of arrows swooped in, gleaming with enchantment in the darkness. Viconia gave a cry of pain and rolled over, a feathered shaft protruding from her leg.

Haer'Dalis cursed as the camp erupted, Minsc the first to wake fully and raise his greatsword as Elatharia and Edwin summoned light spells to illuminate the world beyond. The Red Wizard's _Protection from Arrows_ spell bloomed around him, and then her, just in time as a number of arrows swooped straight for them. Several figures were now visibly advancing swiftly across the field beyond; two archers (who by rights should not have been able to shoot so many arrows), a tall figure who appeared to be a mage from the fast gestures she was making, and at least two armoured figures wielding large weaponry. There were probably more on their way.

Minsc and Korgan charged out into the fray with cries of rage, a half-armoured Mazzy not far behind them with Anomen in tow and the four were soon engaged with several more armoured figures than had been initially visible. Jaheira spared a moment to cast some spells upon herself and then ran out after them, and Jan started to load one of his explosive contraptions into his crossbow at the same time as Yoshimo nocked an arrow and scored a hit on one of the archers, forcing that enemy figure to stumble and clutch at his leg.

Aerie was shuddering in shock but just about managing to complete a few protection spells on herself as Elatharia and Edwin inched in opposite directions along the cliff face, both searching for a good place to aim a fireball or a lightning bolt. Haer'Dalis had picked up Viconia's shield and had raised it over the drow as he dragged her back behind the rock. The notes he strummed on his harp rang strangely loud and for a moment the air shimmered around them; after that she breathed a little easier although from her semi-conscious whimpering and twitching it looked like she had been poisoned and this battle would need to end quickly if there would be a hope of saving her.

Edwin's fireball arced overhead, landing with a huge explosive resonance just behind the attackers. It forced them to stumble forwards but did not actual damage them. It did at least aid Korgan and Minsc in taking down the first two of their foes. Jan and Yoshimo made short work of that first archer, and Elatharia sent an acid arrow his compatriot's way.

When a new figure stepped into view, wielding a longsword, Elatharia thought that his must be a new foe…until he turned on their enemies and helped her finish off that second archer.

"What in all of the Hells and the Abyss?" she wondered aloud as another fireball went careering over the heads of friend and foe alike, this time engulfing one unfortunate enemy just advancing out of the darkness into their conjured light and catching at the heels of a few more. It did less damage than hoped; the man it caught rolled in its wake but managed to get shakily to his feet.

Elatharia counted as many as ten foes now; Jaheira, Minsc, Anomen, Mazzy, Korgan and their unknown helper were all individually engaged with heavily armed men – each of these foes was burly, dressed in black plate that gleamed in the light as if newly bought. Their weapons held the tell-tale sheen of enchantment as did the air around them; there was a second mage half-visible off to the left weaving some magic that crackled ominously with lightning. There were times when being a Transmuter was a dangerous thing; unlike Edwin and Aerie she could not cast protection spells upon herself or others. Fortunately, Jan was currently aiming his crossbow that man's way and, in spite of Edwin's spell against arrows, Yoshimo was crouching behind a rock firing arrows after the two remaining archers who were now visible. Aerie was wisely sending an Abjuration into the fray which would most likely seek to dispel any protective magic their enemies wore.

Just in time Elatharia spotted a trio creeping towards where Haer'Dalis was crouching over Viconia, his blades drawn now. On instinct she summoned forth the energies of Evocation and her hands formed the necessary shapes without thought; her lightning bolt cut through the air with an ear-splitting roar, setting the tiefling's hair rising as it skirting past him, lighting up that darkness and illuminating the three men who were coming towards him. It caught the central man in the chest and threw him into the air, arms splayed and flailing. Blue-white light crackled over his clothes and crawled outwards to his fingertips, reaching out in a sudden burst even as he soared backwards, catching onto the men at his sides who were attempting to scramble aside. The Transmuter turned away from them as they fell to the earth twitching and smoking.

Edwin's _Flame Arrow_ hissing over her shoulder, close enough to singe her hair, was the only warning Elatharia had of an approaching threat. Whirling around, she was in time to see a slender but evidently male form twist out of the way of the spell with preternatural speed. Hearing the ring of blades behind her now and knowing that Haer'Dalis was engaged in the fighting she yelped for Yoshimo, stumbling back as her gaze swept over the camp for inspiration. Seeing what she had hoped for, she held her ground and forced herself to concentrate on her next spell though her attacker was advancing in spite of another _Flame Arrow_ from Edwin and Yoshimo's rapidly fired shots. From the corner of her eye she could see Aerie was otherwise engaged herself, and it was becoming clear that this new attacker was all but immune to magical attacks _and_ arrows.

The Transmuter had just completed her spells when she heard the roar of energy in her ears and realised that Yoshimo had been shouting for her to move. It was too late; the enemy wizard's lightning bolt caught her in the side – and although the Robe of Vecna protected her against the magic for the most part it still lifted her off her feet and sent her several metres back across the camp, crashing painfully into the dying embers of their fire.

Momentarily dazed and gasping through bruised ribs, the Transmuter pushed herself up onto her elbows…and met eyes with the man approaching her. He was only a few steps away now, a longsword glittering with numerous enchantments and something sticky and dark which looked suspiciously like poison. Edwin's spells were still fizzling harmlessly against his dark armour, barely even staggering him. But it was those eyes, golden in the darkness, that sent a chill of fear and anger through her soul. _Bhaalspawn. Bhaalspawn._ The title hissed in her ears and a sneer curled her lip in spite of the ache in her ribs and the stinging crackle of the fading lightning running over her robes.

Elatharia dodged his first swing with enhanced speed of her own; he hissed in anger as his sword crashed into the smoking wood of the cooled fire and it gave her hope. For all his Enchantments and Abjurations he was not knowledgeable about the two Transmutation spells she had cast upon herself and was obviously no mage.

While he was off balance, she rolled over and reached as far as she could, ignoring the sting of the few embers on her bare arm and grasping the handle of Viconia's mace which lay on the ground at the other side. She brought it around just in time, her block clumsy and perhaps a little fortunate. The man, an elf form the tilt of his large eyes and his pointed ears as well as his slender figure, staggered back a little as if caught by surprise. She was relying on a hunch here, or maybe the hope that she could stall him long enough for one of her companions to come and help. But it was better than nothing.

"It is over, Sister," he told her with fierce certainty as she barely blocked for a second time, the mace swinging in her hands as he would surely expect it to.

There was no way that she was strong enough to wield such a weapon for long. All the same it set him off balance for long enough for her to scramble to her feet. Face to face they were about the same height. She found herself grinning at him, bracing the mace in both hands as he circled her now.

"You don't know much of magic, do you…Brother?" she asked slowly, backing off a wary step as he took one towards her.

"Enough to see you die, mage," the elf responded calmly, raising an eyebrow when she took a ready stance, bracing herself with the mace clutched tightly.

"You don't," she promised, "For if you did you would know that I am a Transmuter and the strength I now wield is far greater than yours!"

She swung the weapon in her hands with all the enhanced might she had given herself before the lightning bolt hit her; it had been quite a difficult task to fake her weakness as she blocked and stood. Now she caught his deft swing with an undoubtedly artless one of her own – and heard the satisfying crash of weapons followed by the crunch of his bones as the impact rippled into his body. The blade flew through the air as he howled; she hit first his flailing arm, sending it swinging with a horrible crackle, and then his uninjured one when he grasped for her, blinded with unexpected pain. Her next use of the mace, sending its butt into his stomach, sent him to his knees, wheezing. He glared up at her with those wretched eyes and she smiled widely; his hatred and agony, his twisted and broken form before her calling to that primal part of her soul that was undoubtedly Bhaal's.

He cursed her as she dropped the mace and her hands settled almost gently upon his shoulders. There was fear in his eyes as she began to chant and his body became rigid, beginning to shake. Gradually stone began to rise out of his skin and through his clothes, fixing him in place within rock until the _Flesh to Stone_ spell came up to his shoulders. There she let it stop and held his eyes, still with that smile.

"Well, Brother. It seems you have failed," Elatharia told him, her heart pounding with mindless excitement at the prospect of this. The golden light in his eyes was mirrored in her vision, fogging her sight until all she could see was her victim, "And I have won."

She tore his head from his shoulders, kicking his petrified body away from her to shatter upon the ground before the spurting blood could reach her, and with a sigh of contempt that she felt was barely _her_ she threw the head onto the fire and lit the embers with a casual cantrip.

A glance outwards to the main battle showed that her main fighting force was now overcoming their attackers; Jan had caught their wizard with one of his explosive crossbow projectiles and felled him with a few simple spells. Jaheira and Minsc were working well together to finish of the final enemy fighter while Anomen rushed back to Viconia and Korgan was chasing the last of the archers into the night, waving his bloodied axe. Yoshimo had helped Aerie fell her attacker, and Haer'Dalis had made short work of his with some last-minute help from Edwin. The tiefling was now turning to look at Viconia, a frown appearing on his face at the sight of her so weak and struggling to stay conscious.

But Edwin, Yoshimo and Aerie were all staring at Elatharia with expressions that varied from horrified to impressed. She turned away before she could see her Bhaalspawn sibling's body dissolve into golden light.

* * *

"Smells like bacon's burnin' in that fire!" Korgan cried as he joined the gathered party, grinning through the gore and blood that covered him at the sight of Aerie cowering away as he passed her, the avariel growing pale at the sight of him, "Human never smelled better, or so right! Ha!" The rain had utterly failed to wash the dwarf clean of the horrors that covered him, and he hardly seemed bothered.

Elatharia was hardly listening to him as she moved over to join the group. She was still shaking, struggling to sort through what had just happened and collect her thoughts. Edwin caught her elbow when she limped wearily into him, her sight still blurred in the wake of the receding golden light. Jaheira turned to fully face her from where the group was reconvening, the unfamiliar man at her side. He was tall and fairly muscular from the size of him, dressed in simple leathers and a long green cloak; a long sword hung at his hip along with a number of daggers. His skin was dark, his features rugged but even enough to put a blush in Aerie's cheeks if he did not wear such a deep frown at that moment, deep-set eyes watching her distrustfully beneath his brows. From the typical Amnish beading in his black hair it looked as if he had at least spent some time in Athkatla.

"This man is Valygar Corthala, Elatharia," Jaheira informed, frowning a little at the sight of Edwin balancing the Transmuter, "He is a ranger and lives in the cabin on the cliff above," she glanced uncomfortably to where Viconia lay groaning, Anomen pouring healing magic into her wounded leg, "Though we previously met him far from here. Had I known this was his cabin I would have thought to inform him – and you."

"You mentioned him before," Elatharia recalled, and Minsc nodded enthusiastically in agreement at Jaheira's side, "You have my thanks for your timely aid," she ignored his glower, "But my friend is injured. Can you not help us?"

"Jaheira has vouched for this group," he glanced uncomfortably towards Korgan, "Though I do not trust you and it has rarely been my habit to aid drow I will allow you the use of my cabin. There is only one spare bed to be had – the floor will have to do for you."

"Fine by us," Korgan shrugged cheerfully, looking around at the rest of the group for any dissent.

"Indeed," Elatharia nodded as Haer'Dalis lifted Viconia all but effortlessly into his arms, her long white hair a banner to follow in the darkness as he and Valygar set off through the rain for the path up the cliff, Anomen and Aerie in tow, "But perhaps you should wash that blood off first, Korgan."

* * *

Valygar's house was as small as he suggested: a two storey log cabin perched just off the road to the Umar Hills at the top of the cliff with a small stables at one side sheltering a pair of horses and a little pen of chickens and pigs at the other side. A vegetable patch was just visible, waterlogged now, in the back yard. Inside there were only three rooms on the ground floor; the sitting room (which featured nothing more than a pair of wicker chairs, a cupboard and a moth-eaten couch by the fireplace), a small kitchen and a bedroom with a double bed and a thin partition leading into a tiny area that was now utterly empty.

Little discussion went into who would sleep where. Haer'Dalis had lain Viconia upon a few spare bedrolls by the fire at Anomen's recommendation and was now sitting in one of the chairs watching the two clerics work over her. He seemed thoughtful rather than concerned. Jaheira insisted that the other females of the party take the spare bedroom because Elatharia, Mazzy and Aerie could share the double bed while she would take the floor. To her mild horror Edwin claimed the little partitioned area beyond. Yoshimo promised to sleep by the back door and the rest of them had little choice but to make do with the floor in the sitting room. Valygar slept in the loft above and refused to permit anyone to use the floor there even before any requests were made.

It was little surprise to Elatharia when Valygar approached her upon her re-entry into the sitting room. Though they were all tired and confused after the battle she understood that he would require reassurances of his own. In fact, the entire group had begun filtering back into the sitting room – Minsc, Korgan and Jan sitting upon their chosen sleeping spots, Haer'Dalis watching over his shoulder from his chair while Jaheira and Mazzy appeared from the kitchen and Edwin came to lean against the wall by Elatharia. Yoshimo was hovering in the door to the back rooms.

"Jaheira has told me something of your problems, Valygar," Elatharia admitted before the ranger could speak, "I know that your mission is to enter the Planar Sphere lodged in the Slums of Athkatla and slay your old relative – against the wishes of the Cowled Wizards."

"And I know you are far less likely to aid me from the good in your heart than you are for the spoils of that hateful place of wizardry," his eyes flashed over her robes and Edwin's tell-tale black Archmagi jacket.

"I would do it to spite the Cowled Wizards as well, ranger," Elatharia promised him, "And you must understand that I am on a quest to save my sister from those wretches," _from Irenicus now,_ "You may scorn the robes I wear and distrust my motives but you can trust that and take it as my best reason for helping you. Which I shall surely do for your aid of us tonight."

"Perhaps against my better judgement," Valygar added, his deep voice barely a growl, "Jaheira had told me that you travelled with a fellow wizard. She said nothing of three. I have learned from personal experience that wizards are the most selfish and cruel of those who dwell upon Faerûn." Edwin sneered back at his glower.

"It may also be said that we are the most _powerful_ ," Elatharia noted more mildly than she wished, interrupting Edwin before he could say something to get them all thrown out of the house, "And if your relative, this…Lavok…is as powerful a wizard as you claim then you must realise his magic will be best defeated with magic."

"I would rather do it without, although what you say rings sadly true," the ranger nodded after a moment, folding his arms over his broad chest, "Though I warn you now that there will be no arcane magic used in this house."

Elatharia nodded, taking his dismissive attitude as an agreement of terms.

"And since you are probably wondering now about any more fights, you should know that the land around my home is trapped against attack but I would recommend that you keep someone on guard at the front door and the back for tonight."

"Wise words," Jaheira agreed from the kitchen door. Mazzy sent Valygar a grateful smile from her side when he turned around to look at the druid.

"Our attackers were no mere bandits, my Raven," Haer'Dalis commented into the momentarily lull. Several heads nodded around the room. Edwin grunted in agreement.

"Indeed, our tiefling speaks truth," Yoshimo spoke up, stepping into the room and watching Elatharia with wide eyes, "The man you slew was no normal elf. Upon his death his body dissolved into golden mist…"

"By Silvanus! Another assassination attempt? After all this time?" Jaheira sounded unexpectedly upset. Elatharia sent her a doubtful look – it surprised her that the druid was not more grateful for the possibility of the Transmuter's death.

"He was a Bhaalspawn, like me," Elatharia admitted, running her hands through her hair uncomfortably. There was something…embarrassing about admitting to this. Aerie, Yoshimo and Edwin had all seen her lose control, "He called me 'sister' and his eyes bore a similar golden caste to Sarevok's, though less…obvious."

"Bhaal…spawn you say?" Valygar asked slowly now, his eyes narrowing as he looked Elatharia up and down with even less trust than before, "This hardly sounds like a fight I should have helped in."

"Not so simple, my fellow ranger!" Minsc exclaimed defensively from behind him, "Our Elatharia is not a champion of Evil like that man. We have been defending her for over a year now and you will not stop us in our fight for Goodness!"

"I meant no offense, Minsc," Valygar offered eventually, glancing back at Elatharia doubtfully, "I can at least vouch for your good intentions, if not your leader's."

Elatharia just shrugged. She had heard worse.

"We should check the bodies for bounty notices," Jaheira interjected wisely, "In the morning before we depart."

"Do you believe Viconia will be healthy enough by then?" Elatharia glanced at the unconscious drow doubtfully. There was sweat on the feverish priestess's brow and she was muttering deliriously.

"She will," Aerie piped up now, her high voice so full of kindness and hope that Valygar did a double take. He had obviously been aware of her double-life as a wizard and this kind of gentleness probably did not fit in with his expectations.

"Then we will be out of your house and well on our way to the Windspear Hills by noon," Elatharia promised Valygar. The ranger's eyebrows rose.

"The Windspear Hills you say?" he sounded surprisingly curious.

"Yes!" Minsc boomed unexpectedly, "A strange man requested our aid to defend his home from bandits and monsters!"

"A lord Firkraag, by any chance?" Valygar inquired, and Elatharia nodded, "Not a man I have heard much of. But something is…wrong up there in the Windspear lands. Let me think on it," he moved for the door abruptly, not looking back as he continued, "It may be that I will wish to join you, if you will have me."

Once he had gone, his footsteps audible as he climbed the rickety stairs to his loft, the party relaxed a little. Jan, Minsc and the newly blood-free Korgan settled down upon their bedrolls, the ranger and warrior animatedly discussing fighting moves before sleep, and Aerie stood from her place by Viconia. She sent Elatharia a small smile and patted her shoulder as she headed for bed. Mazzy offered to take first watch by the front door and Jaheira agreed to watch the back yard. Yoshimo went to settle down upon his bedroll under the stairs.

Elatharia was about to head for the bed she would be sharing with Aerie when she noticed Jaheira lingering in the kitchen doorway sharing a serious look of understanding with Edwin of all people. Seeing her scrutiny, Edwin caught her by the elbow unexpectedly and, using the element of surprise, dragged the surprised Transmuter with him on a swift course through the corridor beyond the sitting room and to the back door.

"Edwin! What in the Hells?" she demanded as he flung open the back door, Jaheira following, and they stepped into the back yard.

Everywhere was waterlogged and muddy but for this back patio, a little raised from ground level and sheltered by a sagging awning. The rain was thunderous in its endless intensity, the wind bringing a fine spray of water under the shelter and the world was pitch black beyond the feeble glow of candlelight coming from Valygar's home. Edwin eliminated this problem by conjuring up a light cantrip before catching her wrist in his hand and pulling it up wordlessly to her face.

"What?" she demanded as Jaheira came to his side, "Is she a doppelganger? What's going on?"

"Look, Elatharia. At your hand," the druid bade her surprisingly calmly. Elatharia had never seen her work in agreement with Edwin about anything.

Shocked into obedience the Transmuter looked down at her hand. She had washed her hands of gore much as Korgan had before entering Valygar's home but now upon her finger tips was a dark stain. Frowning and holding it up to the light, rubbing it between her fingers, she realised it was ink – ink from her hair. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realised that the dye she had been using to hide the golden streak brought on by Sarevok's death was washing off in the rain. But she tilted her chin defiantly and faced the druid.

"I tried to hide it. It happened after Sarevok died," she told Jaheira, several months later than she probably should have. The druid rolled her eyes irritably though there was still less venom behind her actions than there had been for tendays.

"I _know_ , Elatharia," she sighed, "Do you think you can hide the fact that you have dyed that. Perhaps your reluctance to admit to this manifestation of your taint is a good thing, however," she mused after a moment, all but muttering to herself and earning a strange look from Edwin, "It means you are not accepting your evil heritage."

"And now she is muttering like me. I think I prefer it when we argue," Edwin admitted surprisingly mildly, though his tired face was serious when he looked to Elatharia again, "You are aware that this is not all old dye, yes?"

He took hold of a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers; the colour that came away was slightly different from that on Elatharia's hand. Her stomach dropped in understanding and she pulled a sizable chunk of her hair around for her own viewing; sure enough the colour was leaking away to that strange pale golden hue…and over an area that was twice the thickness that it had been hours before.

" _Gods_ ," she groaned. Edwin rolled his eyes.

"Think of it as a badge of honour," he suggested, moving to the door now as if his work was done, "And remember that few who look upon you will know that mark for what it truly is."

"Why the dramatic charge outside if that was all you had to say?" Elatharia demanded.

He turned back to her with a glower that might have almost been a smirk.

"Incompetent Transmuter, _everything_ I have to say is dramatic and should be taken into your memory verbatim," he told her seriously, "(As if I would let the druid get to her first.)" And with that he swept off to bed.

Jaheira caught Elatharia's arm when she moved to follow. When the Transmuter looked around in exasperation, it was to see a surprisingly contrite expression on the druid's face.

"I…wish to apologise," Jaheira admitted a little tremulously, keeping hold of Elatharia's arm when she moved to pull away, "The tiefling's words a few days ago made me think on what has happened between us. And I…I think I see in your eyes what it is that he saw, now."

Elatharia wished the Red Wizard had not conjured that light above them now, for the druid undoubtedly saw her grow pale at those words.

"I am not saying that I condone the company you keep or your choices in this life but…you are Gorion's ward, and he was my friend. And I have been…wrong. Rash…unthinking."

The mention of her father made a lump rise in her throat unexpectedly and as the fear of a discussion about what had happened with Irenicus began to overcome her she stepped back with a curt nod. Jaheira's chin wobbled as if she might cry, though she tried to frown her way through it.

"I am sorry," she admitted, and all Elatharia could do was nod and turn away.


	9. A Monster Then, a Dream, a Discord

**Thank you again to those who are following this story, and those who have reviewed. It is, as ever, much appreciated. :)**

 **This chapter title, like the last one, is also a quote from a Tennyson poem. More fully, it goes:**

 ** _...And he, shall he,  
..._**  
 ** _Who loved, who suffered countless ills,  
Who battled for the True, the Just,  
Be blown about the desert dust,  
Or seal'd within the iron hills?_**

 **No more? A monster then, a dream,**  
 **A discord. Dragons of the prime,**  
 **That tare each other in their slime,**  
 **Were mellow music match'd with him.**

\- **from LV and LVI, In Memoriam AHH by Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1850.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: A Monster Then, a Dream, a Discord**

* * *

The familiar sandstone walls of Candlekeep rose up around her, the old mote filled with endless darkness and stars instead of water, the sky above also an endless scene of open space. The wind was cold and eerily still…and when Elatharia looked forward towards the lowered drawbridge again Imoen was standing before her, a little too close. Only this was not quite Imoen as she knew her. The young woman's silver-blue eyes were bright and full of miserable reproach. Her hair was dishevelled and purest white, just like her skin – nothing like reality – and her cheeks were sunken from malnourishment, streaked with tears that continued to flow from her impossibly brilliant eyes though she did not appear to be crying otherwise. Her collarbone stood out painfully at her neckline. She wore a pink slip and her feet were bare.

"Do you remember this place?" she asked softly, her voice so familiar that Elatharia wanted to drag her into a hug even though this Imoen was not really her Imoen…was it? "I…I don't think I do."

Her sister turned away for a moment, looking up at the keep, then nodded.

"Wait – this is Candlekeep. It is…it _was_ home. Tell me we can go home?" her voice was not as befittingly pleading as her expression became.

Elatharia found she could only stand there and watch, held fast in the lethargy of sleep. Imoen seemed unbothered, taking her hand and guiding her to turn around. Before them stood three familiar figures upon the beginnings of the lawn they had played upon as children…only this lawn crumbled away after a few paces and beyond it yawned pure, ominous darkness. There was Tethtoril in his hooded Houppelande robe with its widely flaring sleeves and thick gold sash, his lined face kind as ever. The symbols of Oghma, Mystra and Deneir were bleeding thick black blood over his heart. Next to him was Gorion, his weathered face and thick grey hair so very, painfully familiar. They made her think of long nights discussing spells and earlier times, or a gift of a painted rocking horse. His grey robes were stained with his blood and torn as they had been at his moment of death. And with him was Elminster, tall and straight-backed but ancient all the same, his robes a shade lighter red than Tethtoril's and his matching hat rising high over his head. He even held his walking stick, frozen mid-word. In fact all of them were in a state of impossible stillness, as if graven images rather than living people.

"Do you remember them? I don't…I don't. I can't," Imoen sounded calm, though tears continued to flow from her cheeks. She paused and then a too-wide smile spread over her unnaturally pale face, "Wait. They were the guidance. To set us on the path to great and noble things. And now they are gone; they are _so_ far away. And the guidance is gone."

Before the sisters' eyes the three men dissolved into dust, as if made of dry sand and drifting away in a breeze they could not feel. The wrenching guilt, the misery, the _loss_ that Elatharia felt did not seem to be matched by Imoen. She just tugged on her sister's hand and led her slowly, too slowly, over the draw bridge and up the steps. As the large gates of the keep came closer, fogged at any distance by the imprecise nature of dreams, a figure took shape. Sarevok, huge and broad in his spiked black plate, the Sword of Chaos in his hands. He was unmoving, like Gorion and the others, frozen mid-swing, golden eyes gleaming like torches and fixed upon Elatharia. His expression was impossible to see beyond the teeth of his helm.

"Do you remember him? Does he make you feel…afraid? Or is it the memory of his death that you think of?" Imoen sounded curious…reverent almost, "Because…I feel nothing. He is gone, and he feeds the taint. For every Bhaalspawn you kill, the greater the taint. And on and on…until…" she drew out the word, as if preparing to impart some greater, wondrous secret, and then her hand was gripping Elatharia's too tightly, so tightly she could make out every bone beneath the skin, her face twisting into a grotesquely exaggerated look of fear and pain, "Don't let me remember! I want to…to forget it all! Save me. Why won't you come and save me?"

A great wind surged up around them, scattering Sarevok to the void and tearing Imoen's grip from Elatharia's. The Transmuter cried out and reached for her, in spite of her dreamlike stillness, but it was too late and Imoen was sucked whole in to the void, screaming. As soon as she was gone, silence reigned. For a time.

"She does not know what it is that must be found…and taken from her. It is a little thing really, on the scale of a greater whole, and she will learn. It may take days or months, but in the end she will learn."

Irenicus's voice cut through the stillness and Elatharia's skin crawled. She resisted turning to see her former captor, but she found that in the manner of all nightmares she could _see_ his twisted, stitched face anyway.

"You have seen her not as she is entirely, nor as she could be entirely but…a little of both. After all, this is a dream and what you see is but a reflection of the future and the past. But soon these things will come together in the real world. And you will both learn."

* * *

Imoen's eyes flew open. She was too weary to sit up but her stomach roiled and her eyes struggled to focus upon the plain grey ceiling past the tears. She had seen Elatharia at the gates of Candlekeep, her hair and skin icy white, her usually green eyes a pure black to match her markings. Dressed in a tunic of smooth mithral she had spoken of blood and death, of all they had left behind, and as she spoke black blood had oozed from her lips. She had shown to Imoen Tethtoril, Gorion and Winthrop and had dragged her to stand before an image of Irenicus.

Elatharia had promised a world of death to those who would hurt her sister. But Imoen had known it was too late and had turned the blade Elatharia had handed her back onto her sister. At the thought of this in the waking world she wept, turning over on the bed and covering her face. When she looked across the dark cell again she saw him, real and of the waking world, standing in her doorway. As he came for her she knew that those things, those parts of her past life, were better left forgotten.

She would learn, Elatharia had said. But it would come too late. Far too late.

* * *

"You slept poorly last night," Aerie noted softly in the morning once Elatharia joined the group gathering in the sitting room. The avariel and Jaheira had been up early, though both had taken watches in the night – they had been out collecting fruits and the like for the group to breakfast on to avoid asking Valygar to share his stores with them.

Now Elatharia watched her warily, readjusting her mask self-consciously as if the avariel could see straight through it.

"A bad dream," she admitted eventually.

She watched absently as Korgan complained about his breakfast and the lack of ale…until Jan offered him a pickled turnip and he realised that things could be much, much worse. Jan could have been catering for them. Haer'Dalis looked as if he had slept in the chair by Viconia, who was now sitting up and fully conscious. She was assuring Anomen that she could cast some more healing spells upon herself after eating and would be healthy enough to travel by the appointed hour. Minsc was sitting on the door step pointing out trees to a politely 'interested' Mazzy. Edwin had been up even earlier than Aerie and Jaheira and was reading one of his endless supply of books in the far corner of the room upon the one free wicker chair.

"You were muttering in your sleep," Aerie persisted, putting a small hand on Elatharia's arm, her large blue eyes looking into Elatharia's with real concern.

"I'm sorry if I kept you awake," the Transmuter muttered in an uncomfortable monotone, trying to move away – but the avariel smiled at her.

"No, it's not like that! We were worried about you but you did not disturb me. I need very little true sleeping time at night – especially during travel," her expression darkened a little, her high voice lowering slightly and gaining a more tremulous tinge, "It was brought on by my time t-travelling in my c-cage. I will reverie as I walk," she added more brightly.

The avariel gave Elatharia's arm a friendly squeeze and she passed her an orange before beginning to move away…until the sun was revealed from behind a cloud and illuminated the room properly. Then her eyes widened in surprise and she reached for Elatharia's hair.

"Oh! Is this how your hair truly is?" she inquired without any of the horror the Transmuter had been expecting, "The rain must have washed the dye from it." She leaned closer conspiratorially, still smiling, "It is wise of you to dye it when you do not wish to be recognised. Though I much prefer it golden like this."

The avariel held up a lock of her own cascading waves of partially braided hair, one of the feathers woven into it tickling Elatharia's surprised cheek as Aerie compared the slightly differing shades of their hair. The part-time cleric giggled as she realised that her own hair was still a little lighter than the Transmuter's.

"Your mother must have been a sun elf, Elatharia!" she exclaimed, "I haven't seen gold like it!"

And with that she moved over to sit beside Anomen on the threadbare couch with a swish of the skirt of her long white tunic. She did not appear to have sustained so much as a cut in the night's fighting though she wore only a plain leather jerkin over her tunic. Her grey leggings were hardly protective, revealing thin legs behind the embroidered slits of her tunic. And now the Helmite was smiling at her in surprise as Aerie offered him an orange out of the several she still held in one arm. Though she was far more slender than was normal for a human, she was so cheerful this morning in spite of all that had happened that he managed to keep that smile for a little while longer. Regardless of those muddy boots and worn leggings, the avariel was probably a beautiful and exotic sight to him; her braided blonde hair and large blue eyes, not to mention the regularity of her delicate face and those unusual markings on her skin, probably all leant to the fascination she held for most of the males who crossed her path.

A brief conversation with Viconia proved that she was feeling much better. She seemed to be doing her best to ignore Haer'Dalis when Elatharia spoke to her – most likely the drow was not very used to being watched over like that. But all of the priestess's efforts were dashed when the bard cut into their conversation.

"My Raven!" he cried, "You are hurt!"

"Hardly, Haer'Dalis," the Transmuter brushed it aside, sighing when he caught her wrist and turned her arm about to show Viconia, "Look, my Blackbird – the embers of the fire have left their mark upon our leader."

Only then did Elatharia recall falling upon the fire after the lightning bolt hit her. The skin was hardly seriously damaged; a little pink and blistered. She had hardly thought about it since…she had… A wave of nausea overcame her suddenly at the memory of how she had killed her Bhaalspawn attacker. It had been one thing to take revenge and another to do it like that. She had even surprised herself – and wondered at how Aerie could have seen her do that and now turn to her this morning with such friendly comments.

"Haer'Dalis," she complained, pulling her hand free…and wincing at the pain that shot through her ribs. He eyed her victoriously and she glared back, looking to Viconia and finding that the drow was just smirking at her, "You knew that off-balancing me would prove this," she waved angrily over her bruised ribs.

"Indeed. Perhaps you underestimated this Sparrow?"

"Gods, it's nothing…"

She was still grumbling when a small hand settled over her side and soothing energy flowed into her injuries. The Transmuter blinked down at Mazzy in surprise as her pains subsided. The paladin stepped back to keep eye contact without having to tilt her head back so much and just raised her eyebrows as if daring Elatharia to keep arguing.

"Not much good for us if our leader is injured, Elatharia," Mazzy admonished lightly, glaring over at Korgan when the dwarf hollered for her cast _Lay Hands_ on him, "Any wounds you gain, dwarf, would be better tended by Anomen or one of the other priests. Such is the lot of those who fight recklessly in battle," she shot back imperiously.

"You remind me of my uncle Golodon when you speak like that, young Mazzy!" Jan chortled as he came back into the house from…somewhere, squeezing his small frame past Minsc in the doorway.

After that those of the group who needed to put their armour back on gathered at one end to help each other. When Anomen moved to join them he left Aerie on the couch, now holding an apple. When Jaheira sat next to her, already dressed in her leathers, the avariel nudged the druid with a little giggle.

"They look so strange, don't they, Jaheira? All huddled up and helping each other dress," the avariel's little smile was surprisingly mischievous.

"You are certainly in a good mood today, Aerie," Jaheira noted, looking over the avariel with a small frown.

"It's the road, I think. I like the open air and the promise of doing some good in the Windspear Hills!"

"(Now she sounds like the imbecilic ranger)," Edwin grumbled from his seat, deigning to look up from his book as Elatharia sat back on the windowsill near him.

"I think your manner is infectious and should be continued," Haer'Dalis told Aerie, saluting her with his small harp, "Have you ever thought of channelling such vivacious energy onto the stage, my Dove?"

Viconia rolled her eyes irritably as she knelt upon her bedrolls to finish lacing her Shadow Dragon Scale. Both this and her mithral shirt were immaculate, though her leggings were torn where she had been shot.

Edwin nudged Elatharia's leg with his own. The sunlight was bright on his olive skin, and Elatharia wondered if he realised he was growing stubble. His eyes looked reddish in the bright glow rising over the bluish-shadow of the Cloudpeaks.

"I did say that no one would realise," Edwin told her quietly so that the others would not hear – Haer'Dalis was loudly regaling Aerie and Jaheira with tales of acting successes. The Conjurer raised an eyebrow when the Transmuter ran a hand over her hair, knowing that was what his words referred to, "Though I must admit sleeping within hearing distance of a Bhaalspawn makes rest difficult. How many different horrors haunted you last night, Transmuter?"

"No different than normal," Elatharia lied, shuddering to remember the sight of Imoen being dragged from her, of Gorion and Tethtoril blown away into oblivion. _They were the guidance. And they are_ so _far away._

Edwin raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

"You lost control," he told her softly, "Again. Yesterday. That _Strength_ spell should not have been powerful enough to allow you to tear his head from his shoulders. Impressive," his lips twitched, "But chaotic."

"I know," Elatharia sighed, watching Jaheira closely as the druid's stare turned distrustfully towards Edwin, "But it wasn't as bad this time. I would have killed him anyway. Does it really matter how?"

"The druid might say yes. The avariel definitely would," Edwin reminded her, nudging her leg again, "So make sure next time you keep your brutality for the eyes of those who will not judge you so childishly, yes?"

"Again with wisdom. That hardly sounds like you," Elatharia pointed out, "Have you been talking to Viconia this morning?"

"…Yes," Edwin admitted with narrow eyes, "(But her conclusion came only thanks to my intellectual input)."

The Transmuter only spared a moment to hold back her mirth before laughing. There was nothing better than a Red Wizard's ludicrous ego to brighten her mornings, even after an attempted ambush and visions of Bhaal-in-Irenicus's form. _Especially_ after them.

* * *

Viconia had been surprised…repeatedly and excessively…over the past few hours.

It had been over a century since she had been so taken by surprise as in that ambush during the night; not even outside of Peldvale a year ago when she had stumbled from that wretched Flaming Fist – after all, then she had been blinded by the daylight. There at the foot of the cliff it had been midnight. And she, Viconia DeVir, once of the Underdark and Menzoberranzan, once a High Priestess of Lolth, she had been taken by surprise on a quiet night in the pitch black when there should have been nothing but a few dying flames and the pattering of the rain to distract her.

It was the tiefling, she knew it. The truth made her cringe with guilt, but it was sometimes necessary to accept one's failings. Maybe it was the surface life, too. It was making her soft, making her see people in that pathetic manner that had so galled her for so long. He had distracted her with tales of Sigil and the Planes, ignoring her jibes and threats until she was won over and willing him to continue, fascinated. In Menzoberranzan she would have _been_ one of the slave masters he described to her; he knew this, and he batted it aside. _You would not have had it in your heart to keep me caged, my Blackbird. One way or another we would have set each other free._ It was an impudent statement and she should have recoiled, but there was a darkness in his eyes, something _very_ interesting in his tone and his hand so gentle against her arm. He was seducing her, not the other way around. Perhaps. But he was also doing little more than speak with her and give her his time.

She was ashamed of her weakness. The feeling of wanting this man was in itself quite relieving. It had been a long time since she had harboured such feelings. Longer than her time on the surface. What she raged at herself for was the rest of it, and here was another of her surprises. She found herself wanting his attention, found her heart dropping when he flirted with Aerie. This had to stop. She had to turn away, ignore him, do everything in her power to send him away. Before he knew the truth and laughed in her face.

And then had come her third surprise. Her memories of the night were hazy at best but she could recall the tiefling carrying her to Valygar's cabin, of that unfamiliar ranger accepting her – an injured drow – into his home. When she had awoken, Haer'Dalis had been asleep in the chair beside her, Anomen snoozing on the couch nearby and ready to lend healing aid if necessary. It seemed that more than just Elatharia in this group would extend their aid to her. But she _would not trust it_. In her experience kindness or attention always led to one thing. Betrayal.

Viconia was still brooding once they had left Valygar's cabin far behind them, its owner in tow. He stalked at the far end of the party, occasionally sharing a word or two with Mazzy or Yoshimo. Haer'Dalis and Aerie were discussing a play the tiefling was writing; he had asked her to act in it with him and she had – eventually – blushingly agreed.

Korgan looked a little sickened by their topic as he trudged behind them. He had met Viconia's eyes with a glare until she had turned around and continued walking. She absolutely would not listen to what the avariel and tiefling were saying. It would be better if he turned his attentions to the surface elf. It would be, it would be, it would be…

"I haven't seen you brood like this for a long time," Elatharia noted, dropping back from Edwin's side along the narrow, muddy trail. The Transmuter had seemed thoughtful herself, but her sidelong glance now was accompanied by a little smirk and a nudge of her shoulder against Viconia's. Even behind that cloth mask it was clear she was teasing the drow.

"I have not been taken so off guard for longer," Viconia noted coolly, squinting up at the cleared sky. The others had greeted the loss of the rain clouds with relief. The drow missed them. The bright sun burned her sensitive eyes and made her dizzy.

"It was uncharacteristic," Elatharia agreed, glancing momentarily ahead at Edwin and lowering her voice, "No worse than me losing control of my Bhaal taint and tearing my attacker's head from his shoulders."

"You did that?" Viconia's day was suddenly looking up, "By Shar, you should be rejoicing at such a boon of power, _khal'abbil_."

"I would be if it didn't require a certain loss of control," Elatharia reminded her. The drow shrugged; where she came from such things were praised, "And speaking of loss of control – what did you learn from our Yoshimo-hating tiefling? Does he have a real motive or is it some kind of prejudice…or memory?"

"There was little to tell," Viconia turned her eyes on anything but the Transmuter; the muddy trail, the sloping hills rising ahead, the great shadow of the Cloudpeaks over the dense forest beside them… "He is resilient to probing and ingenious at evasion. He did speak insistently of Yoshimo as a 'poor actor', a 'berk chained by something dark'. But he also spoke at length of his experiences as a slave in the Blood Wars. Such things are never…palatable to me even after Menzoberranzan. It is one thing to be cruel and torment…another to do as the demons do. But he did not explain the link he was making, and I would be wary of both, _khal'abbil._ Whatever Haer'Dalis sees in Yoshimo is unlikely to be purely an emotional reaction. The tiefling prides himself on his judgement of character, and he has rarely shown the side of himself that he turned upon Yoshimo. But at the same time…the illogical side of things may well have played a part in his extreme reaction. We will have to observe and be patient. If we are lucky they may kill each other before we have to bother."

Elatharia snorted at the derisive words, flinging the lower corner of her grey cloak over her shoulder to keep in some warmth. The wind up here was bitter.

"You sound so dismissive that I doubt your sincerity, Viconia," she noted, "Is this perhaps more to do with how this certain tiefling slept in a chair to be closer to your injured self and be at hand should you require aid?"

"Such sentiment is for the foolish…"

"And the dead, I know," the Transmuter sighed, finishing off Viconia's familiar sentiment, "Just remember that he's not a drow, and you don't need to expect him to be."

The priestess felt a wave of frustration rising at those words. Of course no one could understand.

"If you are so in favour of pathetic sentiment and done with your match-making perhaps you should head back to your Red Wizard, _khal'abbil,_ " Viconia snarled.

Elatharia laughed so loudly that the Conjurer stalking ahead of them twisted around to glare, his hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold. He could not know how much his return to the group had improved the Transmuter's mood; Viconia had hardly heard her laugh like that once since she had saved the drow in the Government District. Then arrived Edwin and suddenly not even Imoen's loss could stave off this kind of mirth. Although truth be told there was something overly giddy about the young Bhaalspawn today that belied a certain…fragility.

"I never mentioned any match between yourself and Haer'Dalis, Viconia," the Transmuter told her, "But now you say it…"

"Be gone!" Viconia pushed the wizard towards Edwin with all her might but the Transmuter just kept laughing, cackling something up at his glowering face until he rolled his eyes and headed off after Jaheira and Minsc again.

"Rivvin," the drow grumbled to herself once she was alone once more with her thoughts.

She had preferred it so much more when their conversation had centred upon killing their assassin. Those were things she could understand and put into context. Hearing Aerie giggling at something Haer'Dalis said behind her, Viconia snarled irritably, pulling up her hood to hide her eyes from the light and hopefully block out this confusing surface world altogether.

* * *

They had searched the bodies of their attackers from the night before but found nothing to explain the ambush – not even a note implying a bounty. This was a clue in itself, Elatharia was sure, and once her almost hysterical laughter over Viconia's bad mood had abated she could not avoid pondering this problem. With the rain subsided and the sky clear and blue once more, she had few uncomfortable distractions to keep her mind from the problem; just the sucking of the mud on her boots and the apparently exponential incline of the path rising up and curving behind a tall rocky outcropping. Not even the icy wind that had Aerie shuddering could touch the Transmuter when she wrapped herself in this cloak, enchanted as it was against the cold. Once it had been Gorion's, rescued for her by Imoen from Irenicus's dungeon. Frowning, she felt the smooth grey fabric shifting comfortingly against her otherwise bare arms and thought.

"This is ridiculous. I say we stop now and leave the rangers and druid to their inevitably wretched fates up there," Edwin complained from a few paces ahead, stopping suddenly and twisting about to sit on the nearest rock, sheltered from the bright sun beneath the overhanging leaves of the dense forest impinging increasingly upon this path, "In Thay I would never have had to suffer this indignity, slave driver."

"An ironic comment, if ever I heard one," Elatharia noted, pretending to push past when he put a leg out to block her way. In truth her limbs were burning and the rest was much-needed.

"(She is speaking drivel as if that will somehow stop me from recognising that she is distracted.)"

Elatharia did her best to ignore his comment. When she leaned against his thigh like this and put a hand on his shoulder to brace herself she could just about make out Valygar, Minsc and Jaheira watching the scattered group from the top of the rocky incline.

"Once you are done making use of me as a pedestal I would much prefer it if you made use of my incredible intellect," Edwin noted. His voice was unusually void of its habitual sourness and his breath brushed lightly against her collarbone.

"But you make such a good pedestal."

She spoke before she could think, and the words held a flirtatious tone that rang uncomfortably for her in the silence. Blushing, Elatharia looked down and met his dark eyes as they succeeded in raising slowly to meet her gaze. She stepped back sharply.

"Erm…as it happens I do have need of your incredible intellect," Elatharia admitted, sitting beside him on the rock and pulling her unravelled cloak about herself again. She stared at her hands folded on her lap rather than look into the Thayvian's eyes.

"Yes?" his voice sounded a little rougher than usual, but also curious.

A glance down the hill while she collected her thoughts showed the staggered spread of their lagging companions; Aerie was struggling, her boots muddy almost to the knees. She was holding onto Anomen's offered forearm; the cleric looked as though he could probably have been advancing a little quicker without her, but there was no frustration in his open expression. Yoshimo walked alone behind them, not struggling but not bothering to overtake. He looked amused by whatever conversation Anomen was using to distract the avariel. Behind the Kara-Turan, Viconia was swathed in her yellow cloak, her expression not visible and her limp a little more obvious – Haer'Dalis was lingering at her side, a small smile on his face as he offered her an arm which was refused. He kept pace with her…though she continued to ignore him. Meanwhile Mazzy, Korgan and Jan were all struggling even more than Aerie, their shorter legs giving them a disadvantage on the steep, slippery path. It looked as though Korgan was using the image of a retreating Mazzy as his inspiration to continue onwards.

"Well?" Edwin sounded a little more like himself, turning to stare at Elatharia as she observed their more distant companions and the curve of the muddy path sloping down in front of them. It was no longer possible to even see a hint of Valygar's cabin on its cliff, even from this high up.

"My hair has changed each time I have killed Bhaalspawn," she began slowly, and he nodded impatiently for her to continue, "And increasingly I have been fighting the urges of my heritage. Last night I dreamed of…Imoen. And in that dream I was…told…that each death feeds the taint. My assassin was undoubtedly of my blood; his eyes, the way he died – they both point to this. And he wanted to kill me because of what I am, just as Sarevok did. They can't have _hated_ what I am, because they both embraced it…so…" she prompted the Conjurer with silence, risking a glance at him and seeing him staring off into the sky thoughtfully. Did she want him to disagree with her belief or otherwise? Perhaps neither was any better than the other.

"You are telling me you believe your power grows with the death of your siblings. That this 'taint' does not flow away but instead enters the one who caused the death of the one who held it," the Red Wizard mused, rubbing at his chin, "This would make sense if Bhaal had left a small part of himself in each of those he sired. It would mean his soul need not be housed elsewhere – in a phylactery or otherwise – and instead can pass on bit by bit to the more successful of his progeny. And they in turn will grow in power as they succeed until the few are left and the most worthy can be chosen."

"You hardly sound disturbed," Elatharia noted. The bright world and the relief from the rain no longer seemed so cheering. Viconia's transparently bad mood no longer seemed so funny, "If what you are saying is true then I really should be looking over my shoulder. Not just for opportunistic madmen like Irenicus but for actual Bhaalspawn who want to steal the power I have gained from killing Sarevok…and this other 'brother' of mine." She voiced the words as steadily as she could, but the thought still set her heart pounding. Did she need any more reasons to struggle to sleep at night? Any more problems to slow her attempts to rescue Imoen?

"You already knew this," Edwin admonished her, hooking a finger under her chin to force her to look at him. His finger was surprisingly warm in spite of the cold wind, "And you are bemoaning a great blessing. Great power does not come to those who shy from battle or ruthlessness. You must learn to harness what you have and use it to further your cause. Be ready for battle, ingratiate yourself with these fools who follow you, and kill all those in your path."

"Spoken like a true Thayvian," Elatharia agreed, watching his face twist from sincerity to scorn at her words. Peeling his grip from her chin she kept hold of his hand even as he looked at the contact distrustfully. "And I think that I have no choice really. If I am to be attacked repeatedly by my own kin, who want the power of Bhaal for themselves, and if I am to save Imoen…then I need to be ready to win. And use any power I gain to my advantage."

His eyes blazed when he looked back up from her hands, both of which were now tight around his one in her lap. A wicked grin spread across his face and he nodded forcefully.

"Yes," he agreed, his hand twisting in hers to return the grip, " _Yes_. And I shall prove to you that the Thayvian way is the best way. (Incompetent Transmuter.)"

"I can still hear you, Conjurer," she snarled in fake rage, kicking at the back of his heel.

Hearing the sound of Anomen's voice growing closer behind her, she twisted around, standing slowly with a slightly self-conscious wave to Aerie. The avariel had been watching the two wizards' interaction, for she was frowning openly and not listening to the Helmite on whom she rested so heavily.

"Come on," Elatharia sighed, tugging on the Red Wizard's hand, "Get up, Edwin. We've a few hours to the Windspear Hills yet and I doubt _all_ of it is up hill."

* * *

"Well, by every god of Faerûn, every demon of the Abyss and all the devils of the Hells," Elatharia surmised for herself, Edwin, the two rangers and Jaheira as they crested a rise topped with a sign displaying with a hearty welcome that this was the Windspear Hills, "I do believe we have either come too late…or there was something missing from Lord Jierdan's explanation."

"Indeed," Valygar agreed, to a chorus of nods.

Out before them stretched the little Windspear hamlet, as marked cheerfully upon their map. It ought to have been standing, snoozing away in the twilight, by a small lake and opposite a further extension of the dense woodland that lived in this place and seemed to stretch on forever over the hills to the east. Only, _stand_ seemed to be the key word in this case. There was the lake, shimmering golden in the failing light, and there was the hamlet…or what remained of it. The pavement was cracked and buckled as if from some mighty impact, and every house was either shattered or lingered only as blackened stumps, charred by some fearsome fire much as a substantial swathe of the forest across the water. The hills rose higher to the north as they came in from the west, and into the stone of one particularly jagged rise – more mountain than hill in truth – was graven a functional but hardly beautiful castle. The falling sun glinted off a few of its distant windows, sending long shadows down the hillside from its high spires. The way between hamlet and castle was still a few miles, blocked by rocky crevasses and rain-slicked hillsides.

"By Helm!" Anomen cried upon reaching Elatharia's side. He turned with a clank of mail to face her rather than the scene of destruction which had all of them frozen in their tracks, "The Lord of Windspear will have something to say about this!"

"Like I said, Firkraag has either failed to tell us everything or something worse has befallen his…"

"Lord Firkraag?" Anomen sounded confused, and everyone was suddenly looking at him. He returned their stares with a suddenly guilty one of his own, brows furrowing, "You do realise that he is…not the lord of Windspear, yes? A lord in these parts he may well be, but the name he does not hold. That title, last I knew, belonged to Lord Garren Windspear. The owner of that castle," he pointed one gauntleted hand towards the castle which clutched against the distant mountain side.

"What?" Jaheira growled while Valygar nodded.

"Imbecile! Idiot!" Edwin spat in disgust, throwing his hands up and stalking away, "(Why do I lower myself to their standards?)"

Elatharia was holding the map unfurled before her, the promise of ten thousand gold suddenly feeling more distant than it had before. A little desperately she angled herself towards Anomen so the Helmite could see the shapes defined, pointing at the little dot that was undeniably the castle. A scrawling hand confirmed what she then told him.

"Lord Jierdan Firkraag claimed that is his castle, Anomen," she told him levelly.

"No, no that's not right," the cleric was shaking his head, looking to Aerie for support when she reached the group, Mazzy frowning concernedly at her side, "You see, Lord Garren is a fairly youthful lord. My father received an invitation to his daughter's birthday just two tendays passed. As his second cousin, I should know…"

"Are ye sayin' that we just slogged up 'ere to these damnable mountains believin' in some bastard's word because ye were too drunk te know the name 'Jierdan Firkraag' from 'Garren Windspear', brat?" Korgan snarled. His heavy-set face had a certain demonic twist in the gloom as he heaved his axe from his back and took a ready stance, "Bark yer orders and I'll take his head from his shoulders!"

Edwin turned about from his trajectory towards a rock at the far end of the clearing, a hungry expression on his face even as Mazzy leapt in front of Korgan and called for him to stand down. Aerie let out a startled cry at the dwarf's aggressive response and Anomen pulled her behind himself reflexively.

"Enough!" Elatharia called out when chaos looked set to descend upon the weary group, "Do I have to paralyse all of you, or would you rather become acquainted with how it feels to turn to stone?"

Her unusual outburst at least caught their attention, aided by Minsc's hulking form looming behind her and nodding fiercely – he had perhaps not quite caught on to her aggressive undertone.

"It is unlikely to be so simple as you are assuming, dwarf," Viconia noted softly now, stepping out from the shadows and gesturing back at the hamlet and castle, "Firkraag likely asked us here for a reason, and he did claim he lives in that castle – whether or not it is his by right," she looked to Elatharia now, her normally blue eyes red with the beginnings of infravision in the low light, "Should we not continue on while we are here? There will likely be some kind of reward in this."

' _Or spoils to be taken,'_ she added in the Drow Sign Language, the gestures so subtle that few would have been able to notice them – and only Elatharia could read them with Edwin several paces away in the wrong direction. The Transmuter hid her responding smile.

"Yes," she agreed, looking back out over the scene of destruction below them, "We'll go down to the hamlet before nightfall and see what we can ascertain. Depending upon what we find, we'll approach the castle tomorrow morning. Reasonable?"

Responses in the affirmative came in the form of several nods, a hearty pat on the back from Minsc (that nearly sent her tumbling down the hill), a sneer from Edwin, a doubtful grunt from Korgan and an appreciative smirk from Viconia. The drow understood Elatharia's thinking – if there was nothing to find then they would be storming the castle regardless. Or something to that effect.

Korgan and Viconia lingered as the others started to move for the path down to the hamlet. The dwarf looked less than happy, his axe planted in the ground before him and his bushy brows low over his small, deep-set eyes.

"Ye shoulda let me kill the brat, Elatharia," he complained. Viconia rolled her eyes before looking past him altogether, to the tree line where Edwin was sitting down to wait for them rather than continue on with the others.

"Perhaps in due course, Korgan," the Transmuter suggested, trying not to laugh at his one-sided thoughts, "But I'll raise you one better than that for now," she pointed behind herself at the castle, "That. I'm sure there is enough gold and jewels in there to let us ignore one drunken fool's mistake for now, yes?"

"Ah, lass," Korgan's eyes took on a dreamy glaze, "Fer a weedy little spellslinger ye certainly know how te win an old dwarf over."

Without further discussion he turned and headed after the others. Only once several of them had disappeared out of sight down the path and the dwarf was halfway across the clearing did Elatharia realise who was missing. Maybe it was the slowly forming frown on the drow's face, or just a natural response to the absence of two of their party, but as the world grew quieter and her eyes turned to the oppressively dark forest beyond, Elatharia's sense that something was _not right_ only grew.

"Viconia? Where is Haer'Dalis? And Jan?"

The drow's eyes widened when she realised they were missing. The tiefling had been at her side the whole way and was probably not one to voluntarily linger so long with the gnome. Edwin was arriving in front of them when Viconia's stare snapped from the forest to Elatharia. Without warning she took hold of the Transmuter's arm and dragged her at a half-run towards a cluster of stone at the very edge of the clearing, waving irritably for the Conjurer to follow and hissing for silence when he started to complain.

 _'What are you doing?'_ Elatharia demanded in their shared sign language once the three were crouched behind the stone, peering over the top and watching the treeline – it was fortunate for Edwin that he had learned to understand it, though he lacked the dexterity to form any sentences of his own. ' _How does this answer my question?_ '

' _There are shapes moving in the trees. Haer'Dalis was watching them and is circling around to meet us. They will be upon us very soon. And it would be wise to hold them fast rather than kill them outright. They do not appear to have seen us.'_

Not questioning why Viconia was certain that her first response would be to kill this unknown group – and still wondering at Jan's absence even if Haer'Dalis was accounted for – Elatharia leaned out over the edge of the rise upon which they hid, making eye contact with a curious Jaheira who was peering up at them from the lower path. She gestured towards the trees across the clearing and mouthed 'we need to hold them', praying to the gods that the druid would understand her meaning.

The grunts and snarls of the group approaching them were audible long before they were visible, along with their heavy footsteps crackling clumsily through the undergrowth…and a rather pungent odour on the air. Haer'Dalis materialised out of the darkness at Viconia's side just seconds before the hulking forms of a pair of ogres blundered into the clearing, massive creatures of muscle and brawn – but very little else – they came accompanied by a smaller trio of hobgoblins (who themselves were both taller and broader than any member of Elatharia's group). They were dressed in unexpectedly high-quality plate mail, wielding well-forged greatswords and morning stars that gleamed in the last rays of sunlight.

Haer'Dalis put a finger over his lips to stay any immediate responses, gesturing for them to listen a moment first.

"Where went the creatures? Me want make short work of those worthless hides. Take them back and show the lord what we done and what good servants us are. Agree, fellow brutes?" the first ogre was enunciating.

When Edwin's hand closed tightly around her wrist, Elatharia nodded in silent agreement. Though the creatures were grunting to each other in the expected ogre pidgin of the local human language, the rumble of their voices lasted a little too long, each word lingering as if enunciated clearly and followed by a delay which did not fit with the movement of their lips. The air fairly shimmered with potent magic.

"Now," Elatharia hissed.

As one she, Viconia and Edwin stood, each rattling of a different spell to paralyse the creatures before them. Almost immediately in time with them the ground began to writhe beneath the creatures, who gave shouts of alarm at the sight of the three spellcasters, raising their weapons and stumbling back rather than forwards. As thick vines and roots erupted from the earth, coiling around the creatures' legs, the three behind the rock let loose their spells. Though each was slightly different they all had the required effect: paralysis. One of the ogres shrugged his way through each wave of paralysing spells, however, and Elatharia tensed as he managed to stumble a few steps towards them even as Haer'Dalis leapt onto the rock in front of her, swords drawn.

"Ugly…humans! Me make short work…" no attack was needed, for Jaheira's enchanted roots wrapped around his ankles, writhing up to his knees when he attempted to forge on, and then a huge loop of vines rose up behind him and caught him around the middle, holding him utterly fast. He continued to thrash and rave but was utterly useless, soon surrounded by the rest of Elatharia's group with his companions unable to do much more than breath evenly and move their eyes from side to side.

* * *

"These wretched creatures are evidently the source of the destruction of the hamlet below," Anomen was saying confidently, brandishing his mace at the one fully in-control – if immobilised – ogre, "We should dispense justice…"

"Such followers of evil ways should not be allowed to walk about the wilderness unchallenged!" Minsc boomed his agreement from nearby.

Each of the fighters of the group had been assigned to one of their captives; Anomen stood before the snarling ogre, with Minsc watching the ogre to his right and Korgan glaring at the hobgoblin to his left. Mazzy was calmly resting her sword over her shoulder in front of one of the other hobgoblins, Jaheira in a similar attitude nearby. Valygar was standing guard before the third hobgoblin though it was unclear how far he was watching this enemy and how far he was in fact scrutinising the cluster of wizards nearby.

"I be in favour of the killin', though not the sentiment," Korgan spat now, momentarily twisting to look over his shoulder at Elatharia. When she waved irritably for patience he grunted and turned away.

"Such brutes cannot be reasoned with, my lady," Anomen put in, surprisingly unbothered by the dwarf's comments, his cultured voice full of hatred as he continued to stare at the captive ogre, "They are unlikely to give you any kind of information and the blood staining their armour proves their murderous actions. I would like to reiterate that they are undoubtedly to be blamed for…"

"If they _are_ responsible then we must act," Mazzy agreed firmly, sending a small frown Anomen's way, "Although not without proof."

"This is a course of action which I find much wiser," Jaheira called, bracing her spear in the ground before her and leaning against its shaft thoughtfully, "Anomen is showing his youth and inexperienced prejudice by assuming that these giant-kin and their followers are to blame. It is not always up to the justiciers of the _city_ to dole out sentences upon the wilderness."

"Agreed," Valygar grunted, still staring distrustfully towards the gathered wizards.

Though Aerie startled at every growl of the entangled ogre, the other three wizards were all but entirely engrossed in one of Edwin's books, debating quietly. Jan had returned shortly after the capture of the ogres and hobgoblins, having followed their path out into the darkness for almost a mile around the woods.

"Please…my ladies, my lords, surely you do not mean to release these wretched monsters?" Anomen sounded scandalised.

"You regret those words, brute!" the ogre growled menacingly, eyes bulging from the strain of battling against his bonds.

"Brute? How dare you!" Anomen exclaimed. Yoshimo seemed to be laughing from where he was watching the road along which they had entered.

Edwin sighed noisily.

"By all the _hells_ will you shut up, Helmite?" the Red Wizard snarled, "How many times must your betters tell you that something is amiss here? (Though I do not see why we should not kill the lot of them once our interrogation is over.)"

Anomen was about to defend his honour when Elatharia stood suddenly and waved for him to stop.

"Since none of you can be quiet and let us sort this out, I'll tell you the problems as we see them," she sighed, "Firstly: there is no way that two ogres and three hobgoblins did _that_ to the hamlet. A wizard would be required, at the least. From the wreckage it looks like whoever did that had several – either that or we have a dragon problem. But I'd rather assume the former. Secondly: when was the last time any of you saw ogres and hobgoblins dressed in such shiny new armour? It hasn't been pried off dead bodies and pulled together piecemeal; this is armour made for them. Which means someone somewhere forged good quality arms and armour for _two ogres and a trio of hobgoblins._ None of them could be – or know – blacksmiths who are that good. Thirdly: the way they talk is not right. There's a delay. And when was the last time you heard an ogre call anyone a 'brute', Anomen? How about you, Valygar, ever come across something like that?"

Both shook their heads. The Helmite looked a little dazed. For that matter, so did the ogre behind him.

"You are very lucky to have a Transmuter _and_ a part-time Illusionist travelling with you. Because those are the fields that have been used on whoever it is we currently have trapped here. So I'm going to try an experiment – and for that I'm going to need you to back off, Anomen," Elatharia shooed the Helmite aside.

The young cleric hesitated, watching her advance on the ogre with a doubtful expression. For his part, the ogre seemed to be trying to recoil back against the vines holding him. The sight was probably quite strange; a huge, armoured ogre leaning away from a half-elven woman who had to crane her head back to look into his blood-shot red eyes.

"Jan, you think this will work?"

"Well, if it doesn't I'd advise a swift retreat and maybe some turnip juice to calm your nerves," the gnome suggested cheerfully. Aerie did not look as confident as the smiling Illusionist.

"I-I'm not sure about this!" she warned tremulously, looking with wide eyes from Edwin to Jan and back again, evidently not certain of who to trust less.

"It's our best guess, and we've a group that outnumbers theirs considerably – even after I send Viconia to have a look at the hamlet," Elatharia pointed out, "I'll caste _Haste_ if you're really so worried, Aerie," she sighed after a moment.

"You would trust a drow to scout the hamlet for us?" Valygar sounded as doubtful as Mazzy looked, seeing the Sharan priestess turn from where she had been watching the road leading out into the Windspear Hills.

"I've known her for longer than I've known you," Elatharia pointed out coolly while Jan began his spell behind her, "And Viconia is the only one of us who can see in the dark without one of these lights," she pointed up at one of the conjured lights drifting above them.

Valygar acceded her point a little uncertainly, turning back to focus upon the paralysed hobgoblin before him. Meanwhile Viconia was moving to head out alone but Haer'Dalis rose smoothly from his seat upon a rock near her.

"My Raven," he called to Elatharia, "It so happens that this Sparrow also sees in the darkness as our Blackbird – and it would be unwise to walk out there alone."

Viconia sent him a dead-eyed glare, muttering something about impudent males, but Elatharia nodded her agreement to the tiefling and a moment later the pair vanished in to the gloom.

Only a few more seconds passed, with only Jan's chanting and the whistling of the wind to fill the void that would have otherwise rung only with anxious silence. Once the spell was done, Elatharia felt no different – but all of her companions staggered back from her with startled gasps. The ogre before her simply stared, his mouth falling open and his eyebrows rising, unique amongst his companions now without his paralysis for being able to move his face.

"What do you see?" she asked the ogre smugly, and as before his lips seemed to move a heartbeat or two before the sound came out. Typical of Illusions; much like the one Jan had just cast on her.

"Human," the ogre grunted, and behind her Jan leapt up onto the rock and clapped his hands in gleeful success. The captive's thick brows furrowed, "Why goblin so pleased?" he inquired, "What…are…you?"

"That is an excellent question," Elatharia told him, and looked towards Anomen. The cleric was looking up, to where he now perceived her eye level to be.

"What do you see, Anomen?"

"An…ogre, my lady. You appear as an ogre," he sounded fairly disgusted. Truth be told, most of her party seemed to be staring at her in horror, as if whatever Jan had done to her appearance was as far from an improvement as possible.

"What?" the ogre seemed to catch on faster, "That mean…what? You sound like goblin. Talk like goblins. We told to take back your skins for bounty, just like…just like the others…"

As he spoke and the companions' belief in his identity began to shift, the illusion over his voice dwindled. He sounded human, his voice deep and well spoken…and vaguely familiar. When his appearance did not change, however, Elatharia knew for certain that the spell upon his form, and those of his followers, was a Transmutation, unlike the change to his voice. Illusions faded the more one disbelieved…Transmutations did actually change the object's shape temporarily.

"You should probably know that we see you as ogres and hobgoblins, just like you see us as goblins and the like," Elatharia informed him, shooing Anomen away further and stepping closer to her captive, a plan formulating steadily in her mind, "You must be…fairly desperate to have such an Illusion dispelled from your mind, and such a Transmutation altered from your body. It seems very likely that those you have killed before were actually misled fools such as yourselves."

"Gods! Please, free us from this state if you can!" the ogre looked as desperate as an ogre could look, and sounded it too.

"That is something my fellow wizards and I can do," Elatharia agreed, lowering her voice so only he could hear because these kind of tactics were not the kind that the likes of Jaheira, Mazzy, Anomen or Aerie would care for, "What would you do to be freed?"

"Anything! Anything to avoid killing the innocent or being forced to do so in a confrontation!"

"Very good," Elatharia smiled slowly, "How much would you be willing to _pay_?"

When she stepped back, waiting for the answer as Jan dispelled the Illusion upon her, she saw Valygar's dark eyes watching her closely, a deep and distrustful frown upon his face.

* * *

 **Author's note: I think poor Anomen might be (nearly) everyone in the party's least favourite person after that Lord Windspear identification failure...I never thought I could feel sorry for him, but it's not his fault that he has such low intelligence _and_ wisdom stats...  
And while Aerie is both very wise, and rather intelligent...she is so innocent sometimes that I feel like she needs an extra 'Innocence' stat on her character sheet.**


	10. Conflicting Morality

**Chapter 9: Conflicting Morality**

* * *

"Elatharia was correct," Viconia surmised after only a short perusal of the first few houses of what had once been Windspear Hamlet, "No giant-kin, orc-kin or goblinkind could have done this. Not in concert, even."

She picked her way carefully over the first ripple in the buckled road, her yellow cloak turned inside-out to help veil her against detection in the darkness, Haer'Dalis a silent form at her side wrapped in his own plain dark cloak. The sky was cloudless and sparkled with stars but was thankfully void of its moon, Selune and her Tears. Any unnecessary light would have impeded the drow's infravision a little – and after the events of the night before she would prefer to have the upper hand.

The hamlet was no less of a ruin than it had seemed from above. The road was so cracked in places that it was easier to move through the broken houses than struggle over the wide rends in the paving. The charred stumps of wooden houses were groaning under their own weight even now, suggesting that the destruction was fairly recent, the farmland around all drifting ash and scorched earth, a scar in the land that cut into the forest across the water. And of course there were the bodies, half-seen now as they had cooled to match the rest of the matter on the ground, all of it naught but ash really.

"It is a chaotic scene, is it not, my Blackbird?" Haer'Dalis noted softly, careful to keep his voice as quiet as hers, "I suppose all things end, but sometimes…sometimes chaos and cruelty are too closely entwined by madmen. Tis a blasphemy of sorts, I suppose."

He sounded disappointed rather than sad, his hand brushing against her elbow as she stepped over another crack in the pavement. She sent him a glare for the innocent touch and caught his thoughtful expression upon a charred crib. She had intended to scold him for his forwardness, but Elatharia's words came back to her. He was not a drow, and he would not behave like one – even if Viconia expected him to. No drow she had ever known would have looked at any crib so…sadly.

"Who could have done this?" her question sounded forced and she made a point of rubbing at her healing leg as if it were troubling her. Better that weakness than he 'mistake' her tone.

Haer'Dalis frowned slightly at her words, watching her face now as if he might find the answer there while his hand moved over the doorframe within which he stood. Ash came away on his fingertips and he rubbed it between finger and thumb absently.

"Someone or something of great power I fear," he admitted softly – his deep voice still carried a little more than was preferable and Viconia automatically shushed him, gesturing at the road ahead. He nodded and stepped closer; it seemed an innocent enough response, for he pushed his hands now into his pockets, his eyes on the ground over her shoulder as he thought, "It has been some time since I witnessed such destruction. 'Twould take an army of wizards or sorcerers to do such. Unless what we may face is the avatar of some god then this humble Sparrow's best guess would be…" his words were no more than a voiceless whisper now and he paused upon the last word, his eyes turning to watch hers, awaiting her completion of his sentence.

"A dragon," Viconia finished, stifling a groan, wringing her gloved hands in momentary frustration before looking back up at Haer'Dalis's face. By Shar, did he really have to stand so close? But she forged on, aware that this was an attitude she had just promoted and that it was actually more prudent in order to discuss their ideas less audibly, "This is hardly something Elatharia will want to hear."

"You sound frustrated rather than afraid, my Blackbird," for his part, Haer'Dalis looked rather amused, his lips curling up and his eyes dancing, "You wear Shadow Dragon Scale armour, do you not? You have evidently fought such creatures before. And unless I am mistaken…the group you now travel in is stronger and greater in number than before."

"Still, it is hardly a battle I would desire to repeat," Viconia pointed out, turning and starting to move out of the hamlet. Once they were closer to the treeline, heading around the ruin to scout a little way beyond and see if they had missed anything, she turned back to the tiefling and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "Could it not be an army of mages? A squadron of devils? Must it really be another dragon?"

Haer'Dalis chuckled under his breath, watching her with delighted amusement.

"You have a wicked wit, my Blackbird. As if you would rather face such horrors than one dragon!"

Though he sounded happy enough – or at least as happy as one man whispering could – there was a tale behind those words he had chosen. For a moment Viconia fell into the trap, searching his face for the answer. A moment passed before she noticed his smile had fallen somewhat and he was watching her with a similar intensity. She jumped with a hiss when his bare fingertips brushed so very lightly against her cheek.

"I said I had wished to see you as you truly are, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis reminded, his thumb drifting along her jaw and to the point of her chin slowly, a small smile returning as his eyes lingered upon her lips, "And now I have, for several days. I understand your scornful words to this poor Sparrow. I named you beautiful in your false Surface form," his eyes found hers and the look sent a heated rush through her of a kind that few kisses ever had, "And though I was not wrong, I see now that the truth was so much more than the falsity. You should never have to hide what you are, beautiful Blackbird. In any way."

His tone, his choice of words…they sent a jolt of fear running through her even as the emotional part of her wanted only to thrill. He knew! He knew! How could he know? Or so she dreaded. So with a snarl Viconia stumbled back a few steps, glaring and rubbing at her cheek as if slapped and not caressed so gently. He watched her levelly, as if prepared for this.

"Enough of this nonsense!" she hissed, "Of course you cannot fathom the beauty of drow, lesser creature that you are! You should be…you are…" his eyebrows rose expectantly as she spluttered, frustrated by his lack of hurt, "Impudent male, we must concentrate upon the task at hand!"

When she twisted back to stalk to the other end of the hamlet, she found to her horror that she could not see the way because her eyes were full to the brim with tears. The world swam before her and in wretched rage she silently cursed the tiefling and the world she must endure. When Haer'Dalis's hand closed on her shoulder she was about to whirl on him with vicious vengeance but he hushed her with a seriousness that quelled her wrath. She even allowed him to pull her from the open ground to crouch behind a charred tree as a torchlight bobbed into view from out of a narrow path in the woods not far away. It was a man, dressed in threadbare velvet and muddied boots, untidy stubble on his cheeks. He was taking in the sight of the hamlet as one who had seen it before…and was searching for something. Or someone.

"Who is it that creeps upon my land?" the unfamiliar man called, "Show yourselves, or risk the wrath of the lord of Windspear!"

* * *

Elatharia had no idea of how much time had passed. She and Jan had sat down shortly after full darkness had descended, drawing diagrams in the Illusionist's spellbook and discussing the best and quickest way to unravel the Transmutation and lingering Illusions on their 'captives'. Once the leader had sworn several oaths against violence, the paralysation and entanglement spells were dismissed and they had staggered free from their constraints with gasps of thanks. Any of the Abjurations attempted by Aerie and Edwin had failed; and so the more time-consuming and tiring process involving Elatharia and Jan had begun.

It had required much planning and some fairly unreliable assurances from the gnome before Elatharia had stood and motioned the group over. A brief discussion with Edwin had led to the Conjurer insisting that he aid her in this, no doubt to steal some of her glory. But she had accepted because in truth it was unlike any spell or magical manipulation Elatharia had ever attempted and he was the more experienced wizard.

Whoever had created this mass spell upon the transformed men was no doubt a more powerful spellcaster than herself but a few moments of concentration reaching out to the Weave had shown to her that neither the school of Illusion nor that of Transmutation came naturally to this unknown troublemaker. Unbeknownst to her the air about the two concentrating wizards had taken on an eerie magical luminescence, sparkling and fizzing about the Transmuted adventuring party with every strand that she broke or realigned. Edwin served more as a second opinion, at times a technical guide; the manoeuvres of her chosen school were infamously complex to the same degree as his school required a terrifyingly iron will. To make the appropriate gestures spontaneously under pressure was probably a step too far even for a wizard as naturally talented as Edwin.

The Transmuter was concentrating more upon the Weave and its satisfyingly neat corrected state than the real world until Aerie's startled cry cut through her concentration. With a sharp breath in she allowed her mind to fall back into the world and saw the fading light of the magic she had woven.

"How did you do that?" Aerie was exclaiming excitedly even before Elatharia's eyes had refocused, the avariel clapping her hands in delight.

Where once had stood two ogres and three hobgoblins was now a group of five well-armed and expensively armoured men wearing the pink and gold cloaks of the Order of the Radiant Heart. All of them were covered from toe to shoulder and shoulder to fingertips in plate mail that glimmering in Edwin's conjured lights, staggering a little and pulling off their plumed helmets to stare in wonder with restored sight.

Behind them Jaheira and others were watching, displaying various degrees of confusion and wonder. Aerie was fluttering at Elatharia's side, and Jan was rushing over to the restored men, chattering questions which they could barely comprehend in their dazed return to reality. Edwin was very still at her side and she was about to turn to him when the leader of the group strode up to her, his helmet under his arm and his hand outstretched to shake hers.

Looking up into this approaching man's face, Elatharia was suddenly struck by recognition. He was tall, a few inches higher than Edwin's six foot, broad shouldered and square-jawed with floppy golden hair a few shades darker than her Bhaal-induced shade. When he stepped fully under the light drifting over her head and saw her more clearly, his jaw dropped as surely as hers did.

" _Ajantis?_ " Elatharia gasped as his outstretched hand fell limply to his side.

Edwin recoiled with a groan to see the paladin once more and retreated well away from the group to sit in thoughtful, brooding silence staring into the darkness. Ajantis blinked at her for a few more moments before responding; he had apparently not recognised the Red Wizard without his telling red robes and the shorter hair he had sported back on the Coast Way.

"E-Elatharia!" the paladin exclaimed at once, blue eyes widening, "I would never have thought to see you here! When you spoke to me before in your altered form I thought I recognised your voice, but you did not look like…yourself then."

"It was an Illusion of an ogre that I took on before," she told him as seriously as she could manage, "I imagine the Illusion holding your mind approximated what I ought to look like."

"Indeed, indeed…" he seemed lost for words, his eyes scanning over her group, which was now filtering towards him and his men, before he turned back to her with an unexpected smile, "Well! It is good to see a friendly face in this real world after all that…madness."

"We hardly parted on good terms, Ajantis," Elatharia hazarded. She could clearly recall his bitter arguments with Viconia, his open hatred of Edwin, and his eventual retreat from the party once they had destroyed the bandit camp near Baldur's Gate.

"Well…no," the paladin admitted, frowning slightly, "But you have done a good thing for my men and me today." He seemed to be overlooking her demand to pay her for this deed, and for a moment Elatharia wondered if he had forgotten…until he pulled the backpack from his shoulders and reached inside, "What is it that has you so desperate for money, may I ask?" he handed her a heavy cloth bag all the same and waved his men over wordlessly.

"My sister has been taken captive. We need the money to free her," Elatharia admitted, frowning down at the bag of gold and weighing it in her hands. Nearby Aerie's eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the exchange.

Ajantis straightened, his men clustering around them and sharing a few concerned looks at her words.

"Well!" the paladin cried, "Why did you not say so? I would give money to you gladly to help your Imoen. Especially after you have done us such a favour!"

His men agreed heartily and all delved deep into their money stores, handing her their coins and refusing her half-hearted (and poorly acted) insistence that the reward was unnecessary. Aerie's expression cleared as she came to believe that the monetary exchange had been brought on by concern for Imoen, rather than Elatharia's earlier blackmail.

"Who was it that you were working for out here, Ajantis?" she inquired after a pause, "A lord Jierdan Firkraag, perchance?"

"Indeed! The Order received a request for aid from him, and my group and I were sent out to his castle yonder," he pointed into the darkness, out in the direction of the castle on the mountain, "And not five days ago we met with him there. He told us of the monsters lurking in the woods and sent us off. Now though, when you prove to me what has befallen us – and that those who attacked us were most likely not what they seemed – I dread this evil's man's true purpose. We must not linger here too long; I must return to the Order and inform them of this immediately. They will no doubt pay you handsomely for the aid you rendered us, as well."

"Any thanks the Order can give us would be welcome," Elatharia smiled as sweetly as she knew how – though the only thanks she really could stomach would be a chest full of gold.

While Jaheira and Minsc moved to greet Ajantis, the ranger and paladin colliding in a _very_ manly hug, Elatharia stepped back from the throng of people, dropping the coinpurses into her bag of holding for Imoen's fund. When she next raised her head she was greeted with a pounding headache, her limbs suddenly heavy and aching. The lit clearing was blurred to her tired eyes and she was rubbing at her temples and groaning wearily when Aerie touched her elbow. The avariel was watching her with a concerned frown and spoke softly now in consideration of her headache.

"Elatharia, Viconia has just returned," the part-time mage informed her, "I…believe you have mentioned Ajantis before in regards to…her heritage?"

"Oh gods!" the Transmuter's eyes widened as she realised, looking around sharply – in spite of the pain it caused her – to see the hooded figure of the dark elf lingering at the furthest fringes of the group, her eyes once more blue in the light and fixed warily upon the blonde head of Ajantis.

A few moments later and she had crossed the clearing, taken firm hold of Viconia's arm and spun her around so she had her back to Ajantis. The drow looked slightly amused by her swift action but let her weave her Transmutation upon her before speaking. It took longer than Elatharia would have liked, and her head was truly pounding by the time the magic had passed through her and reformed Viconia into a black-haired moon elf. The priestess was wise enough to avoid turning her cloak around to once more wear it with its tell-tale yellow cloth on the outer side.

"My thanks, _khal'abbil,_ " she acceded once the deed was done, "I shall endeavour to keep out of the fool's way until he leaves. This wretched form should stop him from wondering at least."

A glance around the clearing to where Ajantis and his men were exchanging greetings with the others showed to Elatharia that there was, once more, a member of their party missing.

"Tell me you did not murder Haer'Dalis, Viconia."

"Not at all," the priestess smiled widely at the thought, however, "Though the truth is a story which I would have liked to tell to the group," a glance over her shoulder toward Ajantis was explanation enough for why that would no longer be possible, "I do hope he will leave soon."

"As do I," Edwin added, coming up to join them with his hands deep in his pockets and a frown so fierce that it looked like he was intending to will the paladin on fire, "But at least you have earnings for your 'good deed'. With my help," he looked down at Elatharia expectantly and for a weary few seconds she just blinked up at him before realising what he meant.

With a sneer she delved into the bag of holding and tossed one of the coinpurses at him – the smallest, though he did not need to know that. He pocketed it without a word, his frown easing in spite of her unwillingness.

"There are other ways of paying…" Viconia began, looking between the two wizards with a mischievous look that boded anything other than well. Elatharia made a point of talking loudly over her next words and kept her eyes on the drow rather than the Red Wizard at her elbow.

"Why don't you tell us where you left the tiefling?"

"Ah, well…"

* * *

Garren Windspear had come upon Viconia and Haer'Dalis only when they chose to show themselves to him – something which the tiefling had been much more willing to the do than the drow. She had kept the hood of her cloak low and let the bard do all of the talking; though Haer'Dalis was clearly something other than human, Garren had not seemed to assume anything untoward about him. Probably.

Realising that this was the real lord of the land, and when the name of Lord Jierdan Firkraag made a dark rage well in Garren's eyes, they had been more than a little intrigued. Haer'Dalis had suggested that they take him to meet their companions, to tell his story and maybe win their aid. Garren had other ideas, and demanded that if they were to meet him it would be at his current home – and that for surety he would be keeping one of the two he had just met until such time as the larger group came to speak with him. After all, it was difficult to tell friend from foe in these parts.

So Viconia had let Haer'Dalis offer himself up; it hardly seemed wise to let a human man see her drow form. Such things had never gone well, and she was careful to keep the tiefling between herself and the man. Still, she had been required to follow them to the house first to determine where it stood before heading back alone to tell all to Elatharia. It was a cabin in a similar style to Valygar's, though a little larger; set upon one of the tall hills in the area and surrounded by a series of tiered dry motes as well as a high palisade wall at the top of the rise. It looked to be some kind of safe place for the lord, or something equally baffling to the drow.

The last she had seen of Haer'Dalis he had been standing in the open doorway after Garren had permitted him to check through the house as proof that this was no trap – once he had relinquished his weapons. The tiefling had seemed unbothered, smiling faintly at the drow before she took her leave, his arms folded before him as he leaned against the doorframe. For a fleeting moment Viconia had been struck with a sense of nervousness, maybe even a little fear. Frowning, she had berated him for abandoning her to cross through the wilderness to their friends alone. As if seeing something she had not intended, he had smiled a little more at that, and only afterwards did she realise that her snarled words had been hypocritical – since she had intended to go alone to the hamlet initially – and that they implied weakness in her, a female drow. Most importantly, it seemed that he had recognised them for what they were: a distraction from what she was really worried about.

Mentally reeling off as many insulting names as she could think of in all of the languages she knew, Viconia had turned and fairly fled from him and the man watching their interaction distrustfully from within the house. It had taken very little effort to traverse the ditches in the hill and from there the path was a fairly straight one back to Elatharia.

Upon seeing the paladin who had promised to have her life if they ever met again, Viconia had been more than uncomfortable until Elatharia cast her spell to make the drow appear as a moon elf. Still, it had been a relief when Ajantis and his men had not deigned to stay, leaving with a bow to Jaheira, a slap on the back shared with Minsc and a handshake offered to Anomen – who was, after all, a member of the same Order. It seemed that they had not met before, however; Viconia had almost pushed it from her mind that she had once known someone who was more prejudiced than Anomen. At least the boy had never offered to kill her and had done nothing more threatening than send a few uncomfortable stares her way when her dark elven form was in sight.

Though laden with some extra gold for her troubles – even if some had been extorted by Edwin – Elatharia had seemed tired and uncomfortable after the encounter with the human paladin and his men. She had even seemed reluctant to face Garren Windspear without some rest – but Aerie and Anomen had insisted, with the Helmite swearing that this lord of Windspear, who was after all his 'second cousin', was an honourable man who would not harm them and must be in dire need. With Minsc, Jaheira and Mazzy joining the clamour to go to the man's home for the night and find out how to help, Elatharia had relented.

Korgan had grumbled until the Transmuter paid him (as well as Jan) for his day's work using some of the money the freed men of the Order had given her. She lagged behind the group for most of the way, rubbing at her temples and with Aerie fussing over her, worriedly saying something about how dangerous it was to perform spells that were far more powerful than anything she was used to.

Viconia had been very curious about what would have become of Haer'Dalis. By the time they had returned to the house – where Anomen had greeted his relative with a level of exuberance and quickly forming sympathy which humans evidently deemed necessary – Viconia found herself rather let down by the sight of the tiefling sitting calmly by the fire in the house.

* * *

Garren Windspear's house was only just large enough to cope with the group that Elatharia led – still, the building was bigger than Valygar's with a deep mezzanine floor upon which most of them were told they could sleep. Only Anomen was permitted to take the one spare bedroom in the house and the rest of them were told that they would need to stay in the front half of the house only; which meant the sitting room and the mezzanine above it.

It took a little while for the party to organise itself in such a small space. Valygar offered to sit outside and keep watch, though there had been no open danger since meeting Ajantis. Aerie skipped forward to greet Haer'Dalis, which caused Viconia to turn away with a sneer and take a seat by the window as far from them as she could get. Korgan stomped up to the mezzanine and demanded to be awoken once they were ready to leave the next day.

Once Mazzy and Anomen had been freed from their armour, the rest of the group were told firmly to sit around the fire by their gruff but apparently good-hearted host. With Anomen and Aerie on one couch – Haer'Dalis perched on its arm – and Jaheira, Mazzy and Jan on the other, the rest of them pulled up chairs (Edwin took the only available armchair in the room, much to Viconia's distaste). Minsc seemed far too large for his seat, squirming for a little while before standing behind Jaheira's couch to watch their host instead.

"You will have to forgive my poor hospitality," Garren told them once he joined them.

Standing before their semi-circle around the fire, the threadbare lord of Windspear settled a tray upon the table between them. Upon it rest a teapot and a small number of cups along with some buttered bread and a pile of fruit.

"That is quite alright, Garren," Anomen began before anyone else, looking around the group for agreement.

"I believe it is quite clear that something is very amiss here," Jaheira agreed woodenly after a moment, her hand coming up to the Harper pin on her shoulder automatically, "We…"

"We would like to help however we can!" Aerie insisted, nodding.

Edwin groaned almost inaudibly at Elatharia's side, sending her a long-suffering look from where he was leaning on the armrest of his chair, chin in his palm and the nails of his other hand tapping irritably over his leg.

"I thank you, and I must admit that I am in great need of your help," Garren Windspear agreed, his expression softening as he saw the avariel looking up at him with such earnest sympathy and worry.

He looked tired and dishevelled, the velvet doublet he wore threadbare and worn in the manner of someone who had nothing else to wear and had possibly fought and bled in such items recently. He seemed highly uncomfortable as host, though he had made a fairly valiant effort with his tray, his stubble untidy and tending towards a beard. He was young for a lord, in his early thirties perhaps, with thick coppery hair similar to Anomen's. Though he wore a wedding ring there was no sign of any wife in the house.

"Go on," Elatharia suggested when the room fell quiet at such an awkward admission.

Garren obviously found it difficult to ask for help from an adventuring band caught wandering near the Windspear Hamlet in the dead of night. If not for Anomen's presence this conversation probably could never have even begun.

The lord of the Windspear Hills straightened at her carefully neutral suggestion. Truth be told, Elatharia was tired and struggling to see clearly past the throbbing in her head. She was beginning to resent Edwin for taking that armchair, and his smugness over this was not helping.

"I am not under any deceptions like the rest of this place," Garren began after a moment to collect his obviously frayed thoughts, putting his hand on the mantelpiece and half-turning away from them to tell his tale, "And thus I am aware that it is Lord Jierdan Firkraag who has sent you here with his lies," his fist clenched at this, shaking with the force of his anger, "He arrived here a tenday ago, and sought to set those who I entreated honestly for help against each other and those to whom he fed his lies…by forcing upon some an Illusion and others a…more permanent change."

"(A Transmutation)," Edwin corrected, leaning closer to Elatharia's side to mutter the derisive words, "(Sometimes I forget how stupid the warrior masses can be)."

The Transmuter just winced at him, rubbing at her temple again – he watched her closely for a second, eyes narrowing, until Garren continued obliviously.

"Anomen has told me that you did at least save those the Order sent due to Firkraag's lies, and for that I am glad. However…for me this tale is far worse," he paused, taking in a deep breath to steady himself before continuing, "He has driven me from my home, destroyed every soul who lived in the hamlet I protected, slaughtered my men and instated his own monstrous guards. He has taken my daughter as his captive and left me here to rot."

Anomen was on his feet in a second, as was Mazzy. Minsc cried out something about evil and vengeance which was, for once, met with agreement from several party members. Aerie's eyes were wide and sparkling with tears, her hands fluttering up to her mouth. Viconia muttered something in drow that sounded slightly derogatory from what little Elatharia knew of the language but the priestess stopped abruptly when Haer'Dalis glanced over at her, his expression calm but without mirth.

"Such an injustice cannot be tolerated!" Anomen exclaimed, taking the few steps forward to clasp his kinsman's shoulder, "We certainly cannot wait for Ajantis to inform the Order. Elatharia, we _must_ act!"

Garren seemed to understand Elatharia's expression, however, and turned to face her fully to hear her words.

"You want to save your daughter," she acceded, ignoring Jaheira's frown, "…And I need to save my sister. There's a ransom for that – so, you see, I'm going to need some kind of payment for what we do for you. My friends here would save your daughter free of charge I do not doubt. But if you want all of us to help, and Firkraag ousted too, then money is the only way."

Maybe once she would have felt guilt over such callous words but the more her head hurt from her earlier spellcasting the more she thought of Imoen. And the knives. And Irenicus.

"My _lady_ ," Anomen had turned red to his roots and sounded almost as angry as he had on the day of his sister's murder.

Aerie was standing at his side now, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, her mouth agape. Mazzy had sat back down after an angry promise that she would see justice done with or without their leader. Minsc looked confused and disappointed. Even Jan had sighed, shaking his head from his place beside Mazzy and muttering something about those who have never known children, like Golodon. Jaheira's expression had become very still, her eyes following the path of Valygar as he rejoined them from the yard, coming to stand behind the couch upon which Anomen and Aerie had sat. His expression was hard to read but he was watching Elatharia closely, as if gauging a possible threat.

"I never said _you_ couldn't, Anomen," the Transmuter pointed out carefully, keeping her attention on Garren. The lord of Windspear hardly looked impressed…or surprised.

"You keep company almost as foul as your father, Anomen," he noted in a growl, which earned a sneer from Edwin, "But of course I would reward anyone who brought my daughter back to me. As for killing Firkraag…I would not ask such a task lightly from anyone."

"Ah, and now he will tell us the truth," Edwin sighed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, turning his smirk towards Valygar, his eyes hard.

"My family have been in this land for hundreds of years. We won it long ago from a brutal tyrant and the castle was built afterwards with the funds my ancestor gained in his years as an adventurer. It is the threat that my ancestral sword, Carsomyr, poses to him…and thanks to his own madness…that Firkraag has decided to take everything from me," Garren explained at last.

"Aha! And what manner of creature is Firkraag to fear a single sword once wielded by a famous adventurer?" Haer'Dalis inquired now, and Garren grimaced. Edwin's eyes were alight with intrigue.

"He is not a man, though you may have seen him as such," Garren admitted eventually, "…He is a red dragon, and my ancestry offends him. Carsomyr was forged for the killing of monsters like him, and since he cannot destroy it, now that he has found it he will guard it from ever being used. I will freely give that weapon to you, and let you keep anything you find amongst the horde he will have amassed from my inheritance. You will of course have to kill him first."

"We must do this – for all that is right and good!" Minsc insisted, earning some ferocious nods from Mazzy and Anomen.

"It would be the right thing to do," Aerie agreed after a moment, though she had grown pale at the thought, "For your daughter, my lord. I would never wish…wish captivity on anyone." Anomen looked down at her then and smiled, placing a hand upon her trembling shoulder. She blinked up at him and blushed.

"I thank you all," Garren nodded, smiling wearily to Minsc, Mazzy, Anomen and Aerie.

"I would offer my aid also," Jan put in after a moment, "As my uncle once quoted…"

"I will help as I can," Jaheira interrupted sharply and the gnome gave up his speech with a knowing smile, "Especially as this Firkraag has so badly disrupted the balance of your land. I will also offer up prayers to Silvanus for those lives lost in your hamlet, and aid Anomen in the service he has promised you for their burials. No creature should be permitted to cause such atrocities."

Garren shared a nod with Valygar also. He had addressed the ranger as Lord Corthala upon their meeting and the two seemed to have already had a passing familiarity. As such it appeared that they needed few words to convey intent and thanks. Yoshimo gave a faint shrug of agreement also.

That left Elatharia, Edwin, Viconia and Haer'Dalis. The tiefling stayed quiet now, keeping his gaze upon the three others who had not yet expressed their opinion as the two wizards leaned together and Viconia approached to listen behind their chairs.

"A red dragon…with a horde…and a dragonslaying sword…" Elatharia prompted, starting to smile when she saw the hungry expression on Edwin's face. His dark eyes were _gleaming_. For once in his life he felt no need to speak.

"I do not share your enthusiasm for the power of such a mission. Though the spoils will be rich, there are undoubtedly ways which would be easier – though perhaps not closer," Viconia admitted from behind them. When Elatharia looked up, the disguised drow shrugged, "I will follow you, _khal'abbil_."

A glance at Haer'Dalis earned a shrug of agreement which was ironically rather similar to Yoshimo's.

"I think I can speak for Korgan," who was currently snoring loudly from the furthest recesses of the mezzanine above them, "When I say that he will be happy to join in anything that involves violence," Elatharia noted, standing when Garren offered his hand to shake, "It seems we are all in agreement."

While Garren was shaking the hands of the others with significantly more good feeling, Elatharia groaned against another skull-splitting headache, a wave of nausea rising for a moment when the ringing in her head gave way to a split-second image of the silver blade of a sharp knife. When Edwin's hand closed around her elbow she moved with him out into the cooler night-time air without resistance.

Once they were standing beneath the eaves in the darkness, with only the glow of the firelight through the house's windows to wash out the starlight in the black sky, Elatharia pushed back the protective cloth of Gorion's enchanted cloak and let the cold mountain air move over her bare arms, breathing in great gulps of air. Sometimes it was a great relief to be out here away from the sweltering heat of Athkatla. But not even that could relieve the pounding in her head and the things that she remembered ever more as darkness crept in.

The Transmuter stumbled when Edwin caught her by the shoulders, twisting her around the corner of the house so that those within could not see them through the windows. Wordlessly the Red Wizard slipped his fingertips under her mask and eased it over her head slowly, letting it slide down his arm as he caught her face in his hands, pressing those same fingertips to her temples slowly. She had closed her eyes as he moved the cloth from her face, too tired to resist or ask what he was doing. She opened them again when she felt him thumbs brushing over the markings she hid from the world, frowning and pushing at his arms to stop him. For a moment she thought he was about to kiss her.

When she saw him frowning back at her she relented, swallowing hard, her hands clasping around his wrists in mute appeal to let her go. She could not tell if that frown meant anger or concern...or both. He would never have admitted to the latter, and she would have to be delirious to believe that was all of the motivation behind his actions.

"What are you looking for?" she demanded when he continued to search her face as if she was some kind of animal to be appraised before a sale. She gasped in pain, trying to wince away from him when his index fingers pressed lightly against her temples and he nodded thoughtfully to himself.

"I am not in the habit of agreeing with the avariel," the Conjurer began quietly, turning her head a little against her will to catch some of the light coming from the front of the house and observe her eyes better for his inspection, "But, sadly, what she said to you earlier was true. You cannot expect to cast spells of the magnitude which we (emphasis on _we_ ) orchestrated earlier and walk away unscathed, incompetent Transmuter. That incompetence has driven you to new levels of audacity today, and now you are paying the price."

"Your caring tone and gentle regard for my _pounding head_ are extremely appreciated," Elatharia complained sarcastically, stumbling when she tried to pull away again and the damp edge of the wooden column holding up one of the eaves dug into her arm.

Edwin tutted at her tone, letting her at least turn her head back to look at him. This close she could see the dark line of one tattoo rising up the side of his neck, disappearing behind his ear and under his hair. She had never seen the full extent of those tattoos, but here in the gloom the thought of tracing that one's path was strangely distracting.

"It is a great gift to have the natural talent for such powerful magic, as you clearly do," Edwin continued, obviously too distracted by his appraisal of her state of health to notice her wandering thoughts, "And it is the sign of an exceptional mage to be able to do what you did today. But a truly _great_ wizard would know which limitations to adhere to," he was muttering more to himself than her, "Your eyes are bloodshot, there is bruising here," his thumbs ran over the skin beneath her eyes, "And there is bruising at your temples as well. (Fool. She should take notes when I quote such excellent Thayvian proverbs)."

"Well if that's the case then why hasn't this happened to you?" Elatharia demanded when he released her, continuing to mutter about all the injuries she had doubtlessly inflicted upon herself.

"Because I am a better mage," Edwin sneered, and Elatharia scoffed.

"I think it's actually because I did all the work today, Edwin," she told him coolly, closing her eyes and bowing her head to rub at her temples again because it was easier than looking into the night-time world behind him where her mind could paint the images of the past upon its impenetrable surface.

"I was the guidance," he corrected her, and for a moment the unwitting parallel to her dream sent her thoughts reeling, "You could not have done anything you did today without me. That such a thought even enters your head proves how much of a fool you have been to overstretch yourself."

Her eyes flew open and her shoulders tensed, her heart thundering in her pounding head. _They were the guidance. They are so far away._ The words her dream had placed in Imoen's mouth came back to her as if she could hear them clearly again. She swallowed, unable to move her stare from his though the darkness behind him _roiled_ and the things behind her eyes flashed past in greater frequency.

"What are you seeing?" he sounded caught somewhere between annoyance and curiosity, taking a step towards her again as if she were an animal about to bolt.

It took several long breaths before Elatharia could believe in his familiar face, its high cheekbones, dark eyes, long lashes, overly sculpted beard decorated with beads and 'spoiled' by stubble. She trembled at the resurgence of her memories as she mutely watched him lean back against the wall, folding his arms, eyes glinting in the faint light from the house. It was possible to hear the group speaking from within and the tinkle of Haer'Dalis's harp.

"I am currently 'seeing' a Red Wizard with an ego twice as large as his father's Tharch in Thay," Elatharia forced out archly, "Admit it. You are impressed by what I did today," she told him as confidently as she could, though the words rang hollow in her own ears. Steeling herself, she forced her thoughts back into reality and smiled knowingly at his doubtful look. Distraction tactics were so much easier than a real conversation, "Maybe even jealous."

"(Fool. Child. _Simian,_ )" he took the bait and glared at her, "You are no better than a sorcerer, skipping through life flinging spells you can never understand…"

"Oh really, says the man who favours…flinging fire spells…"

"Ugh. (Why do I waste my time on such idiocy. One day…one day…)," his eyes flashed over her when she snorted at his openly mutinous mutterings, "If you think that you can impress me by turning a few monkeys back into their true forms, then you are mistaken. I was educated and raised upon Thaymount and in the Tharch of Surthay…you were given a meagre education by a man who preferred to hide the truth from you in a small keep that collects books that it never reads!" this reaction was perhaps a little more extreme than she had been expecting – it occurred to her that the Red Wizard had been brooding since she returned Ajantis and his men to their true forms.

"Sounds like jealousy to me," she reiterated, crossing her arms.

There was something a bit too satisfying about the way that the Red Wizard's ego could be lighted up like this. He stood straight when he realised she had manoeuvred him into this, smiling in a way that meant he had this victory and not her.

"You have twisted this conversation, and so now I shall return it to its true course," he purred, pausing for effect when her expression fell and then proceeding to speak to her slowly, emphasising his words as if speaking to a child, "You have overstretched your power today. If I had summoned a Balor Lord for your inspection and almost ruptured my major arteries sending it back to its native hell, would you have been impressed? (As an incompetent Transmuter perhaps she would have been)."

"I'm surprised you care."

This kind of manipulation was no longer as fun.

"I don't," he snapped, curling his hands at her in annoyance, "Not unless you endanger _me_ with your ridiculous choices. Take the power you have and use it to your advantage…against this Firkraag, against Irenicus. Do not reach for what you do not have yet. We are taught this as _children_ in Thay."

"Well then, if you don't care why are you still standing there?" she asked him, angry now herself, "I do what I must. We needed the money Ajantis gave us and it would have been harder to gain by killing him, given who follows us."

She turned away, and when he did not respond she knew that he had left her to the darkness.

* * *

 **Author's note: The identity of Edwin's father comes from the opening few scenes of the Forgotten Realms novel about Thay, _Unclean_ ; it describes Homen Odesseiron as Tharchion of Surthay. It never mentions Edwin, of course, but as in Kyn's wonderful Aegis of Candlekeep stories here on Fanfic, I've taken the stance that he is probably Edwin's father, not just a distant relative as could also be assumed.**


	11. The Plans of Schemers

**Thank you to all those who are following this story. Your reviews are, as ever, greatly appreciated. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 10: The Plans of Schemers**

* * *

Elatharia had slept without dreams. Once she had crept back into Garren's home, all of the others had gone to bed; Anomen to his appointed room while Korgan, Jan, Minsc, Jaheira, Yoshimo, Mazzy and Valygar had taken the mezzanine. Viconia and Aerie had each taken one of the couches which were now angled away from each other; drow and avariel rarely spoke, preferring to ignore each other rather than face the disquiet they probably induced in each other. Edwin had walled himself off behind a row of chairs and was utterly invisible; her eyes did not linger in his direction for once, because the thought of him still made her angry after their conversation. Haer'Dalis was dozing whilst sitting along the windowsill, his harp still in his lap and his hood low over his face; there was just a braid of blue hair visible at his jerkin collar.

Elatharia had taken the armchair, since it was just large enough for her to curl up on with relative comfort. After looking over her spellbook for those incantations which might be useful in the coming day's battle, she barely had time to begin considering the dangers of the way the group had split in the face of Garren's need before sleep claimed her.

The next morning was heralded by the mercilessly loud footsteps of her companions descending from the mezzanine, a few trudging off fearlessly for the lake to wash as best they could. One glance out of the window had shown the gathering storm clouds, and Elatharia had huddled beneath her cloak once more to find further sleep. The next thing she knew there were several voices coming from the kitchen, the roof of the sitting room was roaring with the pelting of rain, and someone had lit the fire in front of her. She could make out Anomen's insistent tones punctuated by Mazzy's firm but calmer agreements; a lower, quieter voice was probably Valygar. A loud 'Boo says…' proved the presence of Minsc.

As she sat up slowly Elatharia observed Korgan munching on a pie rather loudly by the kitchen, and Edwin was reading huddled by the fire with a cup of tea growing cold at his elbow. Jan was sitting on the floor by the mantelpiece, fiddling with some small metal contraption and apparently oblivious to the rest of the world.

When a bowl appeared in front of her face, Elatharia jumped in surprise. When she saw the unfamiliar hand that held it she was no less confused; it was masculine – though still fairly slender – with short, blue-tinged nails. A bracelet of woven feathers hung around the wrist and a few white scars stood out along the forearm where the shirt had been rolled up to the elbows.

"Forgive me, my Raven," Haer'Dalis chuckled when the Transmuter jumped back in surprise from his offering, "Your Blackbird has often berated me for such silent approaches as well," he offered the bowl again and she took it gingerly, watching his eyes warily. The irises were black – a strange phenomenon which was only truly noteworthy when the light fell upon his face…and showed that they absolutely were not a more human brown.

"What is it?" Elatharia asked stupidly as the tiefling handed her a spoon.

"Soup, as made and sent by the lovely Aerie, our Mourning Dove," Haer'Dalis informed her, twisting about to sit upon a nearby couch, reclining and watching Viconia's approach with a little smile, "This Sparrow was but a humble courier for a far nobler Dove."

Viconia gave the bard a disdainful glare and stopped in front of Elatharia as the Transmuter was just sipping on her soup. The priestess seemed in no mood to speak and instead waited for Elatharia to realise the problem. Once she had, the Transmuter returned the drow's glare and cast the required spell to alter her appearance back to that of a moon elf.

"You're both in bad moods today," Aerie giggled, appearing at Elatharia's side and slipping past to sit next to Haer'Dalis.

"And you're still in a strangely good one, Aerie," Elatharia complained, sitting up and only then noticing that her mask lay upon her lap. Edwin had not given it back to her the night before, and yet here it was. None of her three companions had once glanced at her markings with the judgement or horror she would have expected – not even Haer'Dalis, who had never seen them before.

"We are going to help Garren's daughter today," the avariel's face fell in response to Elatharia's words, "And send Firkraag from the castle. I…I have not forgotten the suffering of our host, I assure you."

"And your compassion is a rare thing, my Dove," Haer'Dalis noted now, putting a hand over Aerie's. The avariel blinked at him in surprise, her smile tentative and her blush obvious.

Viconia rolled her eyes and turned away, Elatharia watching the bard and part-time mage closely as she set aside her soup to tie on her mask. It was hard to tell who the tiefling favoured more; the avariel or the drow, and the fact that he favoured them both at all seemed rather strange. Short of comparing Aerie to Korgan, there were few people more opposite to her in the group than Viconia…or so the drow would have the world believe. So Elatharia just smiled into her bowl and quietly ate her soup, watching the interactions before her.

"We should be ready to move out soon," Jaheira was saying to Valygar as they entered the sitting room from the kitchen.

Elatharia twisted about to look at her.

"Yes," the Transmuter agreed, earning an uncomfortable nod from both druid and ranger, "But first I need everyone to gather round. You're going to have to listen closely and trust me; I have a plan. And Anomen? You aren't going to like it."

* * *

And the cleric had not liked it, nor had Garren upon entering his sitting room and listening to Elatharia explain what she had in mind to her gathered companions. But in the end they had agreed it would be the best way, and Anomen had sworn not to compromise them. Sharing a firm handshake with his cousin, he had followed like the others.

They left substantially before noon and made their way back to the road which had once cut through the destroyed hamlet. The rain was rushing around them as they trudged along the road and every party member was quiet and muddy, wrapped in their cloaks and wincing against the icy sting of the wind – and the water it brought lashing with it. Edwin was keeping well away from Elatharia – which meant that he was walking alone after rebuffing Haer'Dalis's attempts to converse so adamantly that even the tiefling gave up.

It took twice as long as planned to come to the castle gates at the foot of the mountain. Elatharia had to crane her neck back to see a semblance of the castle's dark shape clinging to the rock-face above them from here, the rain soaking through her mask, trickling in icy rivulets down behind the cloth and into her eyes. The walls here were high and of dark stone, the gates of thick wood and thoroughly shut. Sticking to her plan, the Transmuter had been considering some way of gaining the attention of whoever was inside…when those heavy gates ground slowly open. It sounded like someone was turning the wheel from inside the gatehouse which they passed upon their entry but no one came out to greet them. Still, it seemed that they were not suspected of harbouring ill intent.

As the gates slammed shut behind them, there was only one way forward. Beyond stood a bailey – or its remains – which had once held a number of buildings, some probably barracks, one with a broken symbol of Lathander lying before its empty doorway. The walls were not manned, though the scaffolds used to reach them were still standing. The ground was paved and slippery but a pleasant change from the mud they had churned beneath their feet to get here.

Across the bailey stood a steep stairway which vanished into a high archway cut into the cliff face. It seemed that this really was the only way forward; the winch-operated lift which served as an alternative lay shattered by the stairs.

A glance behind herself revealed to Elatharia the wary expressions of her companions. Aerie was clinging to Anomen's arm, and the Helmite looked as though he were doing his very best to hide his extreme distaste for the task ahead. Mazzy and Valygar stood next to each other, the top of the paladin's head not even level with his waist; both wore expressions of grim determination. Jan had pulled his goggles down over his eyes to shield them from the rain and was taking the pause in walking to peruse the little metal item in his hands. Korgan was glowering up at the steps they would evidently be climbing soon with a look of personal affront; behind him Edwin was hunched beneath his long black cloak and appeared similarly put out by the task ahead of them. When he caught Elatharia looking, he frowned at her but gave a sharp nod. Returning the gesture, Elatharia turned back to face the stairs – which Haer'Dalis had already reached. He was now beckoning them over unconcernedly from the shelter of the archway. A moment later Viconia's yellow-hooded head appeared out of the gloom behind him, her eyes flashing red in the darkness.

"Let us go," Jaheira prompted from Elatharia's side, watching the Transmuter with that same unreadable look which she had worn since her apology at Valygar's cabin. Though the druid had been significantly less acerbic – or at least hateful – after her encounter with Haer'Dalis, it would take a lot more than an apology to set things right between her and Elatharia.

"Yes," the Transmuter agreed, beginning to move forward, "I imagine he will meet us at the gates." _In his human form._

The plan relied upon Lord Jierdan being unaware of the aid they had given to Ajantis or the time they had spent at Garren's lodge. It was possibly a foolish hope, but it had at least got them through the outer walls.

Once they began their ascent to the top of the stairs in their quest to reach the castle proper, the silence was filled only by the endless echo of their footsteps. This steep, winding tunnel did at least shelter them from the rain, but it was tiring work and hardly conducive to conversation. It was particularly hard for Jan, Mazzy and Korgan – all three were lagging significantly far behind not long into the climb. Aerie may have suffered similarly if not for the stoic aid of Anomen. Edwin was red-faced and glowering in short order as well, although he kept pace – he and Viconia were in agreement in regards to how very much _beneath them_ this type of work was. The two rangers, as well as Jaheira and Haer'Dalis, seemed unfazed by the exercise…while Yoshimo went a step beyond them all – quite literally – and flitted off ahead to inspect the tunnel.

Elatharia's thighs were burning for rest by the time that they reached the top of the stairs. The ascent ended in a short hallway, upon the smooth stone walls of which burned ensconced torches, their flames casting long shadows and flickering reddish reflections along the polished tile floor. A set of doors stood open at the far end…and in that opening stood Lord Jierdan Firkraag, smiling widely in greeting. At the sight of him, still wearing the form of a man and dressed just as before in red and black velvets, the party grew still – though several were doubled over and panting to catch their breath.

"Friends, it is good to see that you have made the difficult climb," Firkraag greeted, stepping forward with his arms outstretched just as Korgan and Mazzy clanked loudly to an unusually unified halt at the top of the stairs. Jan was still wheezing in the distance, his gasps echoing down the tunnel in a rather monstrous manner.

"Lord Firkraag."

Elatharia found that the smile she faked came easily to her, approaching him with Viconia and Haer'Dalis flanking her as agreed. No one else in their group had been comfortable with playing this act. And of those she knew there were no two people more skilled in deception than the drow and the tiefling.

"We have travelled far to come to your lands and the road has been hard," she gestured at her bedraggled, muddy state, "I trust we can find some lodgings in your castle? We came upon a group of ogres and hobgoblins just by the way-marker a few miles south west of here. I assume they were some of the bandits of whom you spoke? Either way, we dispatched them. A shame about your hamlet – what kind of a force could have doled such horrors?"

"Indeed, indeed," Firkraag nodded, his eyes lighting up with pleasure at the mention of the 'bandits', "You may of course stay here. I apologise for the long climb; this castle has been under attack from all sides of late. Please, allow me to escort you to your chambers."

"Thank you," Viconia purred now, "We are _very_ weary."

' _Be ready,'_ Elatharia signed to her once Firkraag's back was turned, the party trailing after him, ' _We won't be able to corner him now, but if what Garren says is true we'll be facing a host of his guards before bed, I promise._ '

If Firkraag knew that they were lying, then this would be the best plan to dispatch them; if he was a troublemaker intent upon chaos, he would probably be planning something similar. And if he thought they were genuine…then they would still need to group together to defeat the guards he kept within. It had already been determined that their path would lead them down into the depths of the castle, where the dungeons stood. Beneath these, Garren had told them, stood the only cavern large enough for a red dragon – an immense chamber built to house the skulls of defeated dragons. And it was within this room that Carsomyr was likely held as well, along with any hoard Firkraag had amassed.

A glance back at Jaheira showed the druid's grim expression, though all that had passed so far was utterly to plan. No doubt Firkraag would seek to separate the group by giving them each a room in the castle. But it was already agreed; as soon as they had been escorted to their rooms they would return to the central entry hall of the castle which Garren had described to them before their departure. The true Lord of Windspear had detailed the different rooms Firkraag would probably assign them, the better to separate them before sending his monstrous guards to deal with them.

For now all seemed quiet, the castle utterly empty – a phenomenon which Firkraag explained with some mention that his servants had all gone to find shelter in the Umar Hills from the dangerous events. Wherever his guards were, they were well hidden. The group passed through the entry hall, a tall and rather plain room without any kind of adornment save for the carvings at the newel posts of the mighty central stairway. It was up these steps that Firkraag led them, and down a series of winding passageways which ought to have been impossible to navigate in reverse – except for Garren's earlier aid.

Haer'Dalis partnered with Minsc for the first room, then Korgan with Jan a little way down. Yoshimo and Edwin were next, followed by Anomen and Valygar; several corridors further down, Mazzy and Aerie took a room opposite Viconia and Jaheira. Everyone played their parts as well as could be hoped but Elatharia's heart was still pounding as Firkraag led her alone to the last bedroom. He parted from her with a smile and a hot kiss to the back of her hand, bidding her rest well and apologising for the absence of any servants. She had smiled, in truth hiding behind her mask, and remembered the appropriate pleasantries before stepping through the door.

Beyond stood a broad four-poster bed upon a raised platform, framed by a tall arched window in the wall behind it. Rain was spattering against the coloured glass and the world outside was gloomy, but the light still filtered through in an aesthetically pleasing rainbow. All was as one would expect; an empty bath at the foot of the bed, a washbowl upon the nightstand, a few wardrobes and unlit candelabras flanking full bookcases.

Except for the pair of hobgoblin guards waiting against the walls to either side of the door.

Both moved for her at the same time, and though Elatharia had been half-expecting something of this sort it was probably luck that she noticed them in time. Faking a scream, she ducked beneath their swinging blades and gasped the words for a _Haste_ spell, her hands forming the gestures as fast as was physically possible. The spell took effect in a split second, empowering her movements to twice their normal speed and allowing her to scramble across the room, away from her snarling opponents. She screamed again for good measure, suspecting that Firkraag was listening to ensure she was at least hurt in this encounter. Perhaps understandably, both hobgoblins' porcine faces twisted in confusion to see her manic grin…and she called forth her next spell.

Extending her arms before her, fingers splayed, she waited until the closer of the two was no more than a foot from her before allowing the roaring heat of _Aganazzar's Scorcher_ to engulf her foe. Howling in pain, the brute recoiled from the wickedly hot flames, shrieking from unexpected – and undoubtedly agonising – burns. When she gestured similarly to the other hobgoblin, he scrambled back quickly…only to realise that she had feigned the gesture and was now calling forth another, more powerful spell.

When the lightning bolt hit him it sent him crashing into one of the wardrobes at the far end of the room, tumbling over where his companion was currently rolling to put out the fires upon his hair and clothes. Elatharia watched as the lightning crawled from the smouldering, twitching corpse of the second hobgoblin, sparking off the floor with the irrepressible power of their magical energy…and finished what the _Aganazzar's Scorcher_ had begun. Her dispassionate gaze grew grimly satisfied as she crossed the room slowly, kicking over the closest hobgoblin and observing her handiwork. Bhaal's blood called for this, and Firkraag had just made this personal.

* * *

Elatharia's plan had worked only to the extent that it had got them into the castle. By leaving his soldiers lying in wait for all of them in their respective rooms, Firkraag had made it clear that he already knew they had betrayed his interests. It was probably the only time Viconia had ever been grateful to be assigned a chamber with Jaheira, because the warrior druid had whirled on the four hobgoblins that came for them and given Viconia enough time to cast the spells she needed to join the fray. They had met Aerie and Mazzy in the corridor outside their room; both had seemed uninjured and no one knew where Elatharia had gone with Firkraag, so they set off for the agreed meeting point of the central hall.

Edwin, Yoshimo, Jan and Korgan had all been waiting for them there, the Red Wizard with his arms folded and his foot tapping impatiently, the bounty hunter sitting on one of the long tables unconcernedly, the gnome reloading his crossbow and the dwarf once more covered in blood after the ambush in his room. Once Valygar and Anomen arrived, Jaheira had the group patrol the doors; there was still no sign of Elatharia, Haer'Dalis or Minsc.

When a lone hobgoblin burst through the door at the top of the stairs and headed straight for the group, everyone took up a ready battle stance or poised themselves for a spell, fully expecting a host of attackers to follow. Yoshimo drew back an arrow, hesitating only because this hobgoblin appeared to carry no weapon and did not seem to be making any move to attack them. It even stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sent each of them a withering stare.

Jan started laughing so hard that he had to lean against one of the tables just to stay on his feet.

"You…you look just like one…you should have…" he only managed to splutter out a few words of laughter before Edwin groaned in understanding.

The hobgoblin made an unexpectedly intricate gesture with one hand and for a moment its form blurred, resizing and reshaping to become Elatharia once more, complete with the Robe of Vecna, Gorion's cloak, those terribly muddy boots and her mask tied into her unendingly messy hair. Then it was Korgan's turn to start laughing. Aerie gave a squeal and flew into Elatharia's arms, offering a hug that the Transmuter did not return. Yoshimo just lowered his bow, grinning when he saw Edwin's horrified expression. Flames were just dissipating from around the Red Wizard's hands.

"It was unwise to take such a form, Elatharia," Jaheira admonished as Aerie finally released the Transmuter, the druid sharing a dark look with Valygar, "We could have killed you."

"(And she would have thoroughly deserved it,)" Edwin muttered from nearby. The comment made Viconia smirk even as it drew a glare from Elatharia, the Transmuter drawing herself up haughtily.

"It was not unwise to take such a form," Viconia disagreed, stepping up to stand before their leader now, "Though perhaps less wise to enter this particular room in such a fashion."

Elatharia shrugged, looking around the room slowly to take note of who was yet missing. Korgan and Jan were still laughing loudly behind Viconia's back.

"That was an improvement on yer looks, ha!" Korgan was chortling.

"Yet more reasons to disregard the words of dwarves," Edwin complained, approaching impatiently and gesturing at the two still laughing behind him, "Can you not shut them up oh 'mighty leader'?" he demanded of Elatharia, his dark eyes following Valygar's path to the head of the stairs distrustfully rather than look her in the eye.

"A _Silence_ spell?"

Elatharia seemed unbothered though her eyes lingered on Edwin for a split second too long. Not for the first time, Viconia wondered what sort of argument the wizards had conducted to cause this uncomfortable collection of awkward moments they had been creating throughout the day. After a moment, Elatharia scanned the group again and it looked like her eyebrows rose beneath her mask.

"Viconia?" she asked, her green eyes snapping towards the drow, "Where are your tiefling and Minsc? I thought we put Haer'Dalis with him especially to stop him getting lost on the way back?"

The concept that they might not be coming back had not entered Viconia's mind, and for a moment she battled with the belief that it would not be a bad thing. Then she found that she was looking about herself like a fool, surrounded with the strong sense that she had left something _important_ behind. Jaheira appeared to have undergone a similar thought process, though why the druid would ever miss the ranger was a rather bemusing concept to Viconia. Still, Jaheira turned rigid before spinning about and striding after Valygar to look through the door at the top of the stairs.

"Well?" Elatharia asked of the group, sounding more annoyed now, "Does anyone have any idea where our best sword fighter and our most reckless warrior have gone? I've a feeling we're going to need everyone with us to get through here."

Anomen stepped up to speak then, his face turning pale as he thought of something.

"My lady – it is evident that Firkraag was expecting us. I would wager that he does not have pleasant intentions for Garren's daughter. We must make haste to the dungeons…once the others have returned, of course."

"(If they return,)" Edwin sounded as derisive as usual, but something about the sentiment made Viconia's fists clench in annoyance, "But speaking as a Thayvian…I would say that the cleric is right," he glanced at the Helmite with a small sneer; they were similar enough in height that it was possible for them to look each other straight in the eye, "Much as it pains me to have to agree with…"

"They are here!" Jaheira's relieved tone wavered upon the last word as she pulled the door open fully and Minsc's heavy footsteps could be heard, at least sparing the group from the rest of Edwin's sentence and Anomen's otherwise inevitably angry response. The Rashemi berserker stumbled through the door at the top of the stairs, stooped down to keep Haer'Dalis's arm around his shoulders.

"By Helm!" Anomen's exclamation thunderously muffled Viconia's own rather less verbose 'oh'.

Haer'Dalis looked to have an arrow lodged in his arm, blood staining one voluminous white sleeve. Since this was his only injury it would not have been expected that he be so incapacitated. But he was; so much so that the ranger had half-dragged him to the meeting place. Haer'Dalis's usually pale skin had taken on a greyish tinge and he slumped back against the wall, pulling his arm free from Minsc and sliding to sit up on the floor with a wince and a groan. He had evidently chosen to prop himself up in this manner rather than face stumbling down the stairs.

"Has he been poisoned?" Elatharia asked as Jaheira rounded on Minsc.

"We must help him!" Aerie cried in dismay, looking to her fellow healers for support.

"Viconia! We need your expertise!" the druid called, still glaring at Minsc even as, for the third time that day, Jaheira was seen to be in accord with Viconia.

The drow was the member of the group most experienced in the ways of poison – she had grown up in Menzoberranzan, after all. Given such a neutral order from the druid, it allowed her to head up the stairs at speed without losing any dignity. Haer'Dalis's eyes were half-closed and his breathing shallow once she reached his side. He sent her a faint smile as she crouched beside him.

"Have you come to drag me back from the claws of oblivion, my Blackbird?" he muttered, "Or are you the Crow come to take me hence?"

Viconia hardly waited for Anomen to join her side, gesturing for him to hold the tiefling still as she wrenched the arrow free. She did not watch the tiefling's face as she did this, though he tensed and convulsed for a moment, the back of his head hitting the wall behind him. It took all of her concentration to stem the bleeding, her magic finding the wound and healing the damage almost to nothing.

A glance back at Haer'Dalis showed to her that in spite of the closure of the wound he was no better. If anything he looked to be much worse. When Anomen started to ask her something she waved him away, pulling free one of her gloves and placing her palm against the bard's forehead. It was perhaps a poor test of his state, since as a tiefling his body temperature was higher than would have been expected in a human. But the sweat glistening on his skin, his increased pallor and the rolling of his eyes suggested the poison Elatharia had suspected. He did not respond when the drow snarled his name, instead muttering something in a strange language full of hisses and clicks that she had never heard before.

Ignoring Jaheira's stern words with Minsc, Viconia shooed Aerie and Anomen away when both offered to help, swiftly unbuttoning the jerkin Haer'Dalis wore over his shirt far enough that she could peel it back. Sure enough, once his shoulder was bare, there were the black lines of corrupted veins spreading out from the injury.

"Can you help him?" Aerie's voice was high and frightened behind the drow.

"Yes. It is hardly a sophisticated poison in the manner of my people. It is a simple thing to neutralise this poison; now let me work."

She had to sit on his legs to hold him still as she reached beneath his shirt to press a hand to the wound. It always helped to know what poison she was dealing with before calling upon the power of her god; sometimes medicines would still be required. Fortunately for the tiefling, all that was required here was speed and determination, both of which Viconia found – to her surprise – that she had in abundance.

As her chanting began and her eyes closed, the power of her goddess flowed through her fingers almost immediately. First, she felt his heartbeat slow and his breathing become even. Then his muscles relaxed beneath her grip and his muttering ceased. She had been right about her previous assessment; his body temperature did seem to be hotter than a humanoid of the Prime Material. It was only a slight difference, but noticeable.

When his hand slid over hers, pressing her palm against his newly healed shoulder, Viconia's eyes flew open. He was watching her calmly now through half-lidded eyes, her forearm braced across his chest and every breath in and out rocking her gently. Embarrassment was not a feeling that had a name in the drow language but Viconia was acutely aware of her capacity for that emotion as the tiefling smiled at her. She berated herself fiercely – how many times had she been forced to heal her other companions in such a manner? Surely this was no different?

"Perhaps I should find a better name for you, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis mused softly, his smile growing when she gaped at him and tugged free, scrambling back to solid ground and busying herself with tugging her glove back on.

"Any foolish 'name' you give for me would be an impudent show of your inferior breeding, male," she snarled back, glancing over her shoulder to see that the others were gathered in a circle at the bottom of the stairs discussing what had happened and what should come next. Except for Aerie, who was hovering only a few paces away and watching the drow and tiefling with wide eyes.

Haer'Dalis only laughed at Viconia's words, sitting up a little better and pushing aside his jerkin and tunic to see the silvery circle on his shoulder that her healing had left him with. She could not decide whether she wanted to escape…or draw closer. Just moments before she had been touching that skin but only now did she consider the muscular chest and shoulder he had just exposed. Her hand clenched at the memory and he looked up at her knowingly from beneath his brows with a crooked smile.

"I see your blush, forgetful Blackbird," he told her softly, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone before she could recoil, his words reminding her that she still wore her moon elf form, "I thank you for showing your skill and choosing to help this Sparrow – though oblivion would not have been unwelcome."

"K-keep your thanks," Viconia told him, scrambling back and standing, turning away sharply.

"Ah, if only you would tell me what holds you back, my Blackbird," the tiefling sighed, and Viconia did not look around at him.

"You overstep, male," she told him, wishing her voice did not quaver so and instead turning her angry stare upon Aerie who still wavered at the stairs, though the drow spoke only just loud enough for Haer'Dalis to hear, "Keep to the avariel."

* * *

"Did we not tell you to come straight to this room?" Jaheira had been admonishing Minsc while Viconia healed Haer'Dalis; when the drow had sent Anomen away, the group had gathered at the bottom of the stairs to give her space.

"Yes but Boo said _fight_ and there were many hobgoblins waiting outside – we had no choice and then…then…" Minsc blinked, apparently realising what had befallen, a slightly guilty expression appearing on his large face.

"Then the berserk rage took you and Haer'Dalis had to follow?" Elatharia suggested grimly, watching Anomen hop from foot to foot in his eagerness to be off for the dungeons.

"Yes! But the tiefling was not without deliberation in this!" Minsc countered, announcing the long word with pride.

Mazzy rolled her eyes and turned away with her hands on her hips, staring up at Viconia as the drow stood abruptly, striding down for the group without hesitation and leaving Aerie to help Haer'Dalis to his feet.

"It looks as though she has saved the bard," the halfling noted with a hint of surprise.

"Then we must hasten for the dungeons!" Anomen cried and Elatharia acceded his point with a nod.

Garren's maps had shown to them quite clearly the path they must take from this point, but it seemed unlikely that they would be able to get there without a fight. In all likelihood, Firkraag would have a host more of hobgoblins waiting along that inevitable path; after all, the cave which held his newly 'won' treasure lay that way as well.

"Agreed, but we need some decoys," Elatharia nodded, turning as Haer'Dalis and Aerie joined them, the tiefling limping only slightly and apparently no longer in discomfort, "Jan, I need you to cast some Illusion spells on our fighters. I cannot transmute that many people for that long."

She gestured to Minsc, Valygar, Mazzy, Anomen, Korgan and Jaheira, all of whom looked caught between horror and determination. Though the gnome sniggered at the thought, he quickly set to work. Yoshimo raised his bow in silent understanding of her intention for him.

"Haer'Dalis, Viconia; you'll be the next line of offense. Aerie, Edwin and I will stick with Jan."

A determined nod from the avariel, a smile from the tiefling. Viconia was frowning hard and staring off at nothing but moved into position. Edwin's hand on Elatharia's elbow stopped her from following Aerie once Jan's spell was complete and six 'hobgoblins' in Firkraag's colours moved out in the direction of the dungeons.

"You want spell scrolls, a few more books to add to that library you keep in your bag of holding…oh, and all the power on Faerûn," Elatharia pre-empted, looking up into Edwin's face with a guarded expression of her own. His grip tightened momentarily on her elbow and his eyebrow raised doubtfully, "I can't promise you all of those things, but I suspect Firkraag's hoard will have plenty to keep you occupied. And if we make it out of this dragon's lair, I'm sure we'll have free reign over the whole castle…"

He put a finger over her lips suddenly, and though her response was hardly submissive or lady-like – since she spluttered and pulled away from the unexpected contact – it succeeded in silencing her. His eyes lit up in rare genuine amusement at her undignified response.

"Wine. I also want wine," he told her with barely contained laughter, his teeth flashing white, "If there is no tea, I will have wine. (The level of barbarity in this place…)"

Trying not to laugh herself now, and more than a little relieved by the loss of tension between them after the argument the night before, Elatharia grinned back at him and gave a nod. He caught her arm again when she moved in the direction of their companions – almost all of whom had now gone through the door across the hall.

"One more thing," he told her, "I want you to tell me what it is in your journal that you fear to read so much." He just raised his eyebrows expectantly at her when her smile dropped suddenly.

"Only if you tell me why you keep staring so intently at that map of the Graveyard District in Athkatla," Elatharia gritted out, hating him in that moment for stealing her mirth.

"Done," he held his hand out for her to shake, a wicked grin curling his lips, "(I believe I have won this negotiation)."

Rolling her eyes, she took his hand firmly, trying her best to ignore the brush of his fingertips against her wrist, the warmth of his palm against hers. With a glare she drew away first, nudging past him with her shoulder. Sometimes his attempts to gain a response from her were a little too obvious, and as she strode after their companions, to where Aerie was waiting for her at the open door watching the two wizards with anxious eyes, a plan began to form in the Transmuter's mind. Elatharia was not the same person she had been on the Coast Way, however much she remembered the awe her younger self had felt at the Red Wizard's power. He had tried to manipulate her then and almost succeeded to the detriment of Dynaheir. He would not succeed again, she was determined. Unless it benefited her and Imoen. And if it did…then there was nothing, no plan or fiery doom, that she would not agree to create to get it done.


	12. Dragons of the Prime

**Many thanks to those who have reviewed, favourited and are following this story. :)  
I've decided to redo the fight scene in this chapter (so this is a re-post rather than a new chapter), as I wasn't really happy with how I'd dealt with Firkraag, and when Kyn pointed it out it gave me the extra incentive I needed (I think my cowardice regarding fighting dragons in the game crept into my writing...). So thanks for pointing it out, and I hope you like the proper fight scene! :D  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Dragons of the Prime**

* * *

Their suspicions had proven correct: Firkraag had left a veritable army of hobgoblins between his newly conquered lair and the upper levels of the ransacked castle. The group had travelled through a series of increasingly scorched and battered sitting rooms and storage chambers; it looked as though the dragon had at least set his soldiers to work on cleaning the castle of his victims if not the chaos those murders had left behind.

If not for the idea of sending their fighters in first to masquerade as hobgoblins – and for Jan's ability to achieve this request – it seemed unlikely that they would have reached the gates to the dungeon. The element of surprise had allowed the party members with warrior leanings to do the bulk of the work, meaning that the four wizards could conserve their spells – but forcing Jaheira, Anomen, Aerie and Viconia to dole out more healing spells.

When at last they stood before the gates to the lowest level of the castle, Elatharia paused to peruse the map Garren had drawn them. If they were to defeat Firkraag as well as save Lord Windspear's daughter then they would need to split up – the logical conclusion was that in order to defeat a dragon they would need to wield the dragonslaying sword he had stormed the castle to hide.

"What kind of man keeps a dungeon in his castle?" Aerie sounded nervous as Elatharia rolled up the map and returned it to her bag of holding.

"A sensible one," Edwin promised, leering at her.

"Ugh, you horrible brute! Keep away from me!" the avariel told him as ferociously as she knew how, moving forward to take Elatharia's arm as Yoshimo managed to pick the lock in the door which would take them down to the dungeons. In a much quieter voice, Aerie continued, "I don't know why you keep him with you, Elatharia. He frightens me."

"Perhaps I keep him because he is frightening," Elatharia suggested wearily, glancing past the avariel's blonde braids to the Red Wizard, who was leaning against the corner of the next corridor and watching them with a glower.

"I believe human men of this area had dungeons built into their castles to dispense justice where necessary upon those who dwelt in their hamlets," Jan put in unexpectedly from where he had been munching on a turnip and watching Yoshimo pick the door's lock, "Miss Aerie, I doubt it is quite so horrid as you imagine. Or at least…it was not intended to be by the founder of this castle. Unless he was a terribly nasty dragonslayer – and well, I suppose that is possible and maybe even preferable…"

"We are ready," Jaheira cut in now, coming up to Elatharia's side as Yoshimo slowly inched the door open, Valygar and Minsc standing just behind him and prepared to attack anyone of ill intent who waited within.

When nothing but an unlit stone stairway greeted them, Haer'Dalis stalked ahead a few paces, all but disappearing into the darkness. He reappeared a moment later and took in the expressions of all those before him, making a sweeping gesture behind himself.

"The way is clear, although it sounds to me as if more of our foes wait within."

"C'mon then!" Korgan exclaimed, barging past the rest of the group to stand before the tiefling with his axe in both hands. Haer'Dalis just smiled calmly back at the ferocious dwarf, "Me axe be bloody ready!"

"I see that, my War Dog," Haer'Dalis laughed, stepping aside and gesturing down the stairs, "After you."

The other fighters followed, leaving Elatharia, Edwin, Aerie and Viconia with Yoshimo facing away and his bow ready, watching the long dark corridor in which they waited with Haer'Dalis lingering in the doorway down to the dungeon. Jan was examining the mechanism of the lock which Yoshimo had broken. They stayed quiet, listening to the rush of their companions' heavy feet down the stairs, no longer disguised by the Illusionist's spell. A few moments passed and then came the tell-tale shouts or battle, the clash and ring of steel on steel and clattering of heavy armour. Korgan's roar of rage was outdone only by Minsc's.

Aerie was lingering nervously at the mouth of the passageway, peering around Haer'Dalis while the tiefling leaned calmly against the doorway. Elatharia stood ready behind them, though it was hard not to repetitively glance over her shoulder back down the dark corridor. Here it was very still, the only light coming from Edwin's cantrip above their heads, and the vaulted corridor seemed to stretch on forever in the gloom, connecting servants' quarters to the stairs leading to the upper parts of the castle. Many torches stood unlit in sconces along the white-washed plaster walls and it was a relief at least for their more heavy-footed companions to have moved away from the tiled floor upon which every step seemed to ring like a gong.

"I-I'm not sure about this," Aerie uttered at last when the muffled sounds of battle continued on from beyond the dark passage before her.

Edwin turned with a poorly concealed jump to glare at her with a hiss for her sudden words, gesturing sharply for silence as she looked around. Evidently Elatharia was not the only wizard feeling nervous without their more battle-ready companions at hand. Haer'Dalis and Viconia were both good fighters, but both were still limping or weakened from previous injuries.

" _Jaluk_ ," Viconia sighed, earning a deep frown from the Red Wizard, "If we are going to be accosted in this place then we will face foes either from there," she gestured around the corner, "Or ahead of us. And I would be able to see any creatures approaching in that darkness, even if you cannot." She glanced at Yoshimo, who was well-placed to see down both corridors but pressed her lips together and said nothing about him as if thinking better of it.

"And I have absolutely no reason to trust you, drow," Edwin snarled, his rings glinting in the conjured light as he gestured expansively at Viconia. She just raised an eyebrow – currently midnight blue rather than white thanks to her disguise – and smiled, knowing such a response would enrage him more.

"You two can be very similar," Elatharia sighed, stepping between them, "Even if both of you think the other is…whatever it was you were both about to say," she pre-empted them wearily, glancing back up over her shoulder to see Edwin's eyes narrowed down at her, annoyed and cheated of his intended words.

Viconia snorted and turned away, sharing a look with Haer'Dalis that foreshadowed the avariel's next words.

"The fighting has stopped! We should go to them!" Aerie stopped hopping from foot to foot long enough to announce this before darting into the darkness, her mace clutched in one hand and gleaming faintly in the lack of light before she vanished down the stairs.

"Oh well, looks like we have some cleaning up to do," Jan noted, pausing as he passed Haer'Dalis in the doorway and looked up at the tiefling thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose it _sounds like it_. Can't see through walls, you know." And then the gnome headed off after Aerie.

"After you, my Cuckoo," Haer'Dalis offered to Yoshimo rather less amenably than he had shortly before to Korgan, raising his voice a little to get the Kara-Turan's attention.

The bounty hunter sighed as he turned about, settling his bow over his shoulder with apparent certainty that it would not be needed in the close-quarters below. He sent Elatharia a mildly wounded look when she nodded for him to go next as the tiefling had suggested. She and Edwin followed without needing to discuss such tactics. The Transmuter caught Haer'Dalis's smile as he looked to Viconia next but if they shared any words she did not hear them.

"Perhaps we will have been lucky and the more pointless members of this troop of baboons will have been slaughtered as they deserve," Edwin muttered as they made their way down the steep steps, his light bobbing above him and illuminating his frown from above, casting dark shadows beneath his brows and cheekbones. His eyes flashed deep brown in the bright light as they stopped in front of an open doorway at the foot of the stairs and he noticed Elatharia watching him, "What?"

"Nothing," she denied, peering around the corner quickly to ascertain that there were no casualties amongst their friends – several hobgoblins littered the fire-lit stone chamber beyond, one lying on top of a shattered table, "Only…the moment I start to think you look like a Red Wizard you go and say something so utterly _stereotypical_ that I have to surmise that you are, in fact, an impostor."

"What!?" his angry exclamation had Aerie whirling about from where she was inspecting a cut in Anomen's upper arm.

Such was his venom that Mazzy looked up sharply as well from cleaning her short sword, hefting both her shield and weapon in readiness. Elatharia suspected that Mazzy would not need much provocation to face off against the Red Wizard.

Elatharia just shrugged in response to his incredulous response, feeling a little…giddy in truth. Bhaal's golden light was flickering at the corners of her vision, her heart pounding when she looked upon the bodies of the fallen hobgoblins. The realisation ought to have made her feel sick, and probably would later, but in that moment she smiled and stepped past Edwin into the room to see Yoshimo and Jan already working on breaking the lock of a metal door across the room, Jaheira calling calming words to whoever waited beyond.

Edwin seemed to have decided to ignore her comment, entering the room more cautiously, stepping gingerly over the blood-slicked floor with a grimace. It was hardly a new situation for him but he was obviously loathe to get his boots more dirty than they already were. Rolling her eyes at his behaviour, Elatharia headed for the locked door which had the attention of their two professional thieves, sparing a glance for the other, taller doorway beyond the chaos of bodies and broken tables. That way lay the vault of treasure Garren had promised…and where the hoard was, so would be the dragon.

Haer'Dalis laughed upon entering the room, much to the shock of nearly all of their companions. Viconia raised her eyebrows at him but seemed far less horrified than Mazzy…or Aerie. Korgan grinned too, wiping gore from his breastplate and settling his axe on the one standing table.

"Such chaos!" the tiefling cried, "This flock has done itself proud!"

"Haer'Dalis, there is never pride in slaughter," Mazzy corrected curtly as Elatharia reached Yoshimo's side, peering over his shoulder and through the narrow grate in the door long enough to see a pair of wide eyes looking back at her. Suddenly her heart was pounding for far less positive reasons than before, a wave of nausea rising. Looking away sharply she noticed Jaheira's gaze upon her now, eyes narrowed thoughtfully and a little too perceptively.

Minsc was leaning on his greatsword at the druid's side, Valygar watching from the shadows behind him. Where the berserker appeared to be rather out of breath, covered almost as badly in gore as Korgan, the other ranger was calm and still, dark eyes taking in the various different interactions within the group without comment.

Edwin was glaring at nearly everyone, Haer'Dalis smiling as Mazzy berated him, Anomen watching Aerie's face perhaps more intently than he thought he was as she bandaged a cut on his arm. Korgan was still grinning, evidently proud of the mess he had caused. Viconia looked anxious, crossing the room swiftly to join Elatharia's side just as the Transmuter was mustering the serenity of spirit to speak with Jaheira and risk the druid's intemperate acerbity.

"Should we not be more cautious?" Viconia demanded quietly, gesturing to the wooden door in the wall nearby, "If the Windspear lord was correct then the dragon lingers not far down that door – tis a poor place in which to await one's foes unless well defended."

"It is large enough to let him turn into his dragon shape in there," Elatharia reminded, "Even if he can't get out that way," she paused a moment, trying to still the shaking in her hands before continuing, still very aware that this was a former dungeon in which she stood, though it looked like the place only kept one functioning cell, "Though it seems rather strange that he kept so few guards, comparative to the size of this place."

"Most likely he knows that he is quite powerful enough to face us alone," Edwin cut in, grimacing towards Korgan as he passed the bloodied dwarf, "He is a red dragon, after all. (Must I provide all of the sense for this band of fools?)"

"Precisely the kind of thinking I would have expected from a red dragon, _Red_ Wizard," Jaheira noted dryly, earning a smirk from Viconia. Even Elatharia felt slightly amused by such a comment, though she pulled away automatically when the druid touched her arm, "Both of them are right, though," she continued, a frown appearing at Elatharia's response, "And I will need to leave you soon to take back Garren's daughter."

"(Hardly a loss)," Edwin muttered, then a little louder, "Take the ranger with you."

"Your concern is heart-warming," Jaheira noted coldly, stepping in front of Minsc when the berserker straightened, about to speak and break his promise to Elatharia, "But it will not be necessary. I will attempt to return in time to aid you." She paused, evidently holding some comment back, and then their attention was averted to the metal doorway now groaning open.

"D-did my father send you?" a young girl asked, stumbling free from the small cell in which she had been standing. Behind her stood just a bucket and some foul-smelling straw. Edwin coughed and turned away.

"He did, child," Jaheira promised, stepping up to speak to her even as Yoshimo and Jan backed away, "What is your name?"

"I-Iltha."

The girl looked a little older than ten, thin and dirty but still dressed in the velvets of nobility. She had a chance to stare around the gory room with wide eyes, taking in the dead hobgoblins and the band of adventurers scattered around, before Anomen stood and strode towards her with a relieved greeting. Upon seeing a familiar face, the child relaxed a little, offering a weak smile and attempting a courtly greeting of her own before her eyes filled with tears and her chin began to wobble and she rushed into her relative's arms, heedless of plate mail and the blood of slain hobgoblins.

"Perhaps I should take her," Anomen suggested as he stood now, patting awkwardly at the back of the girl's head when she continued to cling to him, sniffling. The Helmite looked a little alarmed at the prospect of the child, but also knew it was his duty.

"Perhaps," Elatharia agreed, tearing her stare from the open cell again and looked doubtfully at the druid by her side, "Jaheira would have been quicker with her shapechanging."

"It would be kinder to the girl to let Anomen take her – though the quicker the better," Jaheira disagreed.

"I will go with him," Aerie put in now, smiling down at the girl's wide eyes when Anomen settled her back onto her feet between them, "I can cast _Haste_ after all."

"Fine," Elatharia agreed now, looking over the rest of the group with a concerned frown. No one seemed injured, but they would need to act quickly if Firkraag decided to attack them; though the corridors were narrow and all of the doors built in expectation of humans she did not doubt he was expecting them in that cavern not far below them, and that he could cause chaos at any point if the mood struck him, "But there is no way I am staying in this castle and waiting for a dragon to attack us. We will have to take our chances and kill him while you are gone."

Anomen looked more than a little crestfallen as the promise of glory slipped from his grasp but Aerie just nodded firmly, taking Iltha's hand and smiling determinedly. They left with smiles and offers of good luck from Minsc, Mazzy, Valygar and Jaheira – Jan offered the girl a turnip which was taken with hungry thanks much to the horror the group.

"Yer plan be preferable to waitin' for those weaklins' to return," Korgan growled once they had gone and the rest of the group gathered at the centre of the gory room, "Ye sure our foe waits beyond those doors?" he gestured to the doorway behind Elatharia with the head of his axe.

"Firkraag has led us this way quite determinedly," Viconia noted, frowning, "It seems too easy. As if he knows something…or is more powerful than we expect."

"He is a red dragon, Viconia," Edwin reminded disbelievingly, "He obviously does know _many_ things you do not and is undoubtedly more powerful than you expect!"

"That should probably have been 'we', Red Wizard," Jaheira suggested darkly from Minsc's side, both facing Edwin across the circle.

"Ha! Unlike another mage who once travelled with you, I am not so easy to kill, druid," Edwin sneered when Minsc let out a cry of anger, the Rashemi looking to Elatharia to be permitted to finally be rid of the Red Wizard.

"The next time you try to get yourself killed before a battle like this…I'm going to let you," she told Edwin flatly as Minsc was calmed by a frustrated Jaheira. He glared down at her…but said nothing.

"Well it seems we hardly need a red dragon to destroy us, really," Jan pointed out cheerfully enough, looking exceptionally small between Valygar and the towering form of Minsc. He hardly seemed to have meant it constructively but the words had that effect; the group fell silent for a moment, Minsc shaking with the effort to restrain himself. He had sworn to avoid talking to Edwin and certainly not to attack him, after all.

"I have fought alongside red dragons in the past," Haer'Dalis put in now, calmly standing between Viconia and Korgan with his wrists wresting on his sword hilts, flashing a grin when every member of the group gaped at him.

"Ye did _what_?" Korgan demanded, looking up at the tiefling in a new light.

"And they are always intemperate, prone to violence and fits of rage, power-hungry, selfish…and egotistical," the bard continued, unperturbed, his dark eyes narrowing with amusement as he glanced at Edwin, "Much like our Red Wizard, only much larger."

When Viconia and Elatharia laughed at that, Edwin fuming even more, Mazzy stepped forward with a stern expression – an intimidating sight in her half-plate despite her small height.

"I would wonder at how and why you were fighting with a red dragon and not against one, bard," she noted coolly, "Though now is not the time to ask. Elatharia, we need to acquire this dragonslaying sword if we are to have a good chance against such a foe."

"I think that fighting _with_ a red dragon is probably more of an achievement than fighting against one, Miss Mazzy," Jan suggested, "There is a story there – and I would like to hear it!"

Elatharia found that she agreed with the gnome more than the halfling, but Mazzy had a point about the sword, Carsomyr. When she pulled out the map from her bag of holding, perusing the way Garren had marked for them, she knew what they would have to do. Edwin nudged her all the same.

"Please tell me you have a plan, oh _mighty_ master," he mocked, stepping closer to look down over her shoulder and determine what she was thinking for himself. Ignoring the brush of his jacket against her shoulder, Elatharia looked up to the rest of the group now and momentarily noticed Jaheira's disgusted look aimed towards the Thayvian.

"Our leader always has a plan, friend," Yoshimo noted softly from nearby, where he was restringing his bow just away from the others. Edwin started to snarl something about the use of the word 'friend' but Elatharia ignored him.

"We will need to send someone to get the sword," she agreed with Mazzy's earlier statement, "Garren has marked the way from here; it is kept in that cavern beneath us, but is also accessible via a passage hidden in the chapel of Lathander on the floor above us. Mazzy, I'll need you and Minsc to go for it – once we cast all the protective spells we can."

"Alright," the halfling nodded, glancing up at the still-fuming berserker with understanding.

Not well known for her wisdom, Elatharia found that she was rather proud of herself for separating those who might have had more cause to fight each other than the red dragon, turning to Edwin and gesturing Jan and Viconia over.

"Alright, fellow-wizards. I'm going to need every abjuration and protection you know cast on as many people as possible. Viconia, the same from you. This is going to be worse than the shadow dragon."

* * *

Once they were ready it was hard for Elatharia to bring herself to wait even a token length of time for Mazzy and Minsc to get to the chapel and start to get to Carsomyr. She and the other spellcasters had cast every augmentation and protection that they knew and the power of the magic surging around her was dizzying, her _Fireshield_ flickering around her, every movement hasted. It seemed they were all suffering from this problem to some degree and eventually they relented, going to the doors down and finding them unlocked. At this revelation, as they began to descend the spiral staircase down, Elatharia began to doubt. Was Firkraag even there? Was he actually waiting outside, ready to swoop upon Anomen and Aerie as they left?

At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a small chamber, just big enough for all of them to gather and take a nervous breath before opening the vault door beyond – also surprisingly unlocked. The room beyond was indeed more of a cavern, illuminated by many bobbing lights and hewn unevenly out of the mountain's stone further into the rock than the rest of the sprawling castle. The skulls of many dragons, huge pure white bone lined with horribly sharp black teeth, hung from the ceiling along the walls, dwarfed by the size of the place. At the far end there stood a large stone box adorned with detailed graven images but it was too distant to make the pictures out clearly. Elatharia did not need to look at the map to know that was where Carsomyr was held. The ground was paved in smooth, tightly-aligned granite slabs that glittered faintly in the conjured lights and the walls were, though uneven, decorated in impressively colourful murals depicting ever more dramatic dragon battles, one for each skull.

And at the centre of it all, standing amidst a chaotic mess of half-open chests and the scattered jewels and coins which spilled from them, was Lord Jierdan Firkraag. He had his back to them, dressed in the same black and red velvets as he had been when last she saw him, his black boots gleaming in his conjured lights, and a handful of gems were just spilling from his fingertips at the sound of the group's entry. It looked as though the boxes and chests of finery, weapons and jewellery had been dragged down here rather messily and hoarded at the centre of the room. Garren's claim that this man was in fact a dragon started to seem more plausible again.

Firkraag turned slowly as the group formed up just in front of the door, with Jaheira, Valygar, Korgan and Haer'Dalis fanning out to stand in a protective arc in front of the others. Viconia stood only a few steps behind them, the three wizards waiting anxiously after her. Yoshimo was hovering nearby, an arrow nocked to his bow and the weapon held deceptively relaxed at his side.

"You come here prepared for battle after slaying my guards," Firkraag noted almost wearily, taking a few steps forward until Elatharia could make out his eyes. The pupils were slit vertically like a cat's, the irises glittering red. When he smiled chidingly, several of his teeth were pointed and black like those of the skulls around him.

"You gave us little choice," the Transmuter responded, forcing enough strength into her voice to let it carry…and trying not to glance anxiously past Firkraag to the box holding Carsomyr, "You set an ambush for us. Not very welcoming, that."

"Ah, but you had already determined the truth of the lord of Windspear, Bhaalspawn," his words slithered through the air and sent something like fear and rage crawling up Elatharia's spine. He spread his hands, still smiling, "Have I not done you a great service, godchild? Have I not caused as much death and murder for you as you could stomach? Do you not feel…closer to your father?"

 _My father died out on the Coast Way. My father died on the Coast Way._ But all she said was:

"Are you saying you disguised Garren Windspear's men as ogres and hobgoblins and placed an Illusion upon their minds to make them think that _we_ were the monsters _just for me?_ Did you also burn down the hamlet, steal his daughter and loot his castle for me?"

"The Illusions – yes. I am old, and I needed _something_ to entertain me. Why else did you think that I invited you here? But the hoard and the castle are mine, Bhaalspawn," Firkraag denied her, "Be glad for the chaos I gave you. Now I am bored and would prefer it if you left me to my spoils." And he genuinely sounded like it, too.

Elatharia sighed, glancing at Edwin and seeing the Red Wizard watching her closely, ready to loose his next spell as soon as Firkraag realised the reality of the situation. His expression was set, but there was something wild in his eyes. Fear. They were all feeling its insidious power.

"That is rather a shame really," she smiled now, focusing on the power crackling around her and her companions, and on the golden glow of her heritage which once more impinged upon her reality. Her skin was crawling with the need for this, "Because if you'd just give over all of that gold I might just leave you alone."

Jaheira's shoulders stiffened at those words, hearing the tone in Elatharia's voice and evidently not liking it. Firkraag shrugged, looking around at the room as if needing someone to share in his disappointment.

"Well, if it must be this way, Child of Bhaal. Perhaps I should have expected no less from you than murder."

"Perhaps," Elatharia agreed.

Then the man was changing, warping and _growing._ Before his red-scaled hide could grow to its full extent Elatharia saw a flicker of movement behind the stone container holding Carsomyr, the bob of one of Mazzy's braids, the gleam of a huge and brilliant white blade…and then Minsc's bald head. The berserker's roared battle cry rang out just before Firkraag reached his full natural size, great leathery wings unfurling and his long body uncoiling, mighty spiked tail whipping across the ground and scattering his hoard.

Korgan seemed to look up straight into that horned head with those fiery eyes and those massive adamantine teeth sharper than enchanted blades…and where a weaker person might have quailed and even fled, the dwarf charged forth with a roar to rival Minsc's, waving his axe. It took a moment but the others followed, leaving the wizards and Yoshimo free to choose the best long-range attacks they knew. Elatharia looked to Edwin to see him staring up at the dragon almost blankly, feeling all of the fear that she knew she should have if the golden madness was not threatening to drown her. She took his arm and shook him even as Jan's first spell fizzed against Firkraag's rearing form, shattering the first level of his magical protections. Edwin looked down at her with a start.

"This is your time to shine, Conjurer," she reminded him.

A grin grew on his face and he nodded once, stepping away to bring forth his first spell and tear down the mighty dragon. Magical energy began to whirl around him quickly and the tattoos at his neckline took on a fiery radiance. Elatharia spared a moment to stare, the part of her that was Bhaal _greedy_ for such power, and then turned to the dragon as he made a swipe for Korgan and Valygar – both barely dodged.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat and she fell into her next spell without another thought, seeing Mazzy struggling to lift Carsomyr's shining blade past its ornate holding box. With Minsc and Korgan staggering back with cries of berserk rage from Firkraag's initially lazy tail swing, Jaheira and Viconia called up their more short term augmentations and began to run for the sides of the hall, ducking behind taller boxes or piles of coins to inch their way more cautiously into the fight. Haer'Dalis was nowhere to be seen, but Elatharia could hardly concentrate on this while she finished her spell, focusing on Mazzy's waiting form.

Carsomyr was a beautiful sword, its enormously long pattern-welded blade shimmering with white fire in the presence of a living dragon. It would have proven problematic for Mazzy to wield, since the halfling was not much taller than three feet and the two-handed sword was probably taller than she was. But Elatharia's spell now transmuted Mazzy, possibly against her will, into an ogre of all things – the paladin stumbled for a moment in this new, longer-limbed shape, before looking to join the fray.

Firkraag had other ideas however, rearing up with a roar when he saw the shimmer of Carsomyr before him. With a flap of his wings he sent chaos reigning in the room; the air snapped and rippled, pulling Minsc, Valygar and Korgan from their feet and sending them careering in opposite directions. The dwarf flipped once in the air and landed heavily against the far corner of Carsomyr's holding box with an audible crack. His stunned body slipped out of view not a moment too soon, for as Mazzy staggered to keep her feet, the white blade shining before her, Firkraag flapped his wings again and sent coins and chests scattering wildly across the room, forcing Minsc back flat as he attempted to regain his footing and half-covering Viconia in a spray of coins, knocking her to her knees.

Elatharia had been about to cast again, but the wind was too great, whipping her hair back and forcing her to back up several steps. Edwin held onto his spell, however, and the chattering of the host of mephits he had summoned could be heard moments before the creatures flapped their way over the Transmuter's head, spreading out and keeping high in the huge hall.

Firkraag was just warming up, though. Literally.

As Jan's first spell crackled through his protections, the dragon took in a mighty breath – and that sent Minsc, Jaheira and Viconia scrambled back even further in spite of their protections. Mazzy stood firm however, still ploughing through the whipping winds created by the dragon's flapping wings, and held her sword out before her. The fire poured out in a great river – and it broke over Carsomyr's shining edge, arcing harmlessly around Mazzy and lighting up the whole room in rippling red light.

Yoshimo's arrows burned and vanished in its heat, skittering harmlessly off Firkraag's hide as they had been, but somewhere in the chaos of raging winds and roaring fire, Jan's spell and another of Edwin's had torn through Firkraag's protections. The shimmer around his proud, serpentine body had lessened considerably, and he lashed his spiked tail irritably as the mephits nipped, cackling, at the appendage's more sensitive underside. He seemed rather distracted by the inexorable advance of Mazzy, roaring out another blast of fire – and this time he melted the coins around the transmuted halfling, molten gold bubbling, hissing and running down over itself towards her like a sudden tide of meltwater. Stern-faced (insofar as her expression could be read when she looked like an ogre) she hopped quickly out of the way, running headlong for the dragon even against the buffeting of his wings. More mephits swooped down on him, this time for his head, and he swiped up at them.

Valygar and Minsc took this as their cue to drag themselves to their feet, as did Jaheira. They looked at each other a little wildly for a moment before the three of them ran for the dragon with loud cries. Another pair of spells swooped for the dragon, crackling with magic that Elatharia could not recognise. These Abjurations were inexorable in their quest, sending Firkraag's last protective spells fizzling out. Realising this, he reared up on his two back feet to avoid Carsomyr – but off balance like this he could not stop all of them, and Minsc ran howling for one back leg, while Jaheira aimed more carefully for the exposed belly of the dragon with her spear. She seemed set to wait for Firkraag to drop his weight down upon it, and to roll out of the way of his descending bulk. Meanwhile, the mephits were swooping around his head, sharp claws aiming for his large, vulnerable eyes. He swiped at them again, roaring as Minsc's greatsword drew first blood across his leg. Valygar's Corthala Blade bit deep into his other leg at almost the same time, and the dragon staggered back. Unable to keep such a bipedal position, he dropped…and Mazzy was ready with Carsomyr. The blade slashed at his wing, rending through the thick leathery membrane and leaving in its wake a sizzling, dripping wound.

Firkraag screamed, and thrashed in fear more than pain, knocking Minsc away again and forcing Valygar and Mazzy to retreat at speed. The mephits swooped for his stomach as he dropped, and Jan's explosive crossbow projectile crashed into his side, forcing him to twist down onto Jaheira's spear. Elatharia noted the druid rolling away, but it looked like she had sustained a long cut to her face from the dragon's serrated hide. But Firkraag's protections were down, and he was off balance.

"Now!" Elatharia shouted to Viconia, and the drow leapt to her feet several paces away. They fell into their spells together, knowing the plan.

Firkraag was too afraid of Carsomyr to consider the spellcasters clearly, but his large fiery-red eyes met Elatharia's for a moment as if in understanding. _Perhaps I should have expected no less from you than murder_. She found herself grinning, pulling back from her spell before she could commit and instead reaching for a specialised Transmutation. Edwin cursed at her side as the air rippled around her with magic, sending coins and stacks of scrolls, even a chest or two, flying up before her just as Firkraag's fiery blast roared across the room, giving her a wall of protection. It was a hard spell to hold, keeping so many separate objects in levitation, and her whole body was trembling with the effort as she released her hold on them. Sheets of molten gold and cinders spattered to the ground, but it had given her the time she needed to ignite another _Fireshield_ around herself. And it had distracted the dragon from Viconia's best debilitating spell.

 _Doom_ seethed through the air towards Firkraag just a second after his fiery breath died down. Jaheira, Minsc, Valygar and Mazzy were all cowering behind boxes and pillars, cloaks flaming and hair singed in spite of Edwin and Viconia's protection spells. The dragon noticed the darkness slithering towards him, and the fizz of magic rose up around him as he reached for a spell of his own. But Jan's next stunning missile crashed into him, and without his magical protections…he staggered straight into Viconia's spell.

Elatharia laughed in relief as the dragon snarled, slumping fully onto four feet now and crouching lower, tail lashing. Dead mephits were strewn, smouldering, at his feet. And there, above him, as his shining scales dulled and his wounds oozed black blood, was Haer'Dalis. The tiefling had somehow scaled the walls of the hall, perched now upon one of the high rafters with his swords in his hands. He shouted out a jubilant cry for the chaos of the moment…and leapt upon the dragon's back.

Jan's next projectile hit Firkraag, and now Edwin was chanting words of power that cracked and fizzed with venomous energy. His tattoos roared with red light, and he was grinning manically as icy destruction swirled about him in a building tornado.

Firkraag made to breathe fire again when the fighters charged him, but as Elatharia's _Greater Malison_ rippled into him, clinging to his being before oozing into his wounds, that fire sputtered and died. He stamped with all his weight instead, buckling the ground and sending molten metal and blazing hot rock spraying in all directions. Only Mazzy held firm against that, and Firkraag thrashed again to shake off Haer'Dalis. This time he succeeded, the tiefling rolling away and landing with a heavy thud – not before his swords had left two horrible rents in Firkraag's hide. Elatharia fancied she could see the gleam of the dragon's ribs.

Then Edwin's best destructive spells, of ice and acid, poured from him in a torrent, his hands moving so fast that his spells seemed to blur into each other. _Cone of Cold_ , _Melf's Acid Arrow_ , _Cone of Cold. Death Spell._ All Elatharia and Jan could do was follow his inspired lead.

Firkraag staggered and his eyes rolled. Yoshimo's next arrows arced through the air and stuck in his chipped scales. His skin smouldered beneath, one wing limp at his side. He roared in pain, half-delirious, when Minsc's blade tore through his other wing and Jaheira's spear pierced his hide at the curve of one leg. A stinging barrage of magic missiles from all three wizards, the swing of Viconia's hammer against the back of his knee as Minsc roared through his own pain to cut through the dragon's other leg…and Firkraag crashed to his stomach. Then Mazzy, still in her ogre form, had stepped forward with eerie calm and plunged Carsomyr through the dragon's fiery red pupil. And all he could do was scream…and die.

* * *

When the dragon's body crashed to the ground the whole cavern shook, sending a few loose rocks scattering around them and shaking those closest to him off their feet. For several long moments after this, silence reigned amongst the group as if none of them could believe what they had just achieved. Jaheira ran to check on Korgan, where the dwarf was just dragging himself dazedly out from behind Carsomyr's holding box. Viconia ran to Haer'Dalis's side, calling up healing energy to correct the awkward bend in his arm. He was conscious, and grimacing in pain even as her magic fixed the problem.

Eventually Jan started to cackle in delight, and then Minsc roared for victory though he had a deep gash on his head which was pouring blood down the side of his face. Even Valygar was smiling…until he looked towards Edwin and saw the magical energy dying down around the Conjurer and the Transmuter beside him. Returned to her original form, Mazzy stood and stared at Carsomyr in mute awe, the blade's white light dying down as the dragon's life left him.

They were all out of breath and dazed after what had happened, most with a few holes burned in their cloaks and a few more notches in their blades, but eventually the group began to converge at Firkraag's immense body. Mazzy pointed out to Jaheira that she ought to heal her own head wound now that Korgan was back on his feet, the dwarf wincing with a few in breaths and with a black eye but no longer in a wretched state. Now that Haer'Dalis was pulling himself back to his feet, Viconia begrudgingly offered healing aid to Minsc – who was starting to look a little faint.

"I believe this battle will be immortalised in song for centuries, my Tiny Hawk," Haer'Dalis noted, his voice a little hoarse as he limped over to join the group. Viconia rolled her eyes, but Mazzy – whom he had addressed – just continued to stare down at Carsomyr even as Elatharia remembered to return the halfling to her true, smaller form.

"I think…I think you might be right," Mazzy agreed at last, eyeing Edwin in particular in a new light. She was frowning at him, all the same.

"And no doubt I shall be the epicentre of that song, tiefling?" the Red Wizard inquired proudly, smirking when no one immediately disagreed.

"It was not your magic that won the day, Red Wizard," Valygar disagreed sharply, "It was the bravery of Haer'Dalis and of Mazzy as part of a combined effort. Your wild magic was as dangerous for us as the dragon."

"Oh, certainly, I am used to the pathetic grudges of your kind," Edwin told him, too pleased with his show of power to be too venomous, "You are welcome, idiot. (If I had wanted to kill him, he would be dead.)"

"Enough o' this chatter," Korgan coughed out, shaking his dazed head to clear it before gesturing at the piles of wealth and ancient items around them, "What about the treasure, groundlings?!"

"Indeed, good Sir Korgan!" Jan nodded brightly, grinning widely towards Edwin with a knowing look. It seemed that perhaps only the spellcasters in the group were truly aware of what the Red Wizard's surge of spells had really done to Firkraag at the end. The Red Wizard's tattoos were still glowing with vestigial magic, and he seemed a little intoxicated by his own power.

Smiling to herself, Elatharia moved to start gathering up the treasures of Firkraag's hoard while the others bickered and preened. Jaheira and Viconia continued to deal with the wounds of their companions, and Korgan had to hack apart sections of the melted gold with his axe. The Transmuter promised him a proportion of the gold for his toil, though it all went into the bag of holding for Imoen's fund – since it would be too heavy to carry otherwise. Garren Windspear had told them they could have any spoils they found, after all.

Still, Elatharia doubted that several of her companions would favour what she had in mind, so she suggested rather vaguely that Valygar, Jaheira, Minsc and Mazzy return to the cabin of the true lord of Windspear while the rest of them lingered at the castle to gather the sum (she claimed) Garren had promised her. In truth, she needed them gone so that they could go through the castle and take what they wanted or needed – all the sooner to save Imoen with.

Mazzy and Minsc, taking this suggestion as concern for the welfare of the lord and his daughter – and possibly of Aerie and Anomen on the road that way – agreed readily. Valygar was a little less willing, eyeing the three wizards warily but obviously preferring, ultimately, to be out of the stone castle. When Viconia pointed out that Korgan and Haer'Dalis, apparently sprightly as they were now, would need more healing before they could travel that night, no one could argue with her. The group would split into those who wanted to stay behind at the castle for the night, and those who would return to check on Garren Windspear. There was no need to discuss what those groups would be.

Jaheira lingered at the door once Mazzy, Valygar and Minsc had headed through. When she remained even while Edwin moved over to the fallen body of the dead dragon, imperiously waving over Haer'Dalis, Elatharia approached her but turned about to see what the Conjurer was demanding of the bard. Whatever he requested of him made the tiefling laugh and the Red Wizard fume in the face of such an impertinent response. Korgan, Jan and Yoshimo were happily rifling through the hoard for the most expensive looking gems, and Jaheira was frowning at _her_.

"Do you have some more disapproving words for me, Jaheira?" Elatharia enquired, turning to face the druid with a little more venom in her voice than she had intended.

"I…" Jaheira paused, and then she looked back out across the room to where Korgan, Jan and Yoshimo were looting, and Viconia was watching Haer'Dalis help Edwin remove some of the dragon's hide, "I…would have words with you when we reconvene here tomorrow, Elatharia," she said at last, evidently thinking better of having this conversation immediately.

The Transmuter doubted it was fear, or trepidation. Perhaps it was…tact? The thought seemed alien to her in regards to the druid but she just shrugged and inclined her head in agreement. The idea of another moral discussion with Jaheira was hardly pleasant, but at least the druid had given her a little warning. And after her apology at Valygar's cabin there was a hint that she might be trying to make up for her past harshness, for what it was worth.

The two spoke no further words, Elatharia keeping her stare fixed upon the outcome of whatever madness had induced Haer'Dalis to agree to Edwin's request for aid. It seemed that Jaheira hesitated only a moment more before turning and heading back through the door and up the spiral stairs after Mazzy and the others. Only once she had left, the door clanging shut behind her, did Elatharia approach Viconia, whose expression seemed caught somewhere between amusement and incredulity as she watched Haer'Dalis and Edwin.

"It is so typical of the Red Wizard to require such morbid work…and not be capable of enacting the deed himself," the drow noted from where she was standing a few steps away from the man and the tiefling, arms folded and her true appearance once more evident, long white hair spilling down over her yellow cloak, "I would say that it is entirely to do with his inferior and pretentious Thayvian culture," the priestess added, sending a sly sidelong glance towards Elatharia as she continued, "But I think it is truly because he is physically incapable."

"I think it's the culture," Elatharia disagreed, smiling at the hint of humour in Viconia's voice – they had both started the day in bad moods, as Aerie had observed earlier, but the defeat of a dragon could improve anyone's mood, probably, "And of course Haer'Dalis has those two enchanted short swords. I think the first thing they teach young Edwins in Thay is the belief that you should never do something yourself if someone else can do it for you. Except magic. That they will always do themselves, where possible."

And Edwin had certainly shown that earlier, reminding her with his apparently endless stream of spells against Firkraag of just what had captured her fancy in more innocent times near Baldur's Gate. When he cast his spells there was far less of a hint of that imperious nature because he _knew_ he was powerful in that moment. There was just the joy of magic, as he had told her before. _I was as you were. Seduced._

"If it were not for his show of power before I would be wondering at why you favour him so, _khal'abbil,_ " Viconia was saying as if reading her mind, flashing perfect white teeth when she smiled now at Elatharia's blush.

"Well, I could say similar things about the tiefling, Viconia," Elatharia shot back, smothering her laugh behind her hand when the drow reeled at the words, her expression falling and body tensing, "…and that's a guilty response if ever I saw one."

"I do not… _darthiir_ spawn…you…"

The Transmuter was too busy laughing and not at all interested in Viconia's reflexive tendency to use insults when unable to defend herself with lies and deception. Haer'Dalis heard her laughter and looked over his shoulder at them with a grin, his eyes moving from drow to half-elf for a second or two before his eyebrows raised as if in understanding. Viconia huffed and made to turn away, but Jan came tripping towards them, a large box barely held in his arms rattling loudly and Korgan following with a proud look on his bearded face, carrying an even larger box.

"I dinnae what you two schemers're plottin' but we've wine and beer a-plenty fer the drinkin' tonight!" the dwarf promised, depositing his box next to where Jan was just all but dropping his in front of Elatharia, "And after such a great fight, I say we deserve it!" he glanced around at Edwin and gave a grunt, "Even the Red Wizard, after that show!"

* * *

 **Author's note: I don't think I've ever managed to defeat Firkraag in the actual game this early - but Elatharia-in-story can have a much larger party than Elatharia-in-game. :P  
The chapter title is a quote; more fully 'dragons of the prime, that tare each other in their slime, were mellow music match'd with him' from Tennyson's _In Memoriam AHH_.**


	13. Strength, Not Weakness

**I've edited the previous chapter to add detail to the fight scene with Firkraag, and altered the aftermath accordingly (relevant author's note at the beginning of that chapter) for those who, like me, were a little underwhelmed by my rendition of that battle. Hopefully it's more dramatic now. :P  
And a quick warning for those who are not familiar with Vicona's romance dialogue, the story she tells at the end of this chapter is not a nice one. :(  
Onwards, to a chapter that demonstrates viewpoints of characters at wildly different ends of the alignment spectrum! And a certain avariel who likes considering things. A LOT.  
Let me know what you think. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Strength, Not Weakness**

* * *

Aerie had heard the distant rumble from the castle on the mountain when she, Garren's daughter and Anomen were no more than two miles from the main gates. It was still raining, more heavily than it had been when they arrived, and it had been impossible to make out the shape of the castle upon its rocky cliff. All they could do was hope that everything was all right, and that their friends had averted the dreadful threat the dragon posed to the Windspear Hills. It was at times like this that Aerie wished most poignantly that she still had her wings.

Anomen had given his cloak to Iltha, Garren's daughter, and from then on the rain had tinkled loudly off the priest's armour. In truth Aerie had been worried that this might alert any enemies that lingered, but Anomen had just laughed confidently in that startling way that made her heart beat just that little bit faster. She reminded herself that she had her spells if it came to a fight, and it was not that far to Garren's house from the castle, really.

Still, it had been a relief to finally reach the cabin, Iltha starting into a run as soon as they reached the hill to the building. Her cries of tearful, joyful relief had brought her father to the door and he had swept her up into his arms as soon as she reached him. Anomen and Aerie had stood back a little, and the avariel was smiling so much at the sight that she wished she could have shared this moment with more of the others. After a few moments Garren had ushered them into his house, thanking them effusively and asking about the others. Once more Aerie had been overtaken by worry, thanking him all the same for the hot food he offered them, along with towels to dry themselves.

The avariel had been staring out of the window towards the path amongst the trees, watching the sun fall beneath the hills, when she saw familiar shapes in the gloom. She could recognise the rather opposite forms of Mazzy and Minsc, with Jaheira following. When another figure, tall and definitely male, appeared out of the heavy mist of rain, Aerie's heart had skipped a beat hopefully but a moment of staring had proven to her that this was Valygar…not Haer'Dalis.

"They are here! I see them – coming up the hill now!" she cried.

Anomen was on his feet in a second. Iltha watched them from her father's side with nervous curiosity, wrapped in a blanket and hungrily eating some soup from a large bowl. Garren had an arm wrapped around her little shoulders protectively.

"Are they all there?" Anomen asked as Aerie flung open the door, waving at the others and earning a bellow from Minsc. She felt the priest's chest brush against her shoulder as he moved to look over her head at the others.

"I…I can't see all of them," she admitted, her stomach dropping further.

"Where are the others?" Anomen called over the rain as Minsc and Mazzy stumbled up on to the terrace and under the shelter of its awning, stamping mud from their boots. Their grins ought to have been enough, but the paladin answered all the same.

"Well. We are all well – and a great thing has been achieved today," the halfling promised as Aerie and Anomen stepped aside to allow her and the ranger to enter. Garren immediately moved to get them towels and food, Iltha in tow.

"Where are they? Are you not all together?" Anomen demanded, leaning about Aerie to peer once more into the rain just as Jaheira and Valygar arrived at the landing, pulling off sodden cloaks.

The druid sent him a long-suffering look and shook her head. At least all of them seemed well; Jaheira, Minsc and Valygar all bore bruises and cuts, but any nastier wounds must have been dealt with before they set off.

"The others have stayed to gather the reward Lord Windspear promised them," Mazzy explained darkly, her frown telling enough.

Aerie sighed, at once relieved and disappointed. She had come to expect and fear such behaviour from Elatharia and Viconia, and though it rather saddened her it was somehow worse to realise that Haer'Dalis had chosen to stay with them. But then, she had seen how he and Viconia were speaking of late and it was…hard to judge what his true intentions really were…

"They are welcome to all the wine and beer they can stomach from my stores," Garren laughed as he closed the door behind the last arrivals, handing out blankets and smiling in a way that made him look years younger.

"I rather think they will drink it anyway," Jaheira told him honestly.

"Then they may. I see before me many honourable people – but I know that the trade of the adventurer does not always allow us to choose those we travel with. They have helped you save my Iltha and freed this land of Firkraag; for that I will be grateful forever. And I have already told them that they may have free choice over the gold that wretched dragon amassed from my stores and his own."

"You are perhaps a little over kind in your assumptions that they will leave you with anything," Jaheira sighed, and Aerie's heart sank a little further. A glimpse at Anomen showed that his face expressed a similar level of disappointment. Garren Windspear appeared surprisingly unbothered.

"Trust me, they will not find my true stores of wealth. That castle was built by a man who slew dragons, and he knew not to leave his wealth in obvious places," the Lord of Windspear smiled again, his eyes shining with his continued relief and thanks, "Now, I have hot food and drink if you should like it. Please, make yourselves comfortable and dry yourselves off. I will pull up some more chairs by the fire and you may tell my daughter and me your rousing tale of dragon battle…"

Aerie had been distracted by her own thoughts after that, staring out of the window behind the others as they settled down, dried and free of armour about the fire to tell their tale. In truth, the death of anything, even an evil dragon, made her sad. And this mountainous place with its rushing winds made her think too much of her half-forgotten past with her true kin, the avariel. It had made her happy to begin with, but now it just made her miss her wings and the promise of the open skies.

Then there were her other thoughts - thoughts of Haer'Dalis. Since she had met him he had fascinated her and as time passed he had been in her thoughts increasingly. The sight of him made her heart race and he seemed to know exactly what to say – and how to say it – to make her blush and giggle. He wore feathers in his blue hair just as she did – as well as that woven bracelet. He named everyone after birds and spoke in that unusual, exotic way. He was uncommonly handsome, and tall, not to mention confident and perceptive. And then there were his dizzyingly attentive attentions. 'Dove'! He called her a dove! True, a 'mourning dove' at times, but a dove nonetheless. It was as if he saw her true winged self rather than this half-thing she had become. He had asked her to act in a play with him and complimented her on her candour, her strength, her _beauty_.

But…she could not hide the feelings of doubt and disappointment when she saw how unfazed he was by the less moral behaviour of some of their companions. She counted Elatharia as a friend, not least because of her evident love for Imoen and her determination to get her back…but Aerie would never consider the morals of the Transmuter to be a good starting point from which to judge all of her acquaintances. Viconia made her skin crawl at times with her comments and her worship of the dark goddess Shar. Edwin was so rude to nearly everyone that the avariel had done her best to stay out of his way. Korgan was even worse. Yoshimo was less offensive but rather shifty and silent at the best of times, while Jan – though endearingly akin to the gnomes she had become acquainted with when adopted by Quayle – was peculiar and sometimes unsettling.

This did not seem like the kind of company that could reflect well on Haer'Dalis – and it would appear that he had chosen to stay with them. Not to mention the time he spent with Viconia. Though the drow was so bitter and rude in her responses to him, he continued to engage her in conversation…and increasingly it seemed as though he was winning her over. Not that Aerie would begrudge anyone the chance to improve the drow's temperament and wretched outlook upon the world…but something about it tugged at her uncomfortably. Something about the way they talked to each other made her feel like an outsider, an unwelcome guest, an inconvenience…

"You seem troubled, my lady," a deep, well-spoken voice noted from nearby, a warm hand brushing against her shoulder. With a start she looked away from the rain to see Anomen leaning against the opposite side of the window frame and smiling across at her in that charmingly crooked way of his, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Oh! I…I was thinking about the battle. And the others," she admitted at last, pausing before glancing out at the rain again, "And…and about my wings," she added more quietly.

"It sounds as though 'twas an impressive thing. I am disappointed that I could not partake in such a valiant fight, also," Anomen agreed, totally missing her meaning but doing it so _kindly_ that she almost did not notice, "But the choices of the others do make me worry," he frowned now, ducking his head a little as if curious, pausing uncomfortably as if unsure of how to phrase his next comment, "I have heard you and some of the others mention that you once had wings…"

"I am an avariel," she agreed, "I am…I was…a winged elf. We had our home in the mountains, up amongst the clouds, and we could soar out in the open sky whenever we wished," a smile found its way to her face at the memory, but she remembered that he had mistaken her words earlier, "But…I cannot share your wish for such a battle – even against a foe like Firkraag. Death of any kind saddens me."

"Ah, you have a good and gentle heart, Lady Aerie," Anomen smiled, his expression softening at her words.

She felt her cheeks warm up as she blushed, turning back to look at him again. His coppery hair was still a little damp from their walk through the rain, swept away from his face but tending to flop back forward endearingly. He was tall – in their group only Haer'Dalis, Edwin and Minsc were taller – and evidently muscular, dressed in a black gold-trimmed doublet over his white shirt that emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

"Th-thank you," she managed at last, remembering her manners. He was still smiling at her, unconsciously leaning a little closer to speak to her further.

"'Tis honourable, to be so good-hearted. The Radiant Heart teaches us that we should be honest in mind and soul, and it seems to me that you are both," he watched her for a moment, his eyes searching her face for something. She just blinked up at him, feeling foolish and clumsy, "If you would be willing, my lady, I should like to hear more about you. The avariel must be a good and beautiful people to count you among their number."

"Oh, my! Your flattery is starting to make me think you have me mistaken with someone else!" Aerie giggled despite her embarrassment – or perhaps in part because of it. Anomen just grinned more and shook his head.

"Nonsense! And I am serious about my request as well – will you tell me of yourself, Aerie?"

"I…I can try," she acceded after a moment, looking away shyly and suddenly feeling rather at a loss for words. The last time she had spoken to anyone about herself, her _real_ self, had been to Elatharia over a month before. It suddenly struck her that for all of his attentions Haer'Dalis had never tried to get closer to her in this way, "But…it is not a pleasant story, Anomen. You may come to think less of me when it is over."

"Never!" he reached out and caught her hand up, pressing it firmly between both of his and meeting her eyes with an earnest look of his own, "People may have done bad things to you, and you may have seen terrible things, but that can never make you bad. To hear the truth of one such as you, and see you as you are, must surely prove that you are as good and strong as I suspect."

"I…Anomen what has brought this on?" she tried to pull away, uncertain all of a sudden. But his brows just rose in innocent confusion.

"You have helped a relative of mine today, and I have watched your kindness for a little while now," he admitted a little bashfully after a moment, his eyes flickering away before returning to hers with a radiant vengeance, "Would you permit a would-be knight a moment to learn more of you, my lady? I fear that I have been remiss in my attentions to you before this day."

"A-alright," she was blushing fiercely now, and it was making him smile more – which was making her blush more. Her voice sounded a little higher than she had expected, but she forged on rather than be thought an utter fool, "But I want you to tell me of yourself, too."

Radiant Heart, indeed.

* * *

They had found no more enemies in the castle, and when Yoshimo had been the only one to suggest that they remove the bodies of the hobgoblins they had killed, Haer'Dalis had offered to help as if not trusting what the Kara-Turan would do if left alone. They had rather given up on the concept of moving Firkraag's body; there was no way that they could get him through the door, let alone up the stairs. Korgan suggested taking an axe to him but no one else had the stomach for it.

Instead, while the rather tense and unlikely duo of the bard and the bounty hunter went about Yoshimo's suggested task of removing the bodies (which probably entailed making use of the castle's windows) the others moved through the labyrinthine building. Edwin vanished into the library with a bottle of wine and Elatharia lingered a little with him, while Korgan and Jan took most of the alcohol stores with them on their quest for more gold and gems. Viconia crept off on her own somewhere without a word, and Elatharia knew better than to go looking for her. The drow had her own secrets and they haunted her more than she admitted. Sometimes she just need time alone.

The Windspear library was quite large, a long room full of overflowing wooden bookcases. Its musty smell and impressive cross-vaulted stone ceiling sent the Transmuter's mind wheeling back to thoughts of Candlekeep and happier times flitting from book to book, searching for the best stories. Now she saw the titles of the adventure books and felt a pang of nostalgia…but also something else, something more bitter, brought on by the knowledge that life would never be like those books and she had been deceived by them in her childhood.

"It's never like they say it is," the Transmuter complained after flicking through the pages of yet another novel, pushing it back into place behind Edwin's seat with a puff of dust.

The Red Wizard had found the one table in the room, hidden away by the place's only window – a huge, arching thing that overlooked the hills of Windspear which were now grey and apparently endless in the evening gloom and the rain. He had been rather efficient in determining the library's organisation system and found only about four books which held any interest to him. He coughed as the dust Elatharia had unsettled drifted around him, swiping at the air above the pages of the book he was perusing, shooting her an annoyed glance as he covered the mouth of his wineglass to avoid particles settling in his drink.

"I have met Elminster and he just seemed like an old man in a red cloak. They always say that he cast that huge fireball at the Magefair…and I suppose he must have. But…the stories always paint him as invincible, as endlessly powerful, surrounded by the glory of Mystra always. I did not see any of that. Still…"

"Ugh. I remember that you were more impressed than that when you met him for - what was it? The second time? In Baldur's Gate. 'Elminster this, Elminster that'," Edwin watched her for a moment when she glared at him, a hint of something that might have been _mischief_ in his dark eyes until he turned away and sipped at his wine, "(Give me two thousand years and a pointy hat and I'd kick his arse!)"

Elatharia smiled at that.

Taking up her own wine glass she peered over his shoulder, not really seeing what he was looking at but rather remembering how those tattoos visible across his neck and collarbone had glowed with his magic earlier. In truth, the defeat of Firkraag had put them both in a good mood. She felt rather giddy. And promptly quashed the beginnings of those thoughts that whispered her mood was thanks to all of the dead they had left in their wake that day.

"I suppose you _will_ also be an old man in red robes one day," she acceded after a moment, grinning when she awaited his response.

"Not if I can help it," Edwin muttered, so softly that she almost did not hear him.

A real glance down at the book in front of him revealed that it was that same book of maps he had been looking at since she met him in Athkatla, this time open on a page discussing the origins of a certain section of the Graveyard District. Drawing up a chair, Elatharia rather unceremoniously reached out and covered the page as best she could with her hand.

"What?" Edwin demanded, staring down at her hand in outrage before turning to look at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him before remembering that she was still wearing her mask. Such expressions were harder to make out whilst she was wearing it, so she tugged at the ribbon holding it fastened and removed the cloth, settling it upon the table and taking a long gulp of wine before looking back at the Red Wizard and emphasising her previous expression, waiting for him to catch on. Unlike Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Aerie that morning, he did look at the markings splayed beneath her eyes, those dark and indented lines that had made so many uneasy. Unlike those who had instilled in her the need to wear a mask, however, the Red Wizard seemed far from offended. He seemed distracted, curious – though this was by far not the first time he had seen her face like this. He did not seem revolted.

"Well?" she prompted, earning a frown from Edwin and breaking the moment.

"Sadly, Divination is never going to be a school with which I can entangle myself," he told her icily, pushing at her hand to attempt to read the book again and groaning in annoyance when she did not relent, "And so sadly – or perhaps fortunately for my sanity – I cannot read your mind."

"The book, Edwin," she reminded him, "You have been looking at that book since we met in Athkatla. On the road here, in this library when you have new books to peruse. What's in the Graveyard, Edwin?"

"Nothing for you," he grimaced, slamming the book shut and only narrowly missing her fingers when she pulled her hand away sharply.

"So…something very interesting," she surmised, unable to keep her tone quite so cheerful when he had so nearly caught her hand, "Let me think…a Red Wizard looking for something powerful in the Graveyard District…hmm…sounds like Necromancy to me. And what would a Red Wizard who is in fact a Conjurer want from something like that? Well, maybe it has something to do with that comment you made earlier. That one about not wanting to become an old man in red robes…"

"You cannot have it," the Red Wizard snapped, pushing the book away and turning to face her fully, glaring, "I have spent quite some time considering its location and I will not be stopped or thwarted…"

"Did I say I want it, or wanted to stop you?" Elatharia asked too innocently, "Necromancy is a fascinating subject, one that certain fools at Candlekeep would never permit me to consider at any length – for reasons that seem to make a little more sense nowadays, I suppose. But I do not want lichdom," when his eyes flashed, she knew she had worked it out, at least to some extent, "At least not at the moment."

It would be a shame if he decided to take such a course, she would not deny herself that truth. For all of his acerbic ways and his tendency towards insults, there was something very alive about Edwin, something fierce that she found fascinated her as much as his substantial magical powers. He would not seem like that once he was undead. He would be calm and still and cold, not fierce and impatient and _warm_.

"It is not what I seek currently, either," he admitted after a moment, "(Though the aim remains. One day.) But it is attached to the _theme_ of lichdom. It is…a Nether Scroll. And that is all I shall say about it. Oh, well…and it is guarded by a lich, I suspect."

He shrugged, his nonchalance apparently genuine. His confidence was supreme, particularly after the show of power he had achieved against Firkraag.

Elatharia's eyes widened at his words. Such a scroll would be an invaluable magical item! A magical scroll that had survived the fall of Netheril, that floating nation of magical might that crashed to the ground centuries before. It was a place of myth and horror, a tale to be remembered for the great and terrible hubris of its rulers.

A small smile found its way to Edwin's face as he watched her gaping mutely at him. He sipped his wine again, keeping his eyes on hers and raising an eyebrow smugly. The silent question was there, though he was too proud to ask it, obviously. _If you will not take it for yourself…will you help me?_

"Will there be other things in that tomb…that might further the cause for Imoen?"

"Most probably," Edwin rolled his eyes, "You are so single minded about the girl. There could be power in there for you to take for yourself and all you think of is her. Selfless and idiotic are adjectives which invariably occur together. In this case they have merged spectacularly in you."

Elatharia was in no mood to consider that topic with him and opted to wait for him to say something else rather than rise to the bait – or else flee. As it turned out, it only took Edwin a few moments to come up with his next comment, something which was sadly not all that far away from the previous topic.

"It occurs to me that you have not entirely fulfilled our bargain, Transmuter," he noted quietly, his dark eyes gleaming victoriously, "The wine, the scrolls and the books in this library which you promised me are all here, yes. And I have told you what it is that has my attention. But I believe you said you would also explain to me what has you so entranced within your own journal."

"You are assuming it is more fascinating for you than it really will be," Elatharia promised him, annoyed. All of her giddiness had been displaced now with that reminder…of what she had been avoiding in that journal.

"Perhaps it is not a map to a powerful scroll or some valuable treasure – if that were so you would be reading it every night, I know," the Red Wizard smiled, sensing he was getting closer to the truth, tapping his fingers on the table and watching her closely as he spoke, "And I doubt you fear to read what you have written before; this would not make sense, given how frequently and religiously and _fervently_ you scrawl away in there."

He caught her wrist where her hand still rested upon the table, turning it over and running a finger over the scars there from Irenicus's manacles. When he raised his eyes to hers they were gleaming with the pride of his victory over her cryptic avoidance, his dark smile only growing the more she glared.

"And so I must conclude that whatever you fear to read in that book of yours was not written by you but was in fact written by Imoen," his voice lowered and his fingers curled around her wrist when she tried to pull away, "And that you fear to read it because it details the tortures Irenicus inflicted upon your precious sister."

He hardly sounded disturbed. And for a moment Elatharia saw him as she suspected Aerie did, as she knew Gorion would have wanted her to. A man with more interest in power and finding it that in people, someone who could be trusted only to do what would serve himself, ultimately, and who found greater satisfaction in being _right_ than in being kind.

Sadly, it began to occur to her that many of these traits were her own as well…especially when it came to her quest to free Imoen. The Red Wizard was at least known for keeping his vows, when such things were forced upon him – Elatharia was not. Thoughts of Bodhi immediately flashed through her mind and she bit back her angry retorts, wrenching her arm free and staring down at her mask upon the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edwin relax, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. Perhaps he had known the risks of talking to her about that most volatile of subjects after all.

"I will help you find this 'Nether Scroll'," she sighed softly after a few more moments of silence, running her hands through her messy hair and tugging irritably at a few of the worse tangles.

"Good," Edwin inclined his head, eyes narrowing as she gave up on her hair, "And in return I will not spill the secret of your weakness to the others (as if I would deign to talk with them at all)," he ignored her when she looked back at him warningly, "Though I would recommend reading it. Surely it is important to know all that you can of this Irenicus? Surely this is why Imoen wrote it in the first place? You seek him for her, _and_ yourself. The only two people on Faerûn that your dark heart holds in any esteem," she brushed aside his mocking words, so he continued, "When you must face him, you must do it with all of the advantages you can find."

Elatharia could not deny the truth of his words.

"You think too much, Edwin," she complained at last, pouring herself more wine rather than looking at his smug expression.

"You are a poor wizard if you believe it is ever possible to think too much, Elatharia," he chided back.

"I said _you_ think too much," she corrected him, smiling a little now at least, "That is not a problem that should constrain other wizards, but you…"

"That is because I am the _best_ of the wizards you know," he reminded her, smiling slyly when she rolled her eyes, "And there you are really agreeing with me."

A moment passed and then the Red Wizard reached across the table, rifling through a pile of scrolls before he found the one he was looking for. Wordlessly he unravelled it in front of her and for a moment she considered ignoring it. But she was a wizard and there were few things that could capture her interest like the shapes and sigils of magic. When at last she looked down, seeing Edwin's hand holding down the top corner, rings glinting in the flickering candlelight, she caught the slowly recoiling bottom edge of the parchment automatically. For a moment she saw the difference between them; her hand small and thin, pale and mottled by scars at the wrist. His larger, the skin several shades darker, fingers long and slender but not _thin_ , nails carefully kept as befitted his trade as a Conjurer, one black stroke of a tattoo glimpsed above his wrist just before the cuff of his jacket…

"Well?" his voice sounded closer than she had been expecting, his shoulder brushing hers as he gestured with his free hand at the diagram before her. When she saw it and _recognised_ it her eyes widened and she looked at him quickly, hardly even registering his closeness.

"Oh!"

Edwin's smile was slow and utterly self-satisfied, except for that way in which his eyes watched her expression changing, that altogether human pride at affecting her emotions which he was evidently completely unaware of. She knew that if he ever realised why he had done this, choosing to show her this spell now after what they had discussed, then he would never do such a thing again.

" _Ruby Ray of Reversal_ ," she uttered at last, now far more aware of the way he continued to watch her when she looked back down at the beautiful geometric designs of the Transmutation spell in front of her, "I can't cast this. This is…this is one of the most difficult spells in my field…" her fingers traced the designs, itching to learn them but knowing that, for now at least, such a thing would be beyond her, "Where did you find this?"

"In this library, obviously." Edwin did not sound as annoyed as he had intended.

"Are there more?" she was smiling genuinely when she turned to him again; and though the way he was looking at her now made her bite her lip subconsciously and her heart beat faster…she was too distracted by the promise of more conciliatory magic to care.

* * *

The rain had finally stopped. Just minutes before it had been roaring all around Viconia on the roof of the castle, the awning by the door hardly providing any protection against the downpour thanks to the rushing wind. But now all was dark and quiet, the Windspear Hills rolling out behind her, the mountain into which the castle was cut rearing sheer and cold beside her, and the Cloudpeaks, huge and close ahead, rising so high that she had to crane her neck to make out their cloud-shrouded peaks capped in snow. Though the wind was still whistling, rushing mercilessly against her cloak, the rainfall pouring over the mountainside in a torrent somewhere out of sight, there was something peaceful about being up here. She had never been further away from the Underdark, so high upon this surface world.

It was dark now, the cleared sky glittering with stars and still mercifully void of its moon. The world was peaceful…but even now she found herself looking north, thinking on what lay beyond those mountains, not two hundred miles away along the Trade Way. Nashkel. And beyond it: Beregost. And those memories, of what had befallen after she left Elatharia – and before – were far from peaceful. They were far darker than anything she recalled of Menzoberranzan. Somehow it felt as though…if she could just think for a few moments of Nashkel and Beregost without struggling to breathe then she would have won. She would be able to prove that she, a drow female, was powerful and strong and indomitable and would never be made to suffer again.

"Tis a wondrous night. The rainclouds part and the stars wheel overhead, shining silver and ancient down upon us. The wind howls and yet here you stand, still and proud, wrapped in gold and your deepest secrets…all in the shadow of these great blue-black mountains."

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, deep and passionate, free of the undercurrent of lies she was so used to and tinged with that slight peculiarity of an accent that was not native to this Plane.

"Did I not tell you to keep to the avariel, male?"

Haer'Dalis just laughed at that, lingering several steps behind her. When she turned unwillingly to look at him he was leaning in the doorway that led back down into the castle, heels crossed and arms folded. And smiling, always smiling.

"You did," the bard agreed with a shrug, "But I do not wish to."

"Is there not somewhere else you could be? Drinking with the slovenly _hargluk_ and the gnome? Guarding the bounty hunter?"

"I would rather he were not with us, but I have left him with the War Dog and the Wren," by which Haer'Dalis appeared to be referring to Korgan and Jan, "No doubt they will prove a difficult problem for him, should he decide to break his cover. As for the wizards they are rather engrossed in each other and I doubt they would be amenable to my company," his smile grew when Viconia's eyebrow's rose doubtfully, "I did watch for a little moment, my Blackbird. It is rather curious, to see how they tangle themselves up in each other without ever touching. How they make love with their minds and the war of their intelligence rather than succumbing to what they wish."

"You have an exceptionally sentimental way with words, tiefling," Viconia sneered, tensing when he advanced a few steps.

"They keep secrets and cannot overcome them," he noted softly, still watching her closely. He was just one step from her now, still smiling, hands hooked in his belt, "As do you, my Blackbird. Would you not tell this Sparrow what holds you back?"

His words and his approach baffled Viconia. Everything about his constant pursuit of her, his unflappable responses, the way he was watching her with that knowing smile – all of it suggested that he wanted her. And yet he stopped that one step away, just looking at her in the utter darkness. That look stopped the acidic response she had intended and for a moment she struggled with her words, not sure of how to continue.

"I should thank you for your timely aid before," Haer'Dalis continued, showing her his bloodstained sleeve with a little grin that never really bothered to come close to the bashfulness that his tone suggested. The drow could see his arm beneath the tear in the cloth, muscles moving fluidly as he shifted. Remembering touching him before, her eyes followed the reverse of the path her hand had made earlier, over his shoulder and across his chest, "This Sparrow does not fear oblivion but it would be perhaps a little dull if…"

Viconia had hardly been listening and her advance upon him seemed to catch him by surprise. When she stepped forward, hooking one hand behind his neck and the other catching at the opening in his doublet, pressing her lips to his, he took a sharp breath in, his words stopped abruptly. At last, a way of silencing him! Perhaps this was all that it would take to cease his never ending questions.

She had expected a fierce response, something implicit of simple desire…and again he surprised her. And she surprised herself by how much she suddenly _wanted_ him. He ducked down a little to keep the contact, his hands easing slowly over her waist, his lips brushing just as languidly against hers, parting them, deepening their kiss. There was nothing but her thin mithral shirt between his hot fingers and her skin. She heard herself moan involuntarily, attempting to drag him closer – but he moved back.

A little stunned by what had happened, Viconia attempted to pull him back, breathless and _embarrassed_ again. He smiled at her, one hand moving to the back of her head and tangling in her hair as he spoke now, his lips moving close to her ear. To her horror, she found that she was trembling, closing her eyes as his breath tickled her skin.

"I will not stop asking for you to unburden yourself, my Blackbird, though you try so hard to dissuade me and distract me," Haer'Dalis whispered, humming in satisfaction when his lips brushed over her skin and her grip tightened on the back of his neck, "Though of course your attention is not unwelcome."

It seemed as if he were distracting _her_ and it took a monumental effort for Viconia to disentangle herself from him, stepping back and trying to steady her breathing, doing her best to school her expression. It seemed she had misread the situation quite spectacularly.

"You wish to hear the truth," she stated, the reality of what she was about to do weighing heavy on her heart, "To laugh at my weakness. I should have expected nothing less of a demonspawn such as you, deceiving and _using_ your…your betters…to weaken them and ruin them…"

"My Blackbird," his voice lowered, gently chiding, "I think you know that is not true."

Even more unsettled than if he had agreed with her, Viconia drew herself up and nodded once, as imperiously as she knew how.

"Very well. What is it you are so determined to ask of me?"

"I wish to know what it is that has so turned you against this surface world," Haer'Dalis told her, moving around her with his usual easy grace, sitting upon the low wall around the roof.

There was nothing between him and the open air…but the thought of ending his curiosity permanently filled her with a strange panic, and for an uncomfortable moment Viconia had to look anywhere but at him. His request reminded her of the crush of pressing soil, the blind madness that had overcome her upon opening her eyes to impenetrable darkness and _no air._ But it would be weak to run from this now, and so she began, fists balled by her sides and eyes watching the dark star-filled sky behind Haer'Dalis.

"It began with a merchant caravan. I had not been upon the surface long, dizzy from the open sky and blinded by the wretched sun, chased and hunted by the elves in the forest in which I had arrived. It was by chance that I stumbled onto the road – and when I saw the merchant caravan approaching me I thought I was surely doomed. But before the guards could kill me the master of the caravan stopped them. He was gentle with me, offered me food and water. I am drow and I know better than anyone that such 'kindness' is only ever an opening for some favour or other. As it turned out, he permitted me to live…as his 'pleasure slave' as he called it. I did as I had to, for as long as I had to and it was better than dying at the hands of the elves. Then, when we neared Beregost, he died of a heart…problem. Entirely none of my doing, though he would surely have deserved it for his impudent use of a female – but the guards assumed it _was_ my doing, that I had called upon Shar to strike him down for using me. They attacked me…and I fled. After a short few days, I met Elatharia as I was being chased from Beregost by a group of Flaming Fist mercenaries…and for a time I was truly safe, hidden within the disguise she forms for me," Viconia hesitated, her hands shaking though her voice was steady, hoping that perhaps Haer'Dalis would take this for the end.

"But there is more," he prompted softly, "Something worse." It was the most serious she had ever heard him, but still she dared not look at him, pacing before him now as she continued, her voice raising angrily.

"Amongst my people what I have endured is a shameful thing. A sign of my great weakness and further evidence for the deeds that weakened my House and sent me from Menzoberranzan. It is for my stupidity, my childish weakness, my own lack of sense that it happened! I will not be pitied! I will not!"

"From one such as I, who has fought in the Blood Wars and will one day no doubt have no choice but to return, there will be no pity," Haer'Dalis promised solemnly, his dark eyes catching and holding her stare in a manner that made her heart pound and her breathing unsteady, caught somewhere between panic and the memory of his lips upon hers, "There will be only understanding. The divide between empathy and sympathy is almost philosophical at times, but I shall stay well clear. Say your words, my Blackbird. I shall hear, and listen, and remind you of my _understanding_."

He was so calm, leaning back and hooking his hands over the edge of the wall, his heels kicked out over the floor, that it was hard to stay genuinely angry. Viconia wanted to hate him for what he was making her say but instead she found that her chest was tightening with the need to say it. Sighing in resignation she leaned back against the wall of the little atrium leading back into the castle, sliding down to sit upon the floor of the roof and giving herself a moment to find her words. Haer'Dalis moved to sit back against the wall opposite, expression unreadable.

"I left Elatharia and her group, wanting to find my own way. I wanted to find a home, somewhere to stay and to call mine. It took some time, though I was helped a little by the mayor of Beregost who recognised me from my time travelling with Elatharia, but I eventually found a house a little way out from the town. I tried my hand at growing vegetables and keeping a few animals; hardly labour for a matron mother's eldest daughter, but I had already fallen and I was as determined to live then as I am now. There were still some supplies that I could not get alone, and I managed to develop an awkward acquaintance with the owner of the next farm along. I wove some lies to him about why I could not travel into the town and he seemed happy enough to help, bringing me back things I needed from the market when he went into town. He was always kind to me and never asked why I always kept my hood so low over my face. We developed a friendship of sorts and I determined to show him my true face – when I did he showed no surprise, only smiling. Believing I had at last found someone upon this surface world who did not show such prejudice, weak fool that I am, I accepted his invitation to have dinner at his house that evening."

"And I take it that when you got there they were far from welcoming," Haer'Dalis prompted. Viconia smiled without mirth, her heart pounding in her chest with the fear of recounting what followed.

"Indeed. He and his three adult sons bound me, raped me and beat me until I lost consciousness. When I awoke it was to impenetrable darkness, and a weight pressing tightly around me. I convulsed with the need for breath, my body burning with the pain they had left for me. They had buried me alive…but they had failed to kill me, and did not know that my goddess is Shar, who dwells in the darkness and heeded my call. She gave me her aid and I crawled to the surface. Once outside I saw they had buried me not far from their house, where they were drinking heavily to celebrate their conquest and victory. When the youngest son left the house to relieve himself I lured him into the barn and set it alight. Drawn by his screams his father and brother fought to help him. That brother I strangled with rope when he went to the well to fetch water, and when his first son died screaming the father fell to his knees, making it easy for me to bury an axe in his skull. I left the final son then to witness the chaos I had wrought and to learn that is what befalls those who attempt to shame and murder drow."

The silence rang between them. She waited for his laughter, his jibes…none came. Instead, his eyes turned to the starry sky, expression thoughtful.

"I thank you for sharing your tale, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis said at length, watching her as she stood unsteadily, "And in the telling you have proven yourself strong, and not weak. The bitterness you feel is theirs, and not your own."

Gods damn him, he said it with such _feeling_.

Viconia had no words for him then, though something in his tone made her heart swell and her throat tighten. Her eyes were stinging. With only one more sidelong glance to the tiefling, she pressed her trembling lips together and fled from him.


	14. The Road to Trademeet

**Thank you to those who are reading this story, and to those who have reviewed - I am always very grateful for your comments. :)  
I hope you like this installment - in which Korgan swears terribly in Old Norse (fair warning to those who may need it ;P.) **

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Road to Trademeet**

* * *

The dawn light had awoken Elatharia, bright and piercing now that the sky was clear of clouds, filling the window with pure unbroken blue. The castle stood high enough upon the mountain face that the view from the window did not immediately render the hills to the south visible, even to someone standing normally before the glass. As it was, Elatharia gradually had come to realise that she was looking up at it. From an angle.

Shifting, she had realised that she and Edwin must have fallen asleep whilst discussing the many spells he had found, and as she moved the rustling of parchment was telling. As she had shifted she had also come to realise that she was not sleeping on the ground, or against the wall, but rather she had, much like the night before the ambush, fallen asleep whilst leaning against him. Now however she awoke with her head against his upper leg and a rather evident view of his boots, gleaming in the rising sun. His hand had settled upon her side, warm against her ribs through the robe of Vecna – twisting about slowly so as not to wake him she had seen that he was, thankfully, indeed still asleep.

It had been a difficult task to sit up without jostling him too much, not aided by the lingering fog of sleep. Somehow she had managed it, given that his sleeping position had been even more uncomfortable than hers, propped up against the wall beneath the window as he was, his head tilted back a little where the glass touched the frame. Dragging herself to her feet and stumbling across the floor to the table, attempting not to step on scattered parchment, the Transmuter had snatched up her mask and paused, noticing how little of the wine they had drunk. The bottle was more than three-quarters full.

Glancing back at him, she had been momentarily struck by how different he looked whilst sleeping. His sneers and frowns had been smoothed out, though years of schooling these expressions had left him with a few tell-tale lines to show for it. He just looked like a man in his late twenties who had fallen asleep distracted by studying his spells late into the night – and really the early morning. She often forgot that, although he was older than her, he was not quite as experienced in life as he liked others to believe. From what he had told her he was about twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old – and in many ways he seemed younger.

Elatharia had left him sleeping there under the window surrounded by those parchments, knowing that it would be better if he woke on his own. For herself she had sought out one of the bedrooms, intending to sleep until the others arrived at the castle with Garren and his daughter. She and Edwin had been so deep in conversation, so animated by considering the new spells they had found, that they had not noticed the passing of time as the night sped by or even thought about finding beds to sleep in.

Viconia was sleeping in one of the double bedrooms furthest from the scenes of their ambushes by Firkraag's hobgoblins, and Elatharia chose the next room along. It was rather like the chamber the dragon-in-disguise had issued her – minus the hobgoblins and the ensuing disarray – with the bed made neatly and utterly untouched. Gratefully she had kicked off her boots and curled up on it, wrapped in Gorion's cloak. It had taken a little while to get back to sleep, still distracted by the memory of Edwin's hand resting warm on her side, fingers curved in accordance with her ribs, and his voice had drifted through her thoughts as she entered that half-waking trance before sleep…

"Elatharia."

Jaheira's voice pulled her from the void of sleep slowly, unwillingly, and the Transmuter sat up automatically, momentarily disorientated to see that the druid was standing in her partially open doorway, knocking on the door gently for good measure. The half-elf was watching a space in the wall above Elatharia's head rather than meeting her eyes, her expression carefully blank. Realising what the problem was, the Transmuter fumbled for her mask and eventually found it tangled in her cloak.

"W-What is it?" she asked blearily, swinging her legs onto the ground and trying to remember where she had left her boots, "What _time_ is it?"

"The tenth hour of the morning, Elatharia," the druid answered, and the strain in her voice led the Transmuter to – eventually – look at her, "I take it you were not with the dwarf and the gnome last night?"

"No, why?"

"Their drunken foolery has left the wine cellar in disrepair. With Yoshimo's guidance, we found them fairly swimming in alcohol."

Elatharia laughed, though the druid's tone was hardly amused.

"Lord Windspear is unamused…and unsurprised. I do not know why you keep such brutes with you, especially after something like this," the frown and the tone were to be expected. Elatharia rolled her eyes and ignored Jaheira, pulling on her boots and standing with a yawn and a stretch.

"And I take it he wants to send us out now before they cause more madness?" the Transmuter prompted. It was Jaheira's turn to roll her eyes, opening the door and stepping back into the hallway as the Bhaalspawn approached.

"No. He is offering you breakfast and his thanks. I believe there is a discussion going on between him and Mazzy over who should keep the sword, Carsomyr."

"You woke me just for breakfast?" Elatharia could not help sounding incredulous…and a little annoyed, "Good luck getting the drow up this early when we don't even need to be on the road."

"I…would speak with you, in truth, Elatharia," Jaheira admitted, "There are…things we must discuss," she shifted from foot to foot, the uncertain gesture ill-suited to her usual manner.

For the first time, Elatharia considered that perhaps the druid's aggression had always been a mask for her own pain, and not really hatred at all. Her quietness after her confrontation with Haer'Dalis and her subsequent apology at Valygar's cabin all suggested something of this kind. But thinking back on the things they had said to each other…Elatharia found it hard not to look at the druid, who she had travelled with for over a year, with anything other than ill-hidden anger.

"What things?" the Transmuter snapped, and saw an answering frown appear on Jaheira's face as she moved inside the room, closing the door behind herself.

"I do not wish this to be an argument of the sort we had the night before you…met Edwin," the druid said as calmly as she knew how, keeping her eyes fixed somewhere behind Elatharia as she had when knocking, even though she wore her mask.

"That depends what this is about," Elatharia disagreed, folding her arms and expecting the worst.

"I have already apologised, and it did not come easily to me," Jaheira told her coolly, "I apologised for making assumptions, and even now I see in your eyes what I have denied – the truth that there are things…things which h-happened in Irenicus's dungeon of which you will not speak."

"I will not," Elatharia agreed, clearing her throat in vain when her words came out hoarse.

"I understand," Jaheira sighed, still not raising her eyes to look at the Transmuter, "We have never been close, certainly not as I became with Imoen, or anything like the bond the two of you have. But it is because I love her and she loves you that I feel I must speak with you. For her sake, if you would but spare a few heartbeats to listen to me," there was that more familiar hint of annoyance, the hardness which ironically made Elatharia more comfortable because it was something she could expect.

"I'm listening," she prompted, hugging herself more tightly and tangling her fingers in the edges of Gorion's cloak subconsciously.

"We have hardly spoken since…what passed in Irenicus's dungeon. And it is as much your fault as mine, do not deny it," Jaheira paused for a denial, and Elatharia did not oblige so she continued, "And when we have it has always descended into an argument. As I told you…what Haer'Dalis saw I have since been able to see as well, though I have been blinded by my own…my own…" her voice trembled imperceptibly and the druid waved the words away, gritting her teeth and standing straighter, "And I have apologised, as well as I know how. Which is better than what you have done."

Elatharia just shrugged, watching the dust motes behind Jaheira illuminated by the high circular window above the bed.

"Now, in light of what Firkraag said – and after one of your…one of the other Bhaalspawn found you…I think it is important that we make more of an effort to work together," Jaheira continued, her tone more imploring in the face of the Transmuter's continued silence, "As much as I cannot understand why you keep such company."

"You sound more like Edwin than you realise," Elatharia pointed out flippantly, smiling coldly back when the druid frowned.

"And you allow yourself to be taken in by his wiles," Jaheira told her flatly, "You always have. It is worse now – now that you believe yourself to be worldlier. He will still betray you. A man like that is out only for power, and he will only stay with us while that is possible."

"You think I don't know that?"

"You do, but you do not think _sensibly._ You do not realise how suddenly or unexpectedly he could turn on you, or what that would mean for the party, for Imoen's safety…and for you. Where he comes from it is standard practice to seduce, use and betray. In any and all of the ways that those words can be used. I know I am right when I say he is well on his way to achieving those objectives."

Elatharia's blood ran cold. She knew this. She did. But it was another thing to be reminded of it aloud by someone else, even by Jaheira whose motives still felt…unknowable and probably untrustworthy.

"I know this," she fairly snarled at last, looking at the door now and considering making a swift escape.

"No, wait," Jaheira stopped her, "I understand why you keep him…and the others; Korgan is a powerful fighter, Jan has many technical skills and more knowledge than he openly displays, and Edwin has great power. But you do not need them. They cause problems wherever we go, they are rude to others in the group, and selfish. Given enough gold they would all betray you in a moment."

"I thought you were saying we should all work together," Elatharia pointed out.

"I will try," Jaheira growled, taking a breath before mastering herself, "Since I know that you will not make any concessions at all. But…just remember that I warned you – or at least I tried to. You do not make this easy, Elatharia. How Gorion ever taught you anything is beyond me."

"What can I say? I'm not the girl I was. Something must have happened to make me realise why I shouldn't listen to him…or you," she pretended to think, "Oh wait, that's it – a giant man in spiked armour, I remember him. And then a mage with his face stitched to his head and a lot of knives. Him."

Jaheira had paled as the Transmuter spoke, the words pouring from her in a mocking tone and delivered with a smile that felt more akin to a grimace.

"You do this to push me away," the druid managed, "To make me leave you alone because you are afraid, and it is easier for you that way…you think," she sighed again, tugging at one of her braids and staring at nothing for a moment or two before continuing, "I…I want to help you. For Imoen's sake, and for Gorion. And…and Khalid. In spite of everything. Because they believed – believe – in you."

Elatharia did not know what to say. The words felt too true, so true that they filled her with automatic anger – but to act upon that would have been to prove Jaheira right, and it was hard to respond too aggressively when the druid was looking at her so imploringly, her voice so honest. That would have immediately put the Transmuter in the wrong and she was _tired_.

"V-Very well," she said at last, "But I won't keep to the company which you approve of, nor will I do things that you like. There will be times when I make a choice and you will regret knowing me, travelling with me, or believing in me for the sake of those fools who trust me." _Trust is for the foolish…and the dead._ Viconia's saying had never felt more right.

* * *

Garren Windspear seemed determined to reclaim his castle, rather than be driven from its cold labyrinthine sprawl with nothing but bad memories. Such an approach was admirable, if a little baffling to Aerie. She had helped him and Iltha prepare breakfast in the enormous kitchen once they had arrived, since the Lord of Windspear hardly seemed to know how to brew himself tea, let alone consider how to find, display and carry the appropriate cutlery and food items for breakfast.

She was very glad to hear from Yoshimo that he and Haer'Dalis had cleared the house of the gore and death they had left behind, except for Firkraag. The dragon was so _big_. The arriving group had also learned from the waiting Kara-Turan, who greeted them at the gates at the top of the stairs much as Firkraag had, that Korgan and Jan had become very drunk over the night thanks to the castle's extensive wine cellars. When they had found the gnome dozing by the stairs to the cellar and the dwarf sprawled snoring at the centre of the broken shelving in the room itself, Aerie had not known whether to laugh or not. Minsc had boomed something that sounded more impressed than angry, while Jaheira and Mazzy had made up for the others' lack of response, apologising effusively to an unsurprised Lord of Windspear.

Garren had sighed, and shrugged, and clearly compartmentalised this problem in his mind for later. Aerie understood. He had enough to think about as it was, and he was trying so valiantly to make the best of his situation.

After this, Mazzy had insisted upon returning the blade Carsomyr to Garren – and since no in the group could use it with any sort of ease he had eventually agreed. Elatharia would probably have wanted to t sell it, but that just seemed…wrong.

Eventually Jaheira had left to find Elatharia, since there was no sign of the Transmuter or Edwin – or in fact Haer'Dalis and Viconia. Leaving Anomen, the two rangers, Mazzy, Valygar and Yoshimo in the central hall, Aerie had gone to make breakfast with Garren. When she returned, the others looked up hopefully and she was glad not to disappoint them, helping spread one of the long tables in the impressively large room with trays of food and tea.

They all gathered round, a little less awkward than they had been two nights before even in the presence of Garren, who was talking fairly animatedly with Iltha and Anomen. Minsc was inquiring about something to Valygar, no doubt sharing rangerly knowledge, and Yoshimo was eating quietly whilst listening to Mazzy explain something to do with halfling customs – which had left Aerie with no company at all. Until Haer'Dalis appeared at her side, his hand brushing against her elbow as he sat on the bench beside her and pulled a plate and cup towards himself. Seeing him smiling at her, greeting her so warmly, had caused excitement and giddiness to bloom in her stomach and all of a sudden her breakfast had been forgotten. Perhaps he had just stayed because he had been injured that day, she told herself. It was hard to deny him _anything_ when he looked at her like that.

"You must agree to partake in this play with me, my Mourning Dove," he told her, his deep voice with its unusual Sigil accent only making her heart pound harder – if that were possible. He glanced at her sidelong when she failed to respond immediately.

"I – I…Haer'Dalis I've already told you I don't think I would be all that good at acting. In front of so many people…I don't think I could do it. I'm not all that good at talking to people, not like _you_."

He smiled indulgently.

"Not every actor is the image of confidence, my Dove. 'Tis an escape. And you have a natural flare. A passion for life, and happiness. You empathise, and sympathise. You consider."

"I overthink," she corrected him with a giggle, a high-pitched sound that caught Anomen's attention from across the table. He looked around, eyeing Haer'Dalis with a faint frown.

"A boon! A gift! Few actors are blessed with such detailed insight," the bard promised, grinning.

"What is this?" Anomen inquired, his tone strangely forced.

"Haer'Dalis is trying to make me act in his play," Aerie told him, trying to ignore the twist of discomfort she felt over the higher pitch of her voice. She wanted to giggle again, and quelled it.

"Make? This humble Sparrow encourages," Haer'Dalis chided teasingly, and something about his tone sent a blush colouring Aerie's cheeks. Bashfully she looked down at her untouched breakfast and almost did not notice the lull in conversation between the tiefling and Anomen.

When she looked up it was to see Haer'Dalis watching the stairs over her head, his expression thoughtful; turning to follow his gaze she saw Viconia descending the broad stone stairs, once more wearing her moon elf disguise and wrapped in her striking yellow cloak. She made eye contact with no one, her face carefully expressionless, until she reached the end of the table and she looked up – straight past Aerie and towards Haer'Dalis. The look they shared was so intense, so clearly meaningful, that the avariel felt instantly guilty for noticing it. She was almost relieved when the tiefling stood, muttering something that was strangely inarticulate, and moved to speak with the drow. The sight of them talking so intently, of Viconia so quiet and introspective, made Aerie feel more than a little disappointed, just like always. He stood so close to the drow, his hand lingering at her elbow where it had merely brushed the avariel's in a fleeting touch. He ducked his head to speak with Viconia, their eyes locked in a way that…

"Ah, and here comes Jaheira," Anomen noted loudly enough to gain the attention of nearly everyone in the room. The tiefling and the drow failed to look around and Aerie tore her gaze from them, annoyed with herself, "It appears she has found Elatharia."

"Not so gods be damned loud, cleric," Korgan grumbled, stumbling up to the table and reaching all but blindly for his breakfast with one hand, rubbing his doubtlessly pounding head with the other, "Ye dinnae know how te celebrate, none o' ye. Had no one but the gnome to keep me company all night, but fer the snake there. N' he does nae count fer much but a starin' contest."

Yoshimo raised an eyebrow to be referred to in such a manner but did not rise to the bait.

Meanwhile, Jaheira and Elatharia were indeed descending the stairs. The Transmuter's expression was hard to read thanks to her mask, which veiled most of the area around her eyes, but there was something about the downward turn of her mouth that betrayed her tiredness. Her hair was in as much disarray as usual, curling wildly around her head in loose coils, dark brown but for the streak of gold on one side that the rain had betrayed. She was still dressed in the robe of Vecna and that grey cloak, with the two bags of holding on her hip a constant reminder of their aim: get money for Imoen's release. Not for the first time, Aerie worried that the Transmuter was too _thin_. She rarely ate, and when she did she struggled to focus on the task. The robe never hung tellingly loosely on her thanks to its enchantment, but Aerie could tell all the same. It drew a frown to her face.

The wizard and the druid separated as they reached the table, Jaheira moving to Valygar's side while Elatharia took Haer'Dalis's place by Aerie. The Transmuter struggled her way through conversation with Garren awkwardly, forcing a few smiles when the avariel attempted to make conversation as well.

"I take it you are returning to Athkatla next?" Garren was saying, "You must surely have acquired enough for your friend's rescue now?"

"Yes…and almost, I believe," Elatharia was agreeing, but Jaheira leaned forward.

"I was thinking we could go to the De'Arnise Hold on the way back," the druid suggested to the table in general, "And if so, perhaps we should stop off in Trademeet for supplies first."

"Ah, yes! The young lady Nalia who has been beset for so long by trouble with trolls!" Minsc agreed, "This would be a good thing to do!"

"There will be gold," Jaheira promised with a grimace in response to Elatharia's telling hesitation.

"Alright, we'll do it," Elatharia shrugged, and then turned to Valygar midway through pouring her tea, "And then we'll deal with your relative, as promised."

The ranger inclined his head and muttered something that might have been thanks.

"Then we will be leaving soon?" Aerie inquired, glancing at Garren with a smile.

"Yes," Elatharia nodded, ignoring Korgan's disapproving groan, "We will leave as soon as everyone is ready." She looked around for a moment, noticed Jan just dragging himself in to the hall to join them and then stood abruptly, picking up another plate and gathering some food at random.

"Going somewhere, leader?" Yoshimo asked as innocently as anyone could. Elatharia shot him an annoyed glance.

"I'm going to kick the Red Wizard awake," she told him acerbically, as if such a response might convince any of them of her intentions.

Aerie watched the Transmuter make her way back up the stairs, worrying over how close Elatharia and Edwin were. The two obviously knew each other fairly well; they had travelled together near Baldur's Gate. But he was more than rude and selfish. He was dangerous and something in his angry stares suggested that he could be cruel. The avariel wished their leader could see that for the problem that it was, rather than convincing herself that she needed to succeed through fear and rage.

A glance back down the table at Haer'Dalis and Viconia filled her with another bout of disappointment and she sighed, realising that Elatharia was not the only one who was prone to making poor choices, apparently.

* * *

The whole group was in agreement about Jaheira's suggestion that they stop off in Trademeet before going on to the De'Arnise Hold just outside of Athkatla. Korgan, Jan and Elatharia had taken as much of Garren Windspear's treasure as he would permit them to take; the Transmuter had deduced quite quickly that his lack of interest in how much they took from Firkraag's horde suggested that the true Lord of Windspear held most of his wealth elsewhere.

Since they knew that they would be stopping at Trademeet and most likely also the De'Arnise Hold, Elatharia had insisted that they travel as fast as they could. It would be tiring, but they would at least have an inn to rest in before reaching the Hold. As it was, little happened on their path to Trademeet; everyone was too tired to argue (for the most part) after each long day's walk and such a situation fostered a kind of weary comradeship which was a relief to see, however fleetingly. There was still a strong sense of preferences however; increasingly the divide within the group that had made itself evident on the topic of a reward for saving Iltha was leading to a divide in sleeping arrangements. This was of course complicated by the issues of Korgan and Minsc's snoring; no one really wanted to sleep near them, but the divide remained.

Aerie, Mazzy and Jaheira preferred to sleep next to each other, with Valygar and Anomen a little way off but still on their side of the fire. The ranger rarely seemed to sleep, staying watchful for most of the night. Minsc had been forced a little further out on their side, and only Korgan could stand to sleep anywhere near him – claiming that neither of them snored. Meanwhile Elatharia and Viconia tended to stay on the other side of the fire, mostly because the Transmuter preferred to keep some distance between herself and Jaheira – as well as Anomen – and because most of the others were still distrustful of Viconia. Since Minsc was on one side, Edwin stayed nearer to them, and because of Yoshimo's proximity to them Haer'Dalis was also wont to choose this half of their camps. Only Jan was a little changeable in this regard. The hot Amnish weather persisted as they left the hills, and rudimentary shelters were still preferred to tents.

When they were travelling, things were a little different – although certain personal rifts remained. Edwin would always avoid Minsc even more than he did most of the others, only really interacting successfully with Elatharia, Viconia and Haer'Dalis. If the Conjurer was not around, then Aerie would flit from the Transmuter to Anomen to Haer'Dalis – who was teaching her his play. Their talking was often the only continuous civilised discussion that the group could hear. Mazzy preferred the company of Anomen or Valygar and failing that would walk with Yoshimo when few others would. She did her best to avoid Korgan but increasingly the dwarf was learning how to catch her attention by lacing his stories with a strange combination of rudeness and flattery. Jan was most often to be found at the back of the group, fiddling with some small metal contraption. For their part, the rangers – and always Jaheira – often kept ahead of the others to scout out the land and choose the best paths.

While Aerie and Haer'Dalis kept up their conversations about his play, another less cheerful discussion had gradually emerged. It centred on the issue whereby Edwin had, with Haer'Dalis's help, managed to remove a large proportion of Firkraag's hide, complete with extremely valuable red dragon scales. This had led to a rather heated argument between himself and Korgan over what the best course of action would be; to sell the scales, use them for armour…or keep them for magical experimentation.

Even after several days of walking, with the Cloudpeaks far behind them, they still had not resolved the problem. The sun was beating down upon the travellers, unfettered by the clouds of the northern more mountainous countryside, and all the group could hear was the angry voices of Conjurer and dwarven berserker.

Edwin and Korgan's arguing had driven the others to such distraction that they had made a concerted effort to keep further along the road. It was a narrow footpath, the low-hanging branches of the trees around them creating natural shade for the road-weary travellers, as suggested by Jaheira. Elatharia had agreed since it would also serve as a shortcut to Trademeet, which they had caught a glimpse of just a few hours before from a ridge on their way down to the central Amnish plateau.

Athkatla was barely fifty miles southwest of this place but here it felt almost tropical and any reprieve from the endless heat was welcome, even though the air remained still and humid. Off in the distance Elatharia could hear the rush of a waterfall, even over the clamour of Edwin and Korgan out of sight further back down the path.

Aerie had been walking up ahead with Jaheira and Mazzy; the avariel gave a relieved cry suddenly and vanished around the next curve in the path, no doubt making straight for the waterfall and the promise of cooler air. The druid shook her head as if exasperated but Elatharia could tell from the speed at which she followed that Jaheira was just as pleased as Aerie. Hearing the excitable cries about the water, Haer'Dalis made after them, shouting something to the avariel that sent her high laughter ringing around the clearing in which the waterfall must have stood.

"Youthful exuberance has fortuitously lasted in our avariel," Yoshimo noted.

The bounty hunter emerged at Elatharia's side as she paused along the path, watching the others heading for the waterfall. Minsc seemed a little bemused by Aerie and Haer'Dalis's exuberance, but smiled and followed all the same, while Anomen trailed after them at a more dignified pace in spite of his heavy armour and how much he would undoubtedly be relieved to refill his canteen.

"She is too old for it," Viconia disagreed rather venomously, coming up to join them with a heavy sigh. She was hunched beneath her yellow cloak, her disguise temporarily down and her eyes their natural blue, squinting in the bright sunlight, "If she were amongst the drow such silliness would have been beaten out of her decades ago."

"Well I maintain that on this surface world it is an admirable trait," Yoshimo disagreed with an easy laugh as he and the drow headed up the road after the others.

Elatharia did not listen to Viconia's response, turning around and waiting for Korgan and Edwin to finally arrive around the corner. After a little while Jan puffed past, saluting her with weary humour as he passed her. She could still hear Edwin's voice, irate and rapid, though it took a little while before she could make out the words. Dwarf and Conjurer had still not come into view.

"How can you be such a wretched, mindless baboon to begin to think that turning something so precious into armour is the best possible use of red dragon scales?" Edwin was exclaiming.

"I've seen the amount o' hide yer carryin' wizard, an' I know there's plenty to be goin' around," Korgan was denying, his gruff voice loud but not ill-humoured. Elatharia wondered when the equally changeable dwarf might decide that a berserk rage was more in order than his current laughter.

"What? You know no such thing, dwarf," Edwin denied, "I removed it from the dragon and placed it directly into my bag of holding. There is no way you could have seen it since."

"Aye, but I saw when ye got the tiefling to do yer dirty work, wizard," Korgan chortled, "Though I were drinkin' fer all o' us at the time. Never mistake a drunken dwarf fer an inattentive dwarf."

"Ugh! I will not be relinquishing this precious treasure to any fool who thinks that it is appropriate to wear it over studying it!"

"Like I said, fool wizard, there be plenty to be goin' round. An' at least when I be wearin' the dragon scale it'll do me some good. You n' yer studyin' will only leave ye with nothin' but ashes an' disappointment."

"Oh fool is it now? Have you also become a philosopher in your spare time? I will not be relinquishing my dragon scales to your filthy hands, and that is non-negotiable."

"And ye've somehow got into ye skull that ye own all of it, do ye? And how can that be?"

"If it were not for me this rabble of a party would never have defeated the dragon," Edwin proclaimed, and Korgan barked a laugh.

"Ye were helpful, I won't deny it. Always willin' to admit when someone prove useful in a fight. But ye might find that yon Mazzy were just as guilty o' slayin' the beast, and ye would nae have had a chance to hurl yer spells without the rest of us!"

"I was still…" Edwin's shouted response ended suddenly with a strangled cry, and for a moment Elatharia thought that maybe Korgan had ended the argument with his axe – until she heard the dwarf's startled exclamation.

" _Ai! Skaud at meire! Hvat í ǫllum heljunum?_ "

It seemed whatever had caught the arguing pair's attention was surprising enough for the dwarf to lose his command of the Common Tongue.

Edwin's voice rose now into the richer, more level tones of spellcasting, and Korgan gave a warning growl to whatever had them so threatened. For a confused moment, Elatharia stood frozen with indecision; did she turn and call for the others? Yoshimo and Viconia were not quite out of sight. Or did she run forwards and try to help? She could hear the spellwords Edwin was uttering and knew his impending fireball was about to set the forest alight. Eventually she decided to do both. Calling up a _Fireshield_ with a familiar gesture and a single word of power, Elatharia took in a deep breath and called behind herself.

"Yoshimo! Viconia! We have a problem!"

And then she ran forwards, hearing the snarling of some large animal.

She had not expected to round the corner, her _Fireshield_ crackling around her, and see a trio of bears pawing at the ground at various points around Edwin and Korgan. They were impressively large, larger than those that she had sometimes seen on the Coast Way. When the first one charged, Korgan pushed Edwin out of the way sharply – sending the wizard's spell sputtering out at the last second. With a puff of smoke and a curse Edwin stumbled backwards and fell hard…but out of the line of attack, keeping enough wits about him to call up a spellshield. For his part Korgan gave a mighty roar and raised his axe, meeting the bear's charge.

It was a peculiar scene, and in the cramped – and rather flammable – conditions, it was difficult to choose a sensible course of action that would not result in the deaths of both her friends either by action or inaction. As it was Korgan had been fortunate (or perhaps very adept) for he had landed a killing blow upon the first bear with his charge and turned just in time to roll out of the way of the second – by this time Elatharia had thought to send a _Stun_ spell towards the third bear and the animal only struggled against the rising rings of magical power for a moment before freezing in its place. Edwin was scrambling to his feet, eyes blazing with rage, and fire began to gather in his palms as he fairly snarled the appropriate words. Recognising this incantation for a famous Alteration spell, _Melf's Minute Meteors_ , Elatharia was concentrating on calling up a _Cone of Cold_ to counter its incandescent effects upon the surrounding forest when she heard a snarl beside her.

"Elatharia!" Viconia's shout came a moment too late, followed by the whistle of one of Yoshimo's arrows.

Turning towards the succeeding yelp, Elatharia saw a wolf of all things listing into her view, newly wounded by Yoshimo's arrow. There was no hint of fear in its bearing, indeed its face was still twisted in a snarl and it was coming towards her through the trees in spite of the wound. Backing up and rethinking her next choice of spell, Elatharia did not expect to hear another growl from her opposite side or the searing pain as a second wolf's teeth sank into her forearm. Screaming, she staggered back and watched in horror as her _Fireshield_ worked against her foe even as it clung on regardless, dying slowly and horribly and _still_ not letting go even as its grip upon her arm sent her stumbling back, kicking and pulling and shrieking in pain.

Only once the animal had stopped moving, Yoshimo's arrows having dealt with the first wolf long before it could join its companion, did Elatharia manage to pry the wolf's jaws from her arm, whimpering from the pain and cursing viciously at the same time. By this time Edwin's fire-based spell had killed the last bear, with help from a newly bloodied Korgan, and set one of the trees alight. Jaheira was running into view shouting angrily at him even as she called upon the forces of the elements to bring forth rain and put out the flames.

Elatharia hardly noticed the voices of Viconia and Anomen until the Helmite crouched in front of her. He took hold of her upper arm and her wrist as gently as he could, though she could not tear her gaze from the slaughter that she, Edwin and Korgan had wrought. She was shaking with the pain of her wound, half-lying on the ground and with her bleeding arm stretched out before her – though she had no recollection of moving into this attitude.

"The…the animals ignored their pain," she heard herself saying, and ignored Anomen's answering words while Viconia chanted over her wound. One bear and one wolf were smouldering still from the fiery magics that she and Edwin had unleashed, the other two bears had been more neatly dealt with by Korgan's well-placed axe swings. "They should have retreated. They had no reason to attack us. They should have felt the pain…" _As I did. As_ _ **he**_ _made me feel. To unlock my potential. Part of a greater goal, a necessary evil._

Viconia caught her chin and turned the Transmuter's head to meet her blue eyes as the drow's healing spell coursed through her wound, stopping the bleeding and dulling the pain.

"You are not there," the priestess told her firmly, her thin fingers a little too tight upon Elatharia's chin, "You are not in Irenicus's dungeon. Pull yourself together, _rivvil_."

"My _lady_ ," Anomen was admonishing, stumbling over the polite term as if unsure if such a title was deserved by Viconia, just as Aerie ran into view with Haer'Dalis and Minsc. At some point Mazzy, Valygar and Jan had arrived as well although Elatharia could not recall when.

Angry with herself, Elatharia snarled some wordless warning towards Viconia, pulling away from Sharan priestess and then Helmite alike, dragging herself shakily to her feet and ignoring Anomen's protests. Jaheira was looking at the deaths they had caused with sorrow, bending to consider the bodies of the fallen animals much to Korgan's bemusement and Edwin's derision.

"The wolves should not have been here," Valygar noted quietly, and Minsc nodded ferociously by his side, frowning down at the bodies on the path.

Elatharia hissed when Anomen's second spell knitted together her torn muscles and skin, leaving behind brilliant bruising but nothing more serious. Viconia arched an eyebrow at her as she looked away from the Helmite, as if warning her not to make more of a fool of herself. The Transmuter could not agree more, but her embarrassment at being so caught unawares and proceeding to descend into momentary madness meant that she was as angry with the drow for noticing as she was with herself.

"Oh, by Baervan – why would they have come here?" Aerie asked, approaching Elatharia with a sympathetic look and a clean cloth in her hand. Anomen moved back a step to give her space on the narrow path and when Elatharia did not object the avariel began to help clean away the blood on her arm.

"The bears were all male," Jaheira noted, "And they should not have been working together – they do not look starved."

"You think some other druids did this?" Elatharia surmised, watching Edwin picking his way past the two dead bears and over the wolf which her _Fireshield_ had killed, "They were certainly acting strangely. This one almost bit my arm off even when my _Fireshield_ started to burn it alive." Such tenacity was admirable…but it also made her angry.

Jaheira nodded sombrely, sharing looks with Valygar and Minsc which suggested that both rangers agreed with this hypothesis.

"Perhaps we should make haste to Trademeet then, my Raven," Haer'Dalis put in, smirking a little as Edwin stalked past him glowering darkly and refusing to look at anyone.

The Red Wizard was evidently channelling his anger in order to hide his earlier shock – it did not help his case that he was limping so visibly after his fall. Elatharia nudged Viconia before responding to the tiefling, and although the drow rolled her eyes at the Conjurer's back she did go after him with a healing spell.

"That would be wise," Jaheira agreed grudgingly before Elatharia could speak.

When the others began to head off the druid lingered amongst the bodies of the animals, a thoughtful frown on her face. Elatharia watched her for a moment or two before Aerie tugged on her arm, insisting that they should hurry lest they be caught unawares in the close press of the forest once more. Any discussion on the matter, and what the druid was thinking, would have to wait for Trademeet.


	15. Prejudice in All Its Guises

**So this chapter turned out rather longer than I'd planned; it was either this one or the next one, and at least this way it keeps to a theme...  
Anyway, let me know what you think! ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Prejudice in All Its Guises**

* * *

None of the group had expected to find the high palisade walls of Trademeet bristling with archers, or the gates closed to them. It had taken some persistence from Valygar and Anomen, the group's only native Amnish, to persuade the guards to fetch the town's mayor. And then it had taken Korgan's flippant mention that Jaheira was a druid before they were rather inexplicably permitted entry. After that the mayor took Jaheira, Valygar and Minsc to his house to explain what was going on and left the others to fend for themselves, suggesting that they wait at the only tavern in town.

Trademeet was eerily quiet, a picturesque town centred around a great circular market place, paved in pink and orange stone but utterly devoid of the stalls that one would have expected. Every house had its doors closed, verandas empty, and the chatter of playing children was distant rather than pervasive. Those few locals who were out on the streets looked upon the party with unveiled suspicion, muttering to each other and staring. A few even pointed; it seemed that Yoshimo and Elatharia were particularly untrustworthy on sight.

It took some persistent wandering through the narrow, curling streets away from the abandoned town centre but they had eventually reached the local tavern. Here at least were a few more equally shunned foreigners, stranded by the thus far unexplained lockdown on departures and arrivals. The serving girls looked less than happy to see newcomers to their establishment, though the barkeeper barked a few orders at them and they soon hurried to bring what each party member had requested.

While the others sat down, Elatharia went to the bar with Aerie at her side. It was a strange tavern; not dingy and cluttered as was more common, with not a panel of wood in sight. Instead it was broad and spacious, of smooth grey-blue stone, well-lit by large round windows that gave a good view of this peculiarly verdant town. Tall trees in full bloom stood at every corner, though oranges or lemons hung unripe from some branches. The conversations of the others in the tavern were subdued if occurring at all, mostly consisting of complaints regarding the town's problems without anyone ever stating what those problems were. The demographic varied from well-dressed merchants and their guards to poorly outfitted young adventurers. One young woman in a traveller's robe eyes Elatharia's robe of Vecna with open jealousy. Regardless, all of them looked tired and bored.

"What will you be needing then?" the tavernkeeper asked as the Transmuter and Aerie reached his bar. He was a balding man in middle age, what little hair remained to him grey and turning white. Still, his broad and surprisingly muscular frame, not to mention the scars on his chin and forearms, suggested that he had once been a fighting man of some sort. He eyed them tolerantly, though his tone was gruff.

"We had hoped to sell some items in this town," Elatharia told him after asking compulsorily for a drink, "Where might we find a functioning merchant?"

"Oh, well, you've come to the wrong town right now," he shook his head as he poured Aerie's cider, "There's no gold left in Trademeet while the attacks keep on. No one with the money to sell to, and no one who'd want to take anything you might have to give unless it be food or firewood. There'd be no one to sell it onto, you see." He looked up at them when they both took their drinks, as if he was hoping they would leave him alone. But Aerie leaned forward, her eyebrows raising in concern.

"How awful for you all! What has happened here?" she asked, her concern overcoming her more typical fear of demanding answers from strangers. His gaze softened as it moved to her innocent visage.

"We've been overrun by the druids of the woods yonder," he pointed over his shoulder, to the south, "I think they just had a change of power and their new leader decided to take a bit more offense at our chopping down the trees. Killed all the woodcutters and set the animals of hereabouts on the city. They come in waves, feral or rabid or just plain crazed – whatever enchantments those druids have woven on them, their pets ignore all their injuries until their deathblows. We've lost a lot of good men to this madness, and we barely pushed them back after the last attack," he gestured around himself, "That's when the mayor insisted we lock down the town. And that's when all of these good customers got stranded here. All I've left to serve them is water, beer and cider. Ran out of Firewine five days ago. Hardly got the food to feed my own family, let alone everyone here."

They thanked the tavernkeeper for his information and took their drinks to the corner of the room which teemed with their companions. Haer'Dalis had pulled two of the little square tables together and was sitting in the window sill playing his harp while the others jostled for chairs. Viconia was sitting in the corner nearest to him, rolling her eyes at his musical choices but not actually moving away, wrapped in her cloak in spite of her renewed disguise. Korgan was complaining about Haer'Dalis's harp and making a point of sitting as far from him as possible; that was Mazzy's cue to sit next to Viconia. Edwin, on the drow's other side, looked entirely embarrassed to be in such a lowly tavern and was trying to divert himself with a book; Elatharia took the seat between him and Yoshimo as Aerie went over to sit with Mazzy.

"Did your poorly executed detective work bring you any helpful information?" Edwin enquired with a particularly grudging tone, glancing at her only briefly before pointedly returning to his book and muttering under his breath, "(Why do I doubt that they have?)"

"Druids," Elatharia admitted, sipping on her cider and regretting it immediately. She would never share Aerie's taste for such a beverage. Edwin's eyebrow raised as she winced at the taste and he closed his book slowly, turning to her as her response gained the table's attention, "Druids have been setting the more dangerous animals of the area upon the town." The incredulous looks of her companions did not abate as she related to them what the tavernkeeper had said, Aerie nodding in agreement with every word.

"Druids?" Viconia's tone sounded as disdainful as it was doubtful. She leaned forward as if she could not have heard correctly, "I cannot recall the last time I witnessed one of Jaheira's spells winning a battle for us. This must be a town of weaklings, indeed."

"It sounds as though they are genuinely in need!" Mazzy corrected fiercely, earning the most derogatory glare that she could have from Viconia, though the drow did not bother to respond otherwise.

"I have no intention of staying here," Elatharia disagreed, looking down at her arms where they rested on the table and staring a moment at the bright red and pink bruising covering the majority of her right forearm. Grimacing, she looked back up to her gathered companions and Mazzy's disappointed expression, "Though I do not doubt Jaheira and Minsc will."

"I will stay with them, then," Mazzy insisted, her large blue eyes full of reproach, "Regardless of the reward, these people need our aid." Beside her, Aerie and Anomen nodded fiercely.

"I'm thinkin' I'll be joinin' also," Korgan proclaimed unexpectedly, shrugging nonchalantly when Elatharia looked to him in surprise. She had never known him turn down the promise of one reward for a worse one, "What? I've no intention o' meetin' beasts like those except by me own accord again."

Mazzy looked rather unhappy about this turn of events, but her honour was clearly stopping her from going back on her word.

Of those others who were at the table only Jan expressed any interest in joining those who wanted to help Trademeet, and after this they all sat quietly with their drinks, or muttered to each other over the ludicrous problems the town faced. Elatharia was more than a little frustrated to have the promise of such a depleted party when going to the De'Arnise Hold, especially since it had been Jaheira who made the deal with Nalia De'Arnise in the first place. For a little while at least she was determined to fume in silence, and attempt to collect her thoughts from the attack earlier along with the news the tavernkeeper had imparted.

To her right Yoshimo was sipping at his cider almost as gingerly as she had, attempting to keep a straight face whilst listening to Korgan berating Jan over a typically labyrinthine rendition of one of his many – probably improvised – stories. On her left Edwin was reading from his book in determined, focused silence, while beyond him Viconia and Haer'Dalis were muttering to each other. The bard was still sitting on the window sill but he had one foot braced upon the drow's seat, his shin against her upper leg and his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned towards her; she was turned away from Elatharia and her responses thus unreadable. Across the table from the Transmuter Aerie, Anomen and Mazzy were discussing some moral topic, most likely spurred on by Elatharia's own unwillingness to help the town. This did nothing to improve her mood.

"Could you remove your wound from my line of sight, incompetent Transmuter?" Edwin complained at last, letting his book down in front of him to thud against the table and punctuate his exasperation. He turned to her with the expression of one who has been forced to endure the most irritating injustice without complaint for a _very_ long time.

Elatharia looked down to where her bare arms rested on the table in front of her, fingers tangled loosely. Her right forearm was indeed a rather brilliant red still, and when she shifted it experimentally a remarkably poignant pain answered. Wincing, and additionally disappointed in the way this day was going, she turned a glare upon Edwin and angled her arm so that it was more readily visible from where he was sitting.

"Concerned about me, Edwin?" she asked.

"Offended by the sight of your ill-tended wound, actually," he corrected predictably and she sneered at him, waving it at him in spite of the pain.

"Careful there, or I'll show you how a little necromancy can fix that for me."

"Ha! Aim your _Larloch's Minor Drain_ to some poor fool who has not taken the time to properly ward himself," Edwin answered smugly before glancing down at the injury and curling his lip, "Now take your wretchedness from my sight," he waved dismissively away from himself, as if actually hoping she might comply, "Or at least seek some proper healing."

"Is this your way of making me feel bad about my own injury so I forget how badly you were limping before?" Elatharia affected a sweet tone, but her green eyes met his dark ones with a rather more wickedly victorious intensity, "Because I've not forgotten. I saw Korgan push you ov…"

Edwin looked ready to Conjure something dreadful to shut her up but the opening of the tavern door and Minsc's ensuing greeting bellow upon stepping through rather drowned out what Elatharia had been about to say. She caught a glance of Haer'Dalis watching her and Edwin with rather evident amusement before turning to the door fully in time to see Jaheira and Valygar joining Minsc, a tall man following them inside. He wore simple linen trousers and a peculiar jerkin that appeared to be crafted from tightly woven leaves and bark; from this, and the rather distracted air with which he surveyed the room, Elatharia had to surmise that he was a druid.

"I have agreed to help this town," Jaheira admitted by way of greeting as she reached their table, an affirmation of Elatharia's earlier summation which the Transmuter acknowledged only with a curt nod, "Minsc will be joining me. I take it you will be moving onwards for the De'Arnise Hold instead?"

"Some of us," Elatharia admitted with a shrug before nodding towards Valygar, "What about you?"

"I will come with you," he told her, "My ancestor's sphere must not be permitted to remain in Athkatla for any longer than necessary – and you did promise to deal with this upon your return to the capital." His voice, half-growl and half-sigh, was as devoid of emotion as usual, his expression set into one of resignation.

"We will," Elatharia promised, remembering Edwin's suggestion that she at least _sometimes_ seek power for herself, not just her sister. Anything she could find in the home of a powerful mage could only add to her own strength when she inevitably moved against Irenicus.

"But Korgan, Jan and I will be staying with you," Mazzy put in now, much to Jaheira's surprise. The druid collected herself well enough to administer a nod and thanks before turning to gesture at the man behind her.

"Let me guess…a druid," Edwin sighed, almost under his breath, bringing a smirk to Elatharia's face as she waited for an explanation.

"This is Cernd," Jaheira said, "He is a druid, formerly of the group who are turning the animals of this region against Trademeet. When he escaped to come for help he was treated with suspicion by the natives and put in a cell. The mayor would like my help in…escorting him from the town and in dealing with the rogue druids."

"We're with you," Mazzy promised firmly, earning a tight smile from Jaheira.

"Any help is to be of great importance in the struggle to come. The land and the sky will grow dark with the malice of those who threaten this place, twisted against the Balance as they have become," Cernd put in now, his voice soft and breathy. His pale eyes were fixed on Elatharia's face in a blank, unreadable way that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable, "Though it surprises me, Jaheira, that you answer to one who will not uncover her face even amongst friendly company."

"Ah," Haer'Dalis made the sound of understanding as if he had been expecting this comment, but Elatharia's stomach dropped in surprise. Most people just let it pass. Occasionally thugs or particularly judgemental people had _assumed_ she was a follower of Mask and threatened her accordingly. She had been known to prove to them precisely how much more efficient and showy she could be in her rage than a follower of Mask. Murder came much more easily to her.

"You would have me uncover my face?" Elatharia asked after an uncomfortable moment of silence. Jaheira had gone pale, though it was unclear if this was from pre-emptory revulsion or guilt.

Edwin turned to look at the Transmuter, frowning darkly.

"I say you kill him for his impudence," he suggested almost mildly. By his side, Viconia nodded fiercely.

"No male should feel it is his right to demand to see the face of a female. Even in this backward Surface world you are more senior than he," the drow pointed out.

Jaheira rolled her eyes at such responses, and Minsc straightened in moral outrage at her side. Aerie made a cry of horror at the very thought, causing Anomen and Mazzy to bristle righteously. Korgan barked a laugh, Yoshimo sipped his cider unconcernedly, looking from face to face, while Jan kept his eyes on his latest contraption and Cernd just waited patiently, arms limp at his sides. He did not appear to be carrying a weapon.

"Perhaps you should ask Jaheira why your request is a bad idea," Elatharia gritted out, straightening in her chair, "I wear this mask to hide disfigurement, not as a badge of faith or a wish to disguise myself. I am a Transmuter; I do not need masks to hide my true self." Except she had found that her markings always manifested upon her face no matter what shape she took – unless she wore a mask.

"All the same, I feel it is not right to agree to anything without knowing the face of the one who would ultimately give the order," Cernd disagreed, even offering a placating smile that made Elatharia's fingers twitch with the need to fire a spell his way.

Looking around at her companions it occurred to her that several of those present had not seen her markings; specifically Jan, Mazzy, Anomen and Korgan. It was quite likely that Yoshimo had no recollection of them, since he had only witnessed her true face for a brief time after they had escaped. Her heart was pounding at the thought. Memories rushed back to her of the monks of Candlekeep whispering openly amongst each other, of their distrustful looks, of Ulraunt's disgusted expressions during her childhood. But all she said was:

"Very well."

She reached up and pulled free the ties, determined not to look weak in front of those who would follow her even as the velvet cloth fell away into her hands, revealing her face willingly in public for the first time since she had been a child fidgeting in Abjuration lessons with Tethtoril back in Candlekeep. She watched Cernd for a moment, seeing him straighten in surprise, realising that he had been expecting scars and not this wretched birthmark.

Unable to smile, but refusing to show the embarrassment and _rage_ that she felt for this indignity, she looked to each of her companions; both Jaheira and Minsc were watching the wall or the table rather than meet her gaze. Mazzy was frowning in confusion or maybe distaste while at her side Aerie was conversely watching Elatharia with sympathy and undoubtedly a great deal of empathy. Anomen was gaping, his eyebrows raising – seeing his shock slowly turning into disappointment, Elatharia was momentarily glad that perhaps something good might come of this moment if it would destroy his misplaced interest for good. Haer'Dalis was looking slightly disbelievingly at Cernd as the silence rang amongst them, while Viconia sat back in her chair – still apparently heedless of the bard's leg against hers – shaking her head with a fierce glare aimed towards this unfamiliar druid. Edwin was looking at Elatharia, his expression hard…and hard to read. Yoshimo was still sipping at his cider and watching the others, while Jan continued to pay no attention to what was going on in the room. He was wearing his goggles and could probably not focus on anything more than three inches from his face.

Eventually, it was Korgan who broke the silence, leaning around Yoshimo to rather tactlessly get a better look at the Transmuter.

"By Clangeddin's twin axes! Are ye demonspawn like the bard, lass?" he sounded curious, slightly incredulous… with maybe a hint of distaste.

"That is not what I have been told," she said absently, looking to Haer'Dalis and seeing him shake his head at her almost imperceptibly before she turned back to Cernd, "Now, have you seen what you wished to see? Am I judged?"

* * *

The two groups separated at the gates of Trademeet, those intending to help the town turning south for the Druid Grove a few miles away and the rest heading west for the De'Arnise Hold. Anomen had been uncomfortable around Elatharia ever since Cernd insisted that she show her face – and though Valygar had not been so open about his emotions his manner had certainly not improved towards the Transmuter. She was very conscious that the Helmite had followed her _assuming_ that she would be as good and righteous as her worthy cause and that the ranger lingered because he agreed with her suggestion that the best way to fight his relative's magic at the Planar Sphere was with magic.

As for the others, little seemed to have changed. Haer'Dalis and Viconia lingered near each other increasingly, one watching the other when they were not looking, whispering to each other in the night. The drow did not seem so aggressive towards the tiefling as she had been on the road to the Windspear Hills but it still often looked like she was attempting to persuade him to leave her alone. The Transmuter might have believed this if she had not seen the way Viconia's eyes lingered over Haer'Dalis when he was not looking.

With Edwin rather preoccupied with his study in preparation for the acquisition of the Nether Scroll, Aerie chose to walk with Elatharia and sleep by her side for the brief journey between Trademeet and the De'Arnise Hold. From the avariel's sympathetic expressions and unflappable kindness, the Transmuter had come to understand that Aerie did not just need the company with Mazzy and Jaheira gone, she was also attempting to be positive to combat the perceived hurt that Cernd's request had caused Elatharia. The Bhaalspawn absolutely refused to entertain that such treatment from Aerie might be appropriate but, as many times before, she also found it rather difficult to turn the avariel away.

The Hold was only a day's walk from Trademeet, situated on a rise overlooking the farmland around Athkatla. It would not have been surprising to Elatharia if she had learned the De'Arnise family did actually own most of that farmland. Here there was no relief from the late summer sun as they trudged along the dusty path towards the way-marker for the De'Arnise Hold, dense forest rising up the shallower side of the hill ahead and obscuring a few of the rounded outer towers of the castle atop it.

Anomen in particular was drooping under the weight of his armour, mopping at his brow and panting, gradually falling behind under the relentless summer sun; by contrast Valygar wore his leathers and cloak comfortably. As native Amnish, both men ought to have been familiar with the heat but it seemed the ranger was much better versed in how to dress to combat such weather in a travelling environment.

Yoshimo and Edwin were both natives of much hotter lands than Amn and in such endless heat this fact was particularly evident. While Elatharia had stuffed Gorion's cloak into her bag of holding and was spared further discomfort by the grace of the Robe of Vecna's helpful enchantments, Yoshimo had confidently draped his long black cloak through the strap of his backpack, apparently perfectly comfortable in his black leathers and linen. Edwin still wore his Archmagi jacket fastened over his dark red shirt, his black breeches still tucked into his boots. He, more than any of them, had failed to acknowledge that the sun even existed at all. By contrast Haer'Dalis had unbuttoned his sleeveless jerkin, displaying his loosely laced shirt beneath. A few paces away from him Viconia had utterly given up on wearing her Shadow Dragon Armour, packing it neatly into her backpack and rolling up the sleeves of her thin mithral tunic. She still wore her yellow hood low over her face to protect her eyes from the sun and muttered frequently about the wretchedness of the weather – in spite of her bad mood her eyes had strayed progressively more towards Haer'Dalis.

"This is a lot more exciting than any circus!" Aerie declaimed brightly at Elatharia's side, her large eyes as blue as the sky above them as she pointed towards the hill, "We're going to help those people today, aren't we?"

"If they pay me well," Elatharia answered automatically, looking to her other side as Edwin joined them instead of seeing how her words had affected Aerie's mood.

"Indeed," the Red Wizard sneered, "Our virtuous leader has evidently made the plight of those in that castle of paramount importance. How many days ago did you learn that they had been beset by trolls? Tendays? We may arrive to find that there is nothing left to save."

"Your lack of concern for the welfare of those noble people is a repulsive blot upon this party's honour," Anomen told him breathlessly from a few paces back down the road. Elatharia winced in expectation of an explosive response but Edwin just scoffed.

"Trust me, Anomen, this Red Wizard is as concerned about the idea of nobility being overrun without the help of its lessers as you are," Edwin insisted imperiously.

Elatharia sniggered.

"Edwin, I can't remember – is it your uncle or your cousin who holds a tharchdom of Thay?" she inquired, and – as predicted – the Conjurer looked down at her haughtily.

"Homen Odesseiron, Tharchion of Surthay, is my _father_ , you baboon," her told her disbelievingly.

Elatharia had been about to say more but Haer'Dalis stopped ahead of them suddenly, his blades ringing out of their sheaths slowly as he took up a ready stance. The metal of one blade gleamed red, and the other blue in the sunlight; Elatharia never could remember which was Chaos and which was Entropy. Stopping as well, the rest of the party scanned the beginnings of the forest around them, Anomen turning about to see if anyone had pursued them up the road.

"Who goes there, stalking us through the trees like prey?" the tiefling called, his deep voice well-suited to such dramatic projection.

"No, wait! Haer'Dalis!" Aerie cried unexpectedly as a figure stepped out from the trees wrapped in a thin brown cloak. The avariel darted forward and caught the bard's forearm before he could take a step towards the intruder.

Meanwhile, the stranger – who appeared to be travelling alone – pushed back her hood and the folds of her cloaks with a sigh, revealing herself to be a young woman dressed in an ill-fitting tunic and leggings. The clothes hung from her so poorly and were in such good condition that Elatharia immediately surmised they were 'borrowed' rather than 'stolen' and were intended as some kind of disguise. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis had lowered his swords at Aerie's urging, in spite of Viconia's sneers, and Yoshimo was regarding the young newcomer's fearlessly reproachful expression with amusement.

"Have you come to help us at the Hold?" the young woman demanded, a frown on her lightly freckled face as she continued to approach, looking at each of the party in turn, "It's about time!"

"And…who are you?" Elatharia enquired, folding her arms slowly and raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Nalia De'Arnise. Are you friends of the druid's?" the girl's eyes scanned over Aerie before darting back again, "I recognise _you_. I asked for help two tendays ago!"

"Oh! Forgive us, please – are you all…as well as could be hoped? We are here to help!" Aerie exclaimed, and Elatharia rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I think so," Nalia sounded distracted, scanning each of the group again before settling on the Transmuter, "Are you Elatharia? Jaheira said you were the leader here, and that you would help…"

"For a price, yes," Elatharia warned as she and the others formed up in front of the young woman.

"Of course, you can have whatever you want – my father and mother are still trapped inside as far as I know but I think a lot of the servants could have been killed. Please, even if you don't understand the dangers my parents face you must care about your own kind?"

"My own…kind," Elatharia echoed her disbelievingly, both eyebrows raising now, "Was that a specific reference to me, or to the group in general?"

"Well, you are adventurers," Nalia looked at them with mild confusion, "Adventurers typically come from disadvantaged backgrounds looking for a better life, right? My father would never let me leave the house unattended – but I have perfected my disguise in order to go out and give to the poor," she smiled proudly, gesturing at her ill-fitting clothes, "I've been taking some lessons in magic and I can pick a lock pretty well when I need to, though. So I can show you the best way inside the castle to rout the trolls who've besieged us."

Haer'Dalis, evidently sensing the nature of the stunned silence that had descended upon the group, turned around with an eyebrow raised and a crooked smile to share his amusement with the others. Seeing Viconia's hand moving to grip the handle of her hammer, he caught the drow by the wrist, backing her up a little as she gave a wordless snarl at Nalia – who seemed fairly oblivious to the seriousness of such a response. Edwin was standing rigid at Elatharia's side, fuming, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Disadvantaged? Some lessons in magic? I believe our pet avariel has left a space in the circus waiting for idiots as witless as you," the Red Wizard spat in venomous indignation, sneering when Aerie twisted about to glare at him hatefully. Nalia gaped at him.

"I think you chose the wrong group of adventurers to label in such a manner, Nalia of De'Arnise," Yoshimo commented mildly from the treeline beside the gathering. The young woman's brow furrowed.

"Yes…perhaps some introductions are in order," Elatharia found herself grinning at the sheer expansiveness of Edwin's mute fury, nudging him with her elbow and gaining no response, "I can't speak for myself, since I am but a humble child of mighty, world-famous Candlekeep, but I know that several amongst this group are anything but 'disadvantaged' and those who may have once been would probably take issue with that word," she gestured to her left, where Valygar and Anomen were just joining them, "There are two sons of Amnish nobility – Valygar of the House Corthala, landowners of Imnesvale, and Anomen of House Delryn, an old name in Athkatla," she was in fact guessing regarding those elaborations but since no one stopped her, she continued, gesturing to the currently undisguised drow, "Our resident priestess is in fact Viconia DeVir, the eldest daughter of House DeVir – which was once the fourth house in Menzoberranzan, capital of the drow," she paused while the drow lowered her hood, smiling more widely as Nalia recoiled a little at the sight of a dark elf, her hand moving to the small dagger at her hip, "And of course, here beside me stands Edwin Odesseiron, a Red Wizard of Thay and heir to Surthay, the largest Tharch in Thay."

Elatharia did have a vague memory that Surthay was also the poorest of all the tharches in Thay and possibly not the largest, but she had a point to prove.

"Well," Nalia floundered a moment, eyeing Viconia uncomfortably before turning a hopeful but now tremulous smile on Elatharia, "I didn't expect to meet a group of adventurers who were half _respectable_. At least Mother won't be too angry that I let you into the house…once I've…we've…rescued her. And the rest of you – even if you've never seen such a noble house before, don't worry. I'll make sure you're right at home just after we've slain all of the trolls! If you're still happy to help I'll show you the best way now. It's not far from the camp I've set up with some of our house guards. They'll be waiting outside the gates to help us once we can get to the wheel to lower the drawbridge and let them in."

When Elatharia nodded in grudging acceptance, Nalia smiled more broadly and turned about, heading back through the trees at a swift speed that was difficult to follow with the thick undergrowth covering an array of uneven stones and tangled roots.

"I fear I may never be at home in such a grand place," Haer'Dalis chuckled behind the Transmuter, his mischievous tone evident in spite of his quiet words, "For I was born a poor, wretched slave's son and may never understand the wonder and beauties of such a privileged world!"

"I hope your acting is better than that on the stage, tiefling," Viconia told him dryly, pausing as Edwin stumbled on a root, no doubt taking the moment to enjoy the Red Wizard's increasing struggle to keep any semblance of grace in such cramped and uneven conditions, "And besides, any slave who has fought in and endured the Blood Wars is infinitely more admirable than a weak, coddled, childish surfacer female who does not understand the true rights of her gender and misuses her station so ridiculously."

Hearing the bard laugh more loudly, Elatharia rolled her eyes even as she ducked under a branch and narrowly avoided becoming a helpless victim of Anomen's stumbling. Haer'Dalis had evidently set up that conversation to hear such a response from the drow.

"You…you shouldn't have been so unkind to Nalia, Elatharia," Aerie admonished from her side, hopping lightly over a rock and sending a deep and highly ineffective frown the Transmuter's way, "Sh-she can't learn the reality of the world if people like you push her back all the time."

"People like me? You sound just like her," Elatharia told the avariel coolly.

"The Lady Aerie is correct, Elatharia," Anomen put in now, huffing through his words but achieving some semblance of coherence nonetheless, "You spoke in such a manner, and pointed out Viconia's heritage, wholly intending to frighten her. If you were not so distracted by the struggle to regain your sister, I might sincerely insist that you change your ways."

"Oh, and anything you say should be taken as _law_ , fool," Edwin put in from a few steps behind them, easing his way around a tree and glaring at its low-hanging branches, "Such a silly girl should be taught respect of her betters."

"You are not her 'better'…" Aerie started to snap back, but thought better of it lest she fall on the complicated set of roots ahead of her.

"I just told her the truth," Elatharia disagreed, glaring at the back of Anomen's head.

They progressed through the trees in silence as the hill's incline became more apparent and their journey in turn became more difficult. When at last they emerged from the trees all of them were gasping, pausing to catch their breath. Ahead stood a few makeshift twigs-and-leaves hideouts dug into the ground a short distance from the mote leading to the castle walls. Several armed and armoured men waited nearby, greeting Nalia with evident relief and sparing a few curt nods for the adventurers who would be doing their dirty work.

"You should have told us that you had gone to get them, my lady," the leader told Nalia gently. A tall man whose armour shone in the sun like a beacon for the enemies in the castle, he eyed each of the group critically as they emerged from the forest.

"But when the scouts said they'd seen people approaching I just had to go and get them before they went the wrong way! And look, they're armed like real adventurers." She smiled tentatively – and perhaps still a little condescendingly, at the group as they formed up in front of the guard captain.

When Viconia stepped out last, the De'Arnise guards let up shouts of alarm, a few lowering their halberds in readiness for attack. Their captain looked down in disbelief at Nalia, who shrugged slightly nervously.

"You would bring a drow here?"

"She didn't attack me, and she's travelling with a group I've heard of," Nalia offered before straightening up and remembering to take a more serious tone, "And besides – don't we need all the help we can get? I'll go with them and make sure they don't rob anything. Alright?"

"Not a drow!" someone warned amongst the guards, and more halberds lowered.

Viconia took a cautious step back, ready to flee. Haer'Dalis moved in front of her, hands on his sword hilts and eyebrows raised in challenge. Seeing this, the drow stared at him in surprise – and she seemed perhaps a little pleased by his defensiveness, too, though she would never admit it.

"Yes, we are taking 'a drow' with us," Elatharia promised icily, "Unless you'd rather your master and mistress starve in there? Because…as far as I'm concerned it's just as easy to blow you all to pieces with a few cantrips and 'rob' your castle before setting it to the torch, too," she called up an Illusion that Jan had recently taught her, giving the impression that flames danced in her open palms. The men started to back off and Edwin started to smile wolfishly, "So say yes to Viconia, or no to your lives."

"Stop it, all of you!" Nalia interrupted, stepping between Elatharia and the guard captain; she held his gaze until he called his men off, "We'll lower the gates when we're ready for you," she promised him before waving him away. He went, unwillingly.

"Shall we go?" Elatharia asked, banishing the Illusion playing in her hands as Nalia turned to her, the others of her group relaxing a little.

"Yes," the young woman agreed, her red braids bouncing as she nodded, "I'm glad to hear that you're thinking of doing this quickly after _so long_."

* * *

Elatharia could understand why Nalia's guards had chosen to call for help in infiltrating their stolen castle once the De'Arnise girl showed the group her secret way back in. Aided by an _Invisibility_ spell of Aerie's, they had made their way to the back of the castle – with Yoshimo, Haer'Dalis, Anomen and Valygar carrying a worryingly makeshift raft which the guards had grudgingly relinquished. Their invisibility had worn off by the time they reached the dark, reeking water and crossed its still depths.

For a moment Elatharia had believed they would be entering the drain a few feet up at the opposite side, but Nalia had reassured them that it was too well warded by her father's spells to be breached and would be too obvious a choice, besides. So instead Nalia had explained that they would be scaling the side of the wall and creeping their way through the orange trees clustered beyond. This posed a significant problem since only four of their group had the bodily strength to haul themselves up the slippery rocks on that side of the mote – and Anomen, much like the guards of the Hold, was much too heavily armoured to achieve such a climb with any level of grace or subtlety. The job was left to Valygar, Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis (an unwilling companionship at the best of times) and, armed with one of Nalia's keys, they scampered up the rock face with promises to come back with a rope from the storeroom by the nearby stables.

The rest of them waited quietly, Aerie eyeing the dark mote with distrust and Edwin glaring at Anomen's corner of the raft, which was dipping low into the water under the weight of the priest's armour. Viconia was shifting uncomfortably and staring up at the rocks beside them as if particularly determined to be back on solid ground. For her part, Elatharia watched Nalia. The only daughter of Lord De'Arnise could not have been much younger than the Transmuter, probably about nineteen like Imoen. She seemed less worried and more hopeful, a light in her dark eyes, a smile upon her freckled face. She still wore those borrowed men's clothes – no doubt since her own ladylike garb would hardly be suited to scaling walls and climbing through broken windows. Come to think of it, neither would Elatharia's Robe of Vecna.

"Jaheira told me that you were being besieged by the trolls," the Transmuter prompted, narrowing her eyes when Nalia just nodded, still looking up at the edge over which Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis had disappeared, "I assume that they have somehow broken inside and walled themselves in just like you were before them."

"Yes," the young noblewoman agreed, sparing a brief glance towards Elatharia, her eyes wandering over each of the others on the raft. She offered no further answer.

"What I believe our leader is suggesting is that you, empty-minded child that you are, have failed to tell us any details of this siege," Viconia pointed out haughtily when Nalia caught her eye.

"And perhaps more _intelligently_ put: what kind of trolls would leave their presumably distant marshy homeland to besiege and then invade your pathetic keep?" Edwin interrupted irritably now from where he sat at the very centre of the raft with one foot tucked beneath him and his other knee drawn up to his chest. His hands were clasped in front of this leg and he was swaying a little more unsteadily than he would have preferred with the slight rock of the craft.

"Pathetic keep? I don't think so. Just because she claims that you are a Red Wizard – and I don't see much to prove it – doesn't mean that I'll agree to your poorly aimed insults," Nalia told him with unexpected nerve, eyes flashing with resolve, "My family has been in this part of Amn for centuries. We are well respected," she looked to Elatharia and Aerie now, ignoring Edwin's rising anger, "Which is why I've been trying so hard to use our wealth and influence to help your kind."

Viconia spluttered at this response even as Elatharia leaned back in renewed disbelief. Aerie put a small, gentle hand on the Transmuter's arm and sent a patient smile Nalia's way. Edwin's anger somewhat deflated to see Elatharia once more offended by the young woman's lack of tact and his swelling annoyance turned into an entirely unsympathetic smile.

"Tell me why they attacked your home, Nalia _De'Arnise_ ," Elatharia gritted out. It was tempting to push the girl into the water while she perched so unconcernedly on the edge like that.

"I don't think my father would…"

"It would be only courteous to tell us what has caused this problem, my lady," Anomen suggested softly from the other end of the raft, "After all, there may be important tactical considerations to make given the information you permit us."

"Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense," Nalia nodded, blushing a little under his intensely genuine stare, "Why didn't you just say that to start with? Trolls aren't as stupid as the children's stories suggest – and they don't live as far away as you were suggesting," she spared a frown for Edwin, who just scoffed, "They've been mobilising under a particularly old leader who my father had a confrontation with on the borders of our lands several decades ago. He used to fight them with a…special weapon, the Flail of the Ages, that has been in our family for generations. The trolls have waited, and been clever, and come at us when we least expected it. Unprepared, we couldn't do much. They besieged the castle and I escaped with some guards to get help in Athkatla. That's where I met Jaheira and she promised to help. You only came once they've broken in; my mother is barricaded in her room and…and my father is being help captive. They really want that flail. Like I said, trolls aren't as stupid as people think."

"Perhaps you should take from the rich and give to the trolls as well?" Viconia suggested dryly, earning a confused and persistently distrustful look from Nalia.

' _Can you use a flail?_ ' Elatharia asked Viconia in their shared Drow Sign Language.

' _Yes, of course. I was trained in Menzoberranzan,_ khal'abbil _._ '

' _We're keeping it._ '

Sitting between them, Edwin watched them with faint amusement, one eyebrow raising as he took a moment to work out what had been said. He narrowed his eyes at Elatharia thoughtfully and she raised her eyebrows at him challengingly. Trust a Red Wizard to disapprove of stealing from nobility, however 'pathetic'.

"Oh look, they've come back with the rope!" Aerie cried.

"Indeed, my Mourning Dove," Haer'Dalis grinned down at them over the edge at the sound of the avariel's voice, his blue hair handing around his face as he leaned over and dropped the rope down for them, "And we have even helpfully knotted it for your convenience. Come, my flock. And take care not to scratch your armour on the rock, my Peacock."

Anomen just rolled his eyes at the jibe.

* * *

Castles were always the same. Whether you were in the Nine Hells, or the Abyss, or Sigil, or the Prime Material Plane. Castles were made of strong, unsightly material, layered and thick to hold off siege engines. They featured some kind of mote, a drawbridge, a main bailey, often a motte, and many towers. Spiral staircases were favourites, though they twisted the other way in the Abyss and the Hells. If you wanted to be a Planewalker, or in fact had no choice about being one, and if you were going to be besieging castles in all of the above places, then you would need to be ambidextrous. And fast. That was something for which Haer'Dalis felt almost thankful to the Blood Wars.

The De'Arnise Hold was a textbook example of a defensible castle. Up on a hill. Horrible, festering mote which was deeper than expected, with its floor spiked with poison-tipped spikes. A drawbridge that was currently pulled up. High, thick outer walls of ugly grey stone perched on the very edge of a steep-sided motte. Arrow slots dotted the walls at several levels, and the crenulations gave only a hint of the gigantic crossbows aimed at the surrounding lands.

But somehow those trolls had got inside and strewn the orange tree orchard with dead guards and servants. Their blood had clogged the fertile Amnish soil and rendered it poisonous. The orange trees were dying. The stables beyond the orchard had been broken up poorly, the horses within slain, half-eaten and left to fester like their human masters. Yoshimo, serpentine Namer of their little Faction that he was, had been silent at Haer'Dalis's side as they stepped through all of this devastation. As had Valygar, but his silences were altogether more solemn, and less empty.

They had found the broken window Nalia had described with relative ease. Yoshimo had slipped inside to head through room ahead while Haer'Dalis and Valygar waited and watched their surroundings. All was still and silent, barely a breath of wind to rustle the darkening leaves of the orange trees, only the faint trill of birds in the distance. No hint of trolls, except for the stench.

With the help of the rope, Yoshimo had uncovered the others had pulled themselves up. Aerie had blushed so endearingly when Haer'Dalis had hoisted her up the last little way to set her on her feet. It had been worth it just to earn Viconia's glare as she followed, not to mention the decidedly _interesting_ way in which Aerie's body had fitted against his as he righted her on the ground.

Edwin and Elatharia had ascended next, both imbued with _Strength_ spells. That had left Anomen to wave Nalia chivalrously up before him, staring down at his hands until she had been helped to her feet by Valygar. It had been entertaining to watched the Peacock of a would-be paladin brace himself against the rock face and walk his heavily armoured-bulk vertically upwards.

Aerie was adorably horrified by the carnage they had to pass to get to the door which Yoshimo had unlatched from the inside, pressing one hand to her mouth and wrapping her free arm around Anomen's. The priest had at least had the grace to look flattered. He had also glanced towards Haer'Dalis as if he had expected the tiefling to be offended in some way, and had then seemed offended by the tiefling's smile. But…this Sparrow just did not, and would not, feel as several of his counterparts did about the scene of carnage the trolls had made out of Nalia's servants and guards. There would always be new Deaders to enter into the Dead-Book.

The young woman, Aerie, Anomen, Valygar…all of them looked upon slaughter as horror, to be avenged or righted. Edwin picked through the blood-soaked earth with a curled lip and his sleeve covering his mouth and nose, as if offended. Such actions from those who wanted to seem invincible often belied a weaker stomach than they would have the world believe, in Haer'Dalis's experience. As for Elatharia and Yoshimo, both moved past this bloodied grove and through the open door next to the stables with only a brief glance. The Transmuter's mask hid some of her face…but it seemed that in this case she had nothing to hide. Meanwhile, Viconia attempted to hang back, to watch this horror alone and unseen by the others. For someone who, like Elatharia and Edwin, had certainly seen horror and very likely doled it out herself, the Blackbird did not endure it so callously, or selfishly. Her eyes lingered on the dead. Those shapely lips pressed together stoically. Her fists clenched.

As a Doomguard, Haer'Dalis's philosophy on these matters was simple. Death is inevitable. Perhaps pain is regrettable, but often that is inevitable, too. Time passes by, and as it goes so goes entropy, impossible to lessen, affecting every life unerringly. The only end is oblivion, and that is as inevitable as our lives are unalterable. It would hurt one so caring as Aerie to know that scenes such as that in the grove only made him feel…relieved.

Then there was the castle; predictably ugly on the inside, its storeroom through the door untidy and almost overflowing. There were a few blood splatters on the shattered doorway ahead. Passing down the corridor with the broken window, the entrance which Yoshimo had used to find the rope earlier, they came upon a locked door. For this Nalia had no key and shushed the group surprisingly wisely to silence. As soon as she had achieved this, they heard the scuffling, and the guttural muttering.

"It's the servants' door to the great dining hall," Nalia explained, her blue eyes wide and round as she looked back at the group of adventurers, "It sounds like there are a lot of them in there. And Mystra knows what they're eating in there."

"We'll save your parents," Aerie promised gently, squeezing the young woman's arm and nodding reassuringly.

"Alright. Thank you," she smiled a little shakily, her eyes crinkling all the same, and gave a determined nod, "I'll just pick this lock…"

Haer'Dalis noted Elatharia's expression change as Nalia set to work, pulling free a lockpick and unlocking the door in three fast, nimble movements. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the Transmuter's face showed less evidence of disdain. Maybe a little sadness. All the same, when Nalia reached for the handle, Elatharia shrugged into a fiery spell, the flames rising from her palms and flickering up to her elbows in readiness to face whatever waited beyond. Edwin did the same.

It was just as well that they had those two spellslingers with them for this fight because the scene that Nalia revealed to them was one of utter chaos. The dining hall was teeming with trolls. Several of the twisted, gangly humanoids were feasting happily upon the other-than-fresh corpses of several guards which they had lain out upon the long central tables. One particularly vast greyish brute was repeatedly shouldering a crack in the wall up on the outer walkway around the tables. A torn tapestry glinting with pearls and sapphires lay at his bare feet.

All of the trolls turned to look as the previously locked door swung open slowly, spluttering to each other past the blood and flesh smeared on their gnarled faces. Seeing the flames the spellslingers wore, several shrieked and cowered behind the tables, others who were braver ran forwards waving clubs or looking for a projectile weapon. Unfortunately for them, Elatharia and Edwin were well versed in battling against terribly uneven odds. Unfortunately for Haer'Dalis's entertainment, the first flow of the Red Wizard's firepower created a gust of wind around him ferocious enough to slam the door shut behind them. The rest of the group stood still, gaping, and listened to the screams of the trolls beyond as the door rattled on hinges which came to glow white-hot.

"It is a shame that they must be so showy about these things," Viconia sighed, leaning against the wall by Haer'Dalis and inspecting a dust stain on the hem of her yellow cloak. Her eyes, deep blue and thoughtful, raised to meet his from beneath long, curling white lashes. At the sight of him smiling, she raised an eyebrow and pursed lips that he remembered well.

"My Blackbird your words are words of jealousy," he teased quietly, "I have heard from you that you are well capable of creating your own fierce chaos when necessary."

Her expression dropped for a moment, her mouth opening as if to speak. But her words caught in her throat and she looked away instead, to where the others were paying them no heed, all watching the door. The drow started when Haer'Dalis's hand slid over hers. She frowned momentarily, as if considering a biting comment, looking to his lips distrustfully as if wondering whether he wanted something from her. But when his stillness proved that he did not, she just watched his eyes with confusion and took in a deep breath, letting him raise her hand to his lips.

When the screams and the roar of fire died down, Nalia pulled open the door and at once the group jumped to attention, fully prepared to find two dead spellslingers and a horde of trolls. Instead they saw a dozen or more smouldering trolls and fires just dying down along the remains of the three long tables. The troll who had been shouldering the wall was shuddering, one arm blackened, swaying dazedly by his previous place of toil. Edwin seemed unruffled and utterly unaware of the ash smeared on his face, gesturing imperiously for the stunned group to enter, sparing a particularly hateful sneer for Valygar when the ranger surveyed the scene of magical carnage darkly.

Meanwhile Elatharia, the Factol of this Faction, was leaning over the railing of the walkway across the room, just next to the swaying troll. She was breathing hard, smiling broadly as if she had been laughing. As the others approached up the stairs and along the walkway towards her and the troll, her eyes flashed in the firelight. For just a moment they glowed with golden flame.

"Are you alright?" Aerie demanded of Elatharia, but the Transmuter waved her words away.

"What were you doing?" Elatharia demanded of her enchanted troll. He swayed for a moment, a state of confused compliance that Haer'Dalis recalled all too well from his own captivity.

"The Flail of the Ages," the monster burbled eventually, "Master has directions. He gave instructions. Break down the hidden door, bring back the dread-weapon."

"So he doesn't have what he wants yet?"

"No, but he know where it is. He will have it," the troll agreed.

"Oh no! No! That means my father has…has told them after all. We have to save him _now_!" Nalia exclaimed, hands flapping and expression twisted into a look of horror.

"We will, my lady!" Anomen agreed. Elatharia sighed.

"Where is he keeping the lord of the castle?"

"In his new lair. The vaults of this hold," the troll told her immediately, rubbing at his head as if it hurt.

"Fine. Now break that door down. Or I won't be merciful."

The troll jumped to his task as soon as he saw the flames rising from the Transmuter's palm. Seeing the – no doubt human – blood around his mouth, not even Anomen complained about this insistence upon the painful task. Aerie, however, looked on with a sad frown.

* * *

Elatharia had never had an interest in weaponry. There were days when she did not carry a knife in easy reach – something for which Jaheira, Imoen and Viconia had all berated her. But all the same, she could recognise that the Flail of the Ages was a cruel and beautiful thing.

Once the troll Elatharia had controlled had broken through the hidden door, revealing the vault beyond with the flail enshrined at the centre, Nalia had only reluctantly agreed to use her personal key to relinquish the weapon. The sight of the gold within was promising as well, but with so many trolls roaming the castle it seemed unwise to loot the place just then.

"Are you really planning on using it?" Nalia asked nervously, her voice ringing in the small stone chamber as she handed the weapon over to Elatharia, "Careful! Avoid the heads," she added as the ornate handle passed between them.

Polished red wood inlaid with plaited gold, the handle alone ought to have been much heavier than it felt. Elatharia was not known for her strength, but she could have swung it easily in one hand – had she possessed any skill. Nor did she need any warning about the three heads hanging from the chain. At a glance, the ebony cylinders might have seemed quite harmless to an unobservant eye, but for the tiny rivets radiating around them. One head pulsed white hot, the other's polished black surface was covered in clusters of icicles…and the third shimmered with some liquid covering that hissed ominously in the open air.

"Of course she is planning on using it," Edwin sneered from where he and Viconia were peering down the steps through the open vault doors. Behind them the others were keeping watch – or, in Aerie and Anomen's case, looking for survivors.

"But…is that really wise?" Nalia dropped her hands uselessly at her sides as Elatharia turned away, heading up the steps and passing the flail to Viconia. A frown appeared on the young woman's face when the drow smiled slowly and gave the weapon an experimental swing that seemed altogether more adept than Nalia had likely expected.

"If they want this weapon so badly then they will fear it," Viconia promised.

A commotion from the main hall put an abrupt end to their conversation and at the shrill, angry sound of a woman's voice Nalia tore past Elatharia, between Viconia and Edwin, and down the short passageway out of the vault back to where the others were waiting.

"Mother?" she called as she vanished from sight.

"Never a good sign," Viconia muttered, rolling her eyes and turning away to follow the girl with some reluctance.

Edwin remained, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, watching Elatharia from the top of the stairs. In Nalia's rather inexpertly conjured light it was hard to gauge much from his expression but the Transmuter knew better than to let him keep the high ground – he was tall enough as it was. So with one last longing glance at the gold and gems locked away in the room, she ascended the steps and made to move past him back to the main hall.

"Still not happy about stealing from the rich, Edwin?"

He levelled her with a resigned expression, as if her thoughts on the matter were just too simple and she would never truly understand the depth of his enlightenment. She chose not to tell him about the ash smeared on his cheek, or the peculiar way in which a section of his hair had been ruffled by the force of their earlier spellcasting.

"No, shockingly enough. That girl stands to inherit a mighty artefact which she cannot possibly be worthy of, since she has the expectations and duties of her station in order to act and dress like a commoner."

Edwin shifted to watch Elatharia as she moved past him into the short corridor, increasingly curious about the loud voices echoing in the hall beyond. He ducked his head a little towards her as she passed, lowering his voice but not hiding his smug tone.

"I was more interested in our magical achievement earlier."

Elatharia paused at that, blinking at the blank wall ahead where the passage turned. Their power had surged together much as it had against Mae'Var – and she had felt the call of Bhaal, the scratching of the bone daggers beneath her skin, the golden light behind her eyes, the thrill of power and of death. She had reached inside and let it forth as before, but when all was done and the trolls were dead she had forced back her control, shaking and gasping with the effort, and stumbled away from Edwin and the hunger she feared was in his eyes.

"You almost seem as powerful as me when you face your Essence," the Conjurer continued, in a _mildly_ self-mocking tone that Elatharia assumed was supposed to be an award she had earned with her display, "And I would even suggest that the power is _growing_. Why might that be?"

"Something for after we've rid this place of monsters," she told him.

Not looking back at the Red Wizard and heading down the short passage. He muttered something most likely mutinous in Mulhorandi and followed. Thinking back on his words, and the rather intense magical force Edwin had created earlier, Elatharia paused at the door, reaching for the handle.

"Don't think I haven't noticed your own 'displays'," she promised softly, "That's a lot of fire magic for one wizard to keep memorised that you wielded today. Even more so against Firkraag." She glanced back at the Conjurer to see him drawing himself up, a deep frown attempting to disguise the flicker of something a lot more vulnerable.

"I am a Red Wizard. I have specialised in my school and the magical arts to an extent that you, non-Mulan that you are, will never be able to comprehend or enjoy. Of course I am easily capable of wielding _much_ more magic than you in a day!" He spoke firmly, but woodenly. Elatharia smiled.

"I know it's more than that, Edwin," she promised him and turned back to open the door before he could respond.

* * *

Lady De'Arnise had, in fact, proved more unlikable to Elatharia than a horde of trolls. Found barricaded in her room with just one guard by Aerie and Anomen, she had proven difficult, self-obsessed, and more aggressively prejudiced than her daughter. Gushing and polite to Anomen and Valygar, vehemently abusive to Nalia, disgusted by Aerie and Yoshimo, she had screamed and fainted at the sight of Viconia and refused quite flatly to be revived for over a minute. She had even seemed impervious to Nalia's imploring requests for her guard to take her outside and over to the camp so that they could look for Lord De'Arnise sooner. When she did finally get back up, she had been more interested in the mess the trolls had made in dying than she was in her own daughter's voice. It had taken Anomen's kind tone and knightly form to persuade her that leaving the castle _immediately_ would be the best option.

After that, Elatharia had sent Yoshimo out to the main bailey, armed with an _Invisibility_ potion and a _Haste_ spell, so that he could bring down the draw bridge and let in the house guards while the rest of the group headed straight for the basement. On that path they had soon learned to what extent the castle was swarming with trolls. On more than one occasion they found themselves ambushed in both directions halfway down a narrow back corridor that ought have been secret. Edwin took a nasty bite wound to the hand that Viconia did not have time to heal fully – and the Flail of the Ages proved its worth. In the hands of the drow priestess it was wielded to create perfect destruction. Such hold ups eventually gave Yoshimo time to catch up with them and promise that the drawbride had been lowered.

Keeping to the servants' corridors as much as possible to try to avoid an all-out war against the trolls of the castle, the group crept through the newly reeking and torn up castle decorations until they reached the basement. Herein the smell was even worse, the bodies of former captive guards littering the floor of its atrium. Beyond the next door came the snarling voices of trolls – one of which sounded particularly annoyed and possible quite impatient. A quick round of protective spells, along with some of Elatharia's favourite Transmutations, and they moved quickly through the doors ahead.

Lord De'Arnise lay at the feet of a huge two-headed troll, who was kicking irritably at the body as if not yet realising no more answers would be forthcoming. The monster looked up in mild surprise at the sight of the adventuring group, even as Nalia screamed in grief-filled rage, hurling every spell she knew at the troll leader with his guards dragging themselves to his aid.

Thanks to the element of surprise the fight was over quickly. The troll leader was no Firkraag. Though he had allies, these were quickly engaged by Viconia – whose new Flail of the Ages was invaluable against such foes – and by Anomen, backed up by Aerie. Haer'Dalis followed the drow's lead, singing a merry song which somehow had a more impressive boost on morale than expected. Yoshimo drew his katana and waited at the door in case any more enemies arrived, or to hail backup. Valygar dodged past Nalia's spells to reach the chief of the trolls, the Corthala Blade singing through the air as he swung, while Elatharia and Edwin both brought up _Fireshields_ before looking to their foes. The Transmuter concentrated on helping her allies; _Paralysis_ , _Slow_ and the _Magic Missile_ poured from her to give Viconia and the others an advantage. Edwin preferred more showy displays, and he and Nalia rained so much fire down upon the troll leader that it was a miracle Valygar was not caught in the crossfire.

When the glare of magical excess died down, the fighters in the group panting with exertion, the chief of the trolls lays dead along with his guards. Anomen was holding his side and Aerie was just moving to heal him; Valygar had a cut to the head that Viconia was grudgingly dealing with. And not far away from those recovering combatants, slumped before the statue of his god in this vault which had once been a chapel to Lathander, was the body of Lord De'Arnise.

And with the clamour of battle dying down in the halls above while the De'Arnise guards overcame the trolls that remained, Nalia fell to her knees by her father's body and wept.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
Haer'Dalis got to have a say, and to use some Sigil slang! Although not too much, because to my UK sensibilities it would make him sound like a London gangster, and that's not how I imagine Haer'Dalis. But here's a glossary for the words that might not have been obvious:  
Factol: leader of a faction (he's ironically likening their party to one of the many factions of Sigil)  
Namer: a rather non-dedicated member of a faction**  
 **Deader: someone who is dead, and thus named in the Dead-Book  
Spellslinger: wizard  
**


	16. The Wretched Truth

**Big thank yous to those who are following and have reviewed this story.  
This chapter fought me bitterly and any feedback would be most welcome. :)** _  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 15: The Wretched Truth  
**

* * *

 _Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt! If you resist it shall be a waste of your life!_

That had been Sarevok's warning to Gorion that night in the rain, out by the old standing stones just a mile east of Candlekeep. Her father had laughed coldly, power rising about him in warning as the great armoured man stepped from the treeline, flanked by monsters and spellcasters alike.

 _I would be a fool to trust your benevolence. Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt._

 _I'm sorry that you feel that way, old man._

Gorion had made her run, promising her he would follow. He had not followed. And for whatever reason, Sarevok had not found her that night. Perhaps he had been wounded, for in the aftermath only he and his ally Tamoko had escaped. Elatharia had found Gorion's torn body with the help of Imoen when her sister found her wandering the road the next morning. They had both wept over Gorion, as Nalia had over Lord De'Arnise. And in the end, after burying him, all Elatharia had left of her foster father was his grey cloak which she hugged to herself that night in spite of the warm weather, watching the firelight of their camp.

They had rejected Nalia's sniffled offers of hospitality. The girl was grieving (and irritating), her mother revolting, and the castle was in no fit state to host guests. Not even low-born ones. So in the end, Nalia had paid them handsomely enough that it seemed altogether a waste of time to go back and empty the vaults…and they had moved to go, citing a need to get back to Athkatla sooner. The girl's eyes had widened as they moved away and she had run after them, asking to come as well. Elatharia had denied her this with as much vehemence as she could.

"Tell me, my Peacock – is it common in this Prime Material Plane for a young lady to wish to escape one marriage by entering into another, equally loveless one?" Haer'Dalis was inquiring from where he sat against a tree, strumming the small harp he carried with him when travelling.

"More common than you might expect, tiefling," Valygar put in while Anomen spluttered. The ranger had taken the events of the day far more in his stride than had the young cleric, who had been keeping his eyes on the armour he was polishing by the fire since they had finished their evening meal.

When her request to join the group had been declined, Nalia had looked to Anomen, then Valygar, explaining at some speed that she simply had to escape because she was betrothed. If that was not possible, then she called upon their kind (and nobly born) souls to take pity on her and marry her instead, in name only of course.

Haer'Dalis had not stopped laughing about that all day. Once the camp was set up, Valygar and Aerie on cooking duty, the bard had leaned back against a tree and pulled out his harp, chuckling his way through a few possible songs to fit the preposterous marriage proposals and the indignation of the intended grooms.

"Marriage is a pointless Surfacer practice," Viconia derided, eyeing Anomen with poorly veiled amusement from her seat upon the ground not far from Haer'Dalis.

"M-marriage should be about love. When you want to spend your life with that person and know you don't want to live without them," Aerie corrected sternly from across the fire. Anomen, polishing his armour beside her, sent her an appreciative smile.

In truth, the avariel had seemed faintly entertained by Nalia's request, and especially by Haer'Dalis's improvised songs – though she was far too polite to admit to it, attempting to send sympathetic glances Anomen's way instead. Yoshimo had thrown in a few suggestions for rhymes, all of which Haer'Dalis ignored. The tiefling seemed determined to hold onto his mirth, in spite of the Kara-Turan's attempted input.

"I am sure the cleric of Helm will attest that, in his level of society, such is not the way of marriage. (And quite rightly, too)," Edwin disagreed, looking up from his spellbook as far around the fire as he could get from Anomen and Aerie. Both of them blanched at the sound of his voice and turned similar glares his way, "Marriages are _normally_ arranged by one's parents to improve or stabilise family standing. Although from what I have heard about your father, I doubt any noble family would be happy to have you, Anomen. Perhaps you should have agreed?"

"You horrible, unfeeling…" Aerie started to sputter.

"Take back your dishonourable words at once, Thayvian!" Anomen exclaimed, dropping his breastplate with a clang and looking ready to pounce to his feet until Aerie's small hand settled on his forearm.

Edwin just watched this stirring and cooling of Anomen's wrath with a faint smile – from what Elatharia could see from her removed vantage point. No one seemed to be paying her much heed, since she had been so carefully quiet since the fight with the trolls in the DeArnise Hold.

"Your words are to be expected, Red Wizard," Valygar noted coolly, shifting his position upon the rock at the edge of the camp with a sense of coordinated menace, narrowing his eyes Edwin's way, "All you can care about is yourself and your own advancement. Honesty, love, truth and shared happiness are all anathema to you."

"Oh, and now you profess to know me, ranger? I have heard that it is you who have sworn off any threat of furthering the Corthala line," Edwin sneered, looking back down at his spellbook and waving a hand dismissively, "Go, bother someone else."

Valygar did not continue the budding argument, apparently preferring to fall back into his habitual silence. But he watched Edwin for several long moments, even while Aerie leaned into Anomen to whisper some kind words his way and Viconia and Haer'Dalis took up a conversation about the rarity of marriage around the Planes. Yoshimo had been quietly fletching arrows, part way around the fire between Aerie and Edwin's disparate seats.

It was still too hot to sleep under tents, and they made their camp under the open, star-filled sky, half-sheltered beneath a mossy overhang and half by the press of trees nearby. In the opposite direction a stream tinkled quietly and beyond it swooped the open road back to Athkatla, cutting through the broad Amnish farmland. It would have been better to have had Jan with them, given recent events; he could have warded the camp better than Aerie or Elatharia with Illusions to throw off potential attackers.

They were understandably nervous, given that they had been ambushed by a Bhaalspawn so recently. _Sister_ he had called her, staring down with golden eyes. And he had dissolved into golden dust at his death, just like Sarevok had. Just like she would one day if any of her other murderous siblings found her. And there it was, the problem that was really on everyone's minds: how had he found her? And who might come next? And when?

It was partly because of this that Elatharia had been too distracted to listen to the words of Haer'Dalis's songs – and had only half-listened to the recent bickering. But, more than that, her own memories were pulling her thoughts too far into the past to really appreciate the events that had so amused Haer'Dalis.

Seeing Nalia grieve for her dead father had reminded her all too strongly of how her own adventures had begun, with the death of her foster father Gorion at the hands of Sarevok, the brute she had learned was her own brother through Bhaal. It made her realise that few of her current companions likely understood what it was like for her to be so young, and so alone. Not that she would have ever wanted Gorion to linger, overbearing, while she inevitably waded through blood to kill Sarevok before he killed her. But she had been left with no guidance mere hours after leaving Candlekeep for the first time in her life.

From what she had learned of her friends, only Valygar had lost his father in similar circumstances. Yoshimo had alluded to growing up an orphan, while Aerie and Edwin both still had two living parents each, however distant. Viconia's upbringing in Menzoberranzan hardly seemed conducive to a consideration of parents that came close to the expectations of the surface world, and Haer'Dalis was rather a mystery for such a talkative fellow.

No, only Imoen could understand. She owed her this much.

With shaking hands, Elatharia settled her journal onto her lap, its smooth leather binding cool against her fingertips as she leaned back against a rock, well away from the others, and slowly turned the stiff pages until her own small, neat handwriting gave way to Imoen's more flowing script.

 _22_ _nd_ _Mirtul, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _Hello, Elatharia. I've decided to start writing in here because I don't think I will ever be able to talk to you out loud about what's happening to us – but I think that I'll go mad if I don't tell someone. Sometimes I get a glimpse of his journal, and if the date he uses is real then we've been here for over three tendays now._

 _I still haven't seen you. I think maybe he keeps you in a separate cell past Rielev's tank room and the other rooms for his captives. He's shown me Jaheira, and Minsc…and oh, Elatharia the things that he has shown me. And everything else…I don't know where to start. I hope he hasn't done the same with you, I hope he has spared you the sights, the endless torments, the – but wait. I had better start from the beginning, right? Or I'll have done got ahead of myself and there won't be any sense to get out of what I've written. And there I go, right there, making no sense. I can't think straight in this place, my thoughts are all jumbled. My head aches._

 _He has Khalid, and Dynaheir. He's killing them, slowly; a bit at a time. Each time he brings them out to torment them he makes me watch, and if it's Khalid then he brings out Jaheira. If it's Dynaheir then he brings out Minsc. But it's all for me. I know it is. He's doing it to teach me something, saying 'Do you see?' and cutting and saying 'do you see?'_

 _Over the last three tendays he has shown me every way to kill that his twisted mind can think up. He seems to have a lot of enemies to kill. If I close my eyes when he's showing me then he worms his magic inside and twists and prods and pushes until I can't take it anymore. And now I don't close my eyes. It doesn't seem so bad anymore. He asks me for my opinion, any suggestions…and I've started giving them. Sometimes I laugh. It just bubbles up and keeps on going until I'm gagging and weeping again. I think he's driven me mad. Or maybe he's just taught me that I always was._

 _26_ _th_ _Mirtul, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _I don't hear your voice. He rarely mentions your name. He talks about power, and unlocking potential. He teaches me about death and pain and sometimes he watches me do the same. He geased me the first few times. The most recent time I volunteered._

 _30_ _th_ _Mirtul, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _You will wonder, if we ever get out of here. I know you will. I'm not a good liar. Not with you. You'll see that I never really had a cell. You'll see the room he keeps me in and you'll wonder how much of it was my fault. Or will you? Do I? He blinds me, drugs me on the golden light. I'm not me when that happens. But I think he geases me, or Enchants me before he – we – and I..._

 _I won't believe anything else._

 _He does it like he's testing something, an experiment like everything else. He mutters about memories and feelings like he can't quite recall what they are, while he's tormenting me. He learns everything, just for the sake of knowing, just so he can make it worse, so he can_ win _. Afterwards, when he's gone and I sleep…I wake up crying, and I realise that no one who ever loves me will ever know me like he does._

 _4_ _th_ _Flamerule, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _I can't stop it. It's getting worse. I dream of golden light, and when I wake my head aches like my bones have twisted into a little dagger at the back of my skull. Every time he has made me kill it's got worse. I dreamed of you the other night – you didn't look the same, with black eyes and golden hair just like the light. You handed me a dagger made of bone, my own bone, and you told me that I will learn. What will I learn?_

 _5_ _th_ _Flamerule, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _We killed Khalid and Dynaheir today. She was first; he dragged out Minsc and then he showed me. I was crying so much that I couldn't see her past the tears; she begged me for help but there was nothing I could do. He put geases on me to make sure of that. Minsc's shouts, his howls – they were as bad as Dynaheir's screams. At least it was over quickly. Fairly quickly. And the golden blindness didn't come, it just flickered behind my eyes, at the back of my head, and my skin_ crawled _like there was something living inside me, trying to get out._

 _Khalid came next. I can't speak of that._

 _6_ _th_ _Flamerule, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet._

 _He seems distracted, has done for hours. He sat at the table in amongst all of_ her _things, this 'Ellesime' he mutters about, and he just let me sit there on the end of the bed, looking through the doorway and watching him. He seems to be struggling to write these days. He seems more certain, and more distracted by it. He hasn't touched me for over a day. He only came in here twice to write, and if he knows that I've been watching how to undo the wards around these chambers for myself then he doesn't seem to care._

 _I've found a knife, and a bow. No arrows yet. Out in the storeroom up the stairs from my – from_ her _chambers. He hasn't come back._

 _I've put your spellbook and mine in a bag, with Gorion's cloak. Our…captor…he kept them in a chest in this room, unlocked like he didn't care if I found it. He's been teaching me spells but before today he's only let me see my spellbook when it was in his hands. It feels like a trap, getting to your things and mine so easily. But then there are things of mine that he never took. Like my belt, and the lockpick Khalid gave me last year for my birthday before we went to Durlag's Tower._

 _I've done had enough of this. I'm getting out of here. I'm taking my chances._

Numbly, Elatharia closed the book, watching its plain leather cover resting on her drawn up knees. Her hands were shaking, but her breathing was steady.

"The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sown from their passing. So sayeth the wise Alaundo," she whispered the words under her breath, and a shudder ran through her.

Imoen's words left her in no doubt now. Her sister was as much of a Bhaalspawn as her. Irenicus really had wanted them both, though he had taken to tormenting them in different ways. He had forced the previously dormant essence of murder into Imoen's consciousness with 'lessons' and disturbing emotional manipulation, among other horrors. He had attempted to conversely tame Elatharia to his will, with the worst violence and tortures imaginable.

For the first time in her life, Elatharia both needed and wanted to talk to _Jaheira_.

"I take it that you have read your sister's journal entry and ascertained the obvious," Edwin commented, catching her by surprise as he perched on the side of the rock she was leaning against. He eyed her as placidly as he knew how when she looked up at him balefully, her shoulder digging into his knee as she twisted, "Unless your recitation of a prophecy which concerns yourself is a new admission of egotism, or a shocking change of religious bent."

"What do you mean, 'the obvious'?" Elatharia demanded, blinking away the tears that had welled in her eyes.

The Transmuter slipped her journal back into her bag of holding before the Red Wizard could consider plucking it from her grip. Instead, he picked his way over her legs and inspected the ground for a few moments before sitting next to her, staring thoughtfully into the guttering fire as he settled himself upon the dusty earth. It had hardly rained in this region for months, so he would not become muddy at least.

"Well? You mentioned something about 'the obvious'?" Elatharia repeated, staring steadfastly at Edwin.

"You have finally realised that your sister is a Bhaalspawn," he told her evenly, "Something which most fools would have realised once they had learned how similar you are in age, your fosterages at almost exactly the same time in a place that rarely takes on children. Your utterly unknown heritage."

"Are you implying that you have known this for over a year?" she truly _hated_ him in that moment, until he looked at her in mock reproach, his arm pressed against her shoulder, warm and insistent in its pressure with every breath.

"No," Edwin denied, "(Although I am glad that she thinks, correctly, that I possess such powers of deduction.) But I have suspected. Have you not?" He was speaking to her in an almost-whisper to avoid the others hearing; Yoshimo was sleeping not far away, Aerie and then Anomen a little further out. Valygar was watching the trees and the road from a vantage point across camp. Haer'Dalis and Viconia were muttering to each other across the sheltered area, by the trees. Edwin was whispering, and that was why he and the Transmuter were so close together against that rock. The only reason.

"I suspected," Elatharia agreed, watching the dying firelight dancing across his golden torc and its red ruby rather than look at his face, "Why did you never say anything?"

"It would have served no purpose. She never manifested any powers like yours. It was a curious inconsequence – until your Irenicus chose to make something out of it, correct?"

"So you only stay with me for my Bhaalspawn power? Because I serve a 'purpose'?" she glanced at his face and saw his eyebrows rise.

"And why do you keep _me_ around? For my (admittedly highly entertaining) wit? For my spectacular fashion choices?"

He waggled the fingers of his hand where it rested on his knee, causing the rings he wore to glint in the firelight. His disdainful tone brought a laugh from Elatharia, in spite of everything. Hearing her mirth, Valygar looked over at them briefly, his eyes glinting in the dimming firelight. His expression registered surprise until he looked away again, frowning into the darkness. It was not often that Edwin made someone laugh. It was not often that Elatharia got a chance to laugh.

"Something like that," she smiled, slipping her arm through his without really thinking too much of it. He was warm, and close.

"Hmm," he glanced down at her as if in disbelief, but his arm shifted to accommodate her own. There was a hint of a smile threatening to break through.

Feeling suddenly guilty for finding mirth at this time, just after reading Imoen's journal, Elatharia broke the eye contact, looking down at her fingers curled around Edwin's sleeve, pale against the black of the fabric. It was a little stiff under her touch, but smooth. And through it she could feel him, and the weight of his arm against her. When his shoulder brushed her chin, Elatharia looked up in startlement. She had not intended to get so close. The glint of the firelight on the beads of his beard caught her eye, and she glanced at his face warily to see him watching her thoughtfully. No sneer. No frown. No smile.

"I miss her," Elatharia sighed, and Edwin's eyebrows raised slightly as if in surprise. She turned her cheek against his shoulder, preferring not to see the judgement he might cast upon her for this admission.

"You will avenge her," his voice hummed through their points of contact, his tone that of a correction. He toyed absently with the hem of her grey cloak where it had settled against his leg.

"I will," Elatharia agreed, her fingers fisting in the fabric of his sleeve, anger blooming bright and golden for a moment as she considered all the types of vengeance she would have to wreak upon Irenicus to make them even, "Right after I've saved her."

His jaw brushed against her temple as he turned his head, as if intending to read her sudden change in mood. She tilted her head back and met his eyes, trying to ignore the rush of something else that frayed her concentration as she did so. His expression was hard to read but there was something…curious…in his dark eyes.

"I still miss her though," she insisted firmly, and his lips quirked, "Don't you miss anyone from home?"

His brows drew together in confusion, or something of its ilk, and he raised his hand – for a moment Elatharia thought he meant to brush her cheek, but instead it changed course and he ran it through his hair. He returned his gaze to the fire and the snoozing camp a short way away, his frown deepening.

"Your questions betray your coddled upbringing," he uttered at last, and just accepted her nudge when it came. She found herself burrowing against him further, biting back a wry smile. The boulder was now digging uncomfortably against her spine, but she found that she needed the physical contact with someone more than a comfortable sitting place.

"Just different, I'd say," she suggested, not in the mood for a real argument. He grunted in disagreement, but it sounded half-hearted, too.

"Playing the diplomat tonight, I see," he noted quietly, the rough edges of his tone smoothed out by the darkness and their closeness, it seemed.

His comment made her think of Imoen again, who had always sought the happy middle ground. How much she must have suffered, and how _long_ she had suffered! Elatharia was not known for her caring nature, but her sister was another matter to her. Sister in more than name and more than upbringing.

Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to grow calmer, knowing that Edwin must have been able to feel her quaking at his side. She drew out another sigh, rubbing at her face beneath her mask with her free hand and surprised to feel the dampness of tears. Willing the moment of weakness to pass, she watched the stars for a time, picking out the constellations and recalling the names of each silvery point of light, comforted by the rise and fall of the Red Wizard's shoulder against her cheek as he breathed.

She recalled the stories Gorion had told her and Imoen, of the spelljammer ships which could sail the open space between the stars. Imoen had loved those stories. There was a doodle of one of their ships in the margin of her journal which her sister had drawn just after they had destroyed the bandit camp near Baldur's Gate. She had laughingly suggested that be their next adventure, and drawn little stick figures which Coran had labelled with each of their names. Elatharia might have drawn out the journal to look at it again, if Edwin had not been by her side. That reminded her of reality, and she blinked away the nostalgia which had overtaken her.

There.

Another sigh.

It was a quiet night.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, the Transmuter looked up at the Red Wizard again. He had been staring into the last flickers of flame dancing across the charred logs of the fire, lips pressed tightly together, still rubbing the fabric of her cloak faintly between thumb and forefinger. It was enjoyably rude to interrupt his thoughts, so she nudged his shoulder with her chin. He grunted.

"Edwin?"

"What is it now?"

"I meant what I said earlier – I am, contrary to your belief, a wizard in my own right. I might not be a Red Wizard, or an expert in Conjuration versus Evocation, but don't think I haven't noticed how many Evocation spells you like to fling around, like _Fireballs_ and _Lightning Bolts_. That's the _opposite_ of specialisation. I _know_ that there's something strange going on. I know there's something you're not telling me; I always have, but I'm a better wizard now than I used to be, and I'm _starting_ to understand. Have anything to do with why you left Thay?"

"You think that I have some obligation to tell you?" he sounded incredulous, very still beside her.

"Not particularly," she shrugged, pleased to have the chance to make him feel uncomfortable, "But I'll work it out."

* * *

"You did something today," Viconia had been attempting to quell this train of thought for several hours, and now with the others no longer paying any attention, she had lost her concentration for a moment in the peace of the night. Haer'Dalis looked around at her with a crooked smile, nudging her knee with his.

"I do many things, beautiful Blackbird. I have certainly done many things today," he reached out and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, the promise of his touch on her skin taunting at best. He only smiled when she glared, "You will have to tell me in more precise terms…"

"I would if you did not fill each silence with your empty words!" she told him as fiercely as she could, "You…you moved to my defence when the guards of that wretched Hold might have attacked me. I was ready to run, but you…you were the first to show your allegiance to me," the anger in her voice wavered, and with it went Haer'Dalis's teasing expression.

"There is something painful in the way that this world does not accept you, my Blackbird," the tiefling admitted softly, his eyes two pools of pure blackness in the fading firelight. His voice was deep and honest, utterly unashamed by such words, and part of Viconia could _not_ believe him, no matter how much she wanted to.

"I did not say it to gain your pity," she told him coolly, remembering the tale she had told him of the horrors she had faced upon the surface after leaving Elatharia – and before.

"And as I said to you before, it is not pity that I feel when I see you – or when I think of you," Haer'Dalis told her, so patient, "One who has been a slave _understands_ these things…"

"I was never a slave," Viconia spat reflexively, and he just raised his eyebrows at her.

"Then what were you to the caravan master who used you? What were you to the men who abused you outside Beregost?"

"I was taken without regard for my true station! Used against my rights!"

She wanted to shout, to take up the Flail of the Ages and swing at him…but she had to bite back her anger, lest the others hear. Haer'Dalis seemed unfazed in the face of her temper.

"Is that not the way for those who are taken as slaves? As my father was, as my human grandparents were? Was my mother any less unfortunate to have been born a captive? Was I?"

Viconia had no words to answer that. Her stomach dropped to hear his words, and his tone. The thought of herself as a slave made her feel physically sick, and her hands shook with the flooding memories. But…he was also right. And she ought to have hated him for it; once she would have. Instead all she could do was snarl at him and ball her hands in frustration. She felt so angry in that moment that she wanted to weep, and with the thought of that she slumped, sighing.

"You are a wicked and deceitful creature, to push me about so in our conversations," she admonished, though he started to smile again at her words, "Did you learn what you wanted from me? Have you finished studying my behaviour for your next _terrible_ play, _jaluk_?"

"Oh, my Blackbird! More misinterpretation!" he was smiling, though, "I am fascinated by you because of who you are and what you have felt, but I am also fascinated for the sake of learning," he affected a very solemn expression, pressing his palm over his heart, "I am not going to use that which you have told me for the entertainment of others, Viconia," he swore.

"I know better than to trust your oaths, tiefling," Viconia reminded him, and that made Haer'Dalis laugh.

"Very wise, my Blackbird," he admitted, grinning again now. She eyed him thoughtfully from the corner of her eye, wanting to smile for no reason that she could fathom. Her words came from her before she could check them.

"And to think that all I had intended to was to thank you. Sometimes…" she stopped, looking away – and glad that he could not see her blush now that she wore her true form.

"Sometimes?" he prompted, his deep voice closer than she had expected. It sent a shiver down her spine.

"I am not like the blushing avariel, simpering over your every word," the drow reminded him – and herself. He chuckled at that.

"Aye, you are not," he promised, and a glance at his face showed that he was holding back more laughter, "Though I do not see how she is so bad…" She ignored his taunts.

"Have her then. I have no reason to care," Viconia shrugged, "The drow are not so prejudiced as the surfacers when it comes to pleasures of the flesh. We take as we will and do as we wish. Though it is of course under the whims of the females. As it should be."

"Ah," he dipped his head to meet her gaze, "Then should you not be choosing someone? Do you not truly mean that I am here for both of you, not both of you here for me?" Haer'Dalis paused, then shrugged, "I would argue 'tis both."

Viconia blinked at him for a moment, unsure.

"And, my Blackbird, I am still waiting. Sometimes…?" he prompted again.

"Sometimes…sometimes I…no, you will not draw such nonsense from me!" Viconia denied him, and ignored his disappointed look, "But…you have mentioned before that you were once a slave, and you have referred to the Blood Wars many times. I would…know more."

Haer'Dalis nodded solemnly, standing unexpectedly and drawing her up with him, keeping her hand in his. He gave her a look of mock-reproach when she attempted to tug free. His skin was warm against hers, and even contact as simple and chaste as this made her throat go dry.

"Yes," he told her, "Though perhaps not here." He began to draw her towards the trees, and Viconia wondered at her lack of fear, "You have told me of your time on the surface, and it is only fair that I tell of my past, also."

They stopped a little way from the camp, not far amongst the trees but out of sight, where a few rocks crested the thick undergrowth. Here Haer'Dalis sat, against the tree at the centre of the rocks. He let his arms rest by his sides, unthreatening, and looked up at Viconia almost blandly until she sat cross-legged on the ground before him.

She heard of his birth, to a half-demon slave in the depths of the Abyss. His grandmother was a marilith who had fallen out of favour with her Abyssal overlord, used to breed half-demons and their ilk as an eternal punishment. His mother, similarly, was kept purely to breed more offspring which could be used as an expendable force in the Blood War. When he had been born with so few demonic traits; blue hair, a few markings on his skin, black eyes, but little else to suggest his heritage, he had been ill-favoured in the demonic army. He had been brought up as a frontline warrior, and learned to fight better than most of the others his age to compensate for the disadvantages he had in size and demonic traits. He had fought for uncounted years as a slave in the Blood Wars, beaten readily by his masters, attacked without mercy by his foes.

It had taken a long time, but Haer'Dalis had earned some respect, taking on a role of leadership in the army which almost equalled his fallen grandmother's. Still, there had been no joy in this endless war. Though the violence did not fill him with fear, and he did not shy from destruction of his own, it was not in his heart to play such a role forever. His salvation came uncounted years later when he became the lover of Raelis Shai, the granddaughter of a succubus who had earned her way as a spy in Sigil. That city, as neutral ground, was not one which would permit active Blood War missions. Nor could the generals follow Raelis there; she was blackmailed into returning with news because her overlords kept her baby son captive. Haer'Dalis helped her free him, and together they escaped with the others who would come to be the Sigil Troupe. Safe in Sigil, she had taught him the ways of the actor and the bard, and filled him with joy. In that city he had also been inducted into the ways of the Doomguard.

And for the first time in her century of life, Viconia sat and listened to a male tell his story, and she passed no judgement.


	17. Good Choices, Bad Choices

**Chapter 16: Good Choices, Bad Choices...and Those Made for Us**

* * *

"Apples! Apples, one copper!"

Haer'Dalis twisted about to look automatically as they passed this particularly vocal street vendor on their return journey through Athkatla. After their stop-off at the Adventurer's Mart in Waukeen's Promenade and their subsequent path through the bustling, colourful market outside, the tiefling's usually irrepressible mood had descended into disorientated glaring. He had been attempting to rehearse a few lines of his play with Aerie but the persistent shouts of the stall owners had eventually got the better of him.

"Why the sour mood, Haer'Dalis?" Elatharia called back, easily amused now that she had the required funds to pay the Thieves' Guild everything they had required for Imoen.

"Walnuts! Hot walnuts!"

Haer'Dalis spared a moment to flinch away from that street seller before answering, his intolerance drawing a giggle from Aerie.

"I am not used to streets of this type. Sigil is as colourful and loud, its assault on the senses ultimately far greater. But…this. This is…"

"I think it's exciting," Aerie told him. Viconia rolled her eyes at that from where she was walking ahead beside Elatharia. The Transmuter failed to stifle a snigger and earned a glare from the disguised drow.

"It would be, but I find it difficult to concentrate," Haer'Dalis sighed.

"Then you are not truly grasping the joy of the markets, friend," Yoshimo ventured good-naturedly from behind the tiefling.

"They are all trying to sell me something! All of them! And I am not your friend, Cuckoo."

"You wound me," the Kara-Turan sounded sincere, but Elatharia also heard Anomen quietly suggesting that the bounty hunter leave the tiefling alone.

As the group pushed their way past a throng of would-be buyers outside a spices stall, nearing the district gates to the Slums, Valygar's voice sounded at Elatharia's other side. Upon their entry to Athkatla Edwin had almost immediately departing via a _Dimension Door_ , taking great pride in his flamboyant exit – and no doubt the legality of it. All the same, the Red Wizard's exit had left her with only Viconia walking at her side. Perhaps it had also put Valygar a little more at ease; his distrust of wizards was no secret, and there were few wizards he trusted less than Edwin.

"I would hope that you will make good your promise to overthrow my relative's hold on the Planar Sphere before you leave to recover yours sister, Elatharia," Valygar noted, his quiet voice not without steel.

"I will," the Transmuter agreed, her smile turning grim as she looked to him, "Not because I care more about the power I might gain there than I do about my sister, and not because I really care about how much it matters to you. But because the power that place could offer will be invaluable against a foe like Irenicus." She could not avoid her sharp tone; it was something about his determination to ask her, even knowing how important the saving of Imoen was to her.

"Then that will have to do," the ranger grunted, his expression darkening, "Though I will never pretend to condone such magical greed, no matter why you claim to want power."

Elatharia's anger flashed suddenly, a burst of gold flickering behind her eyes. Her smile became more of a snarl.

"I will never pretend to agree with you, ranger," she told him, choosing to be equally honestly, "At the moment, saving my sister is the most important thing for me. Once I have her back, helping her keep herself safe will be. But while I'm doing all that, there's something else that I'll want, and something else that I'll get no matter what prejudiced sword-swingers like you think. That's power. Because for someone like me – and you saw my Bhaalspawn brother try to kill me, so really I'm sure you understand – there is nothing more important than being more powerful than my enemies."

"I can understand that," he nodded, dark eyes narrowed with his deep frown, "Though I will not sympathise. Magic is a corrupting course to take, even for wizards more virtuous and well-meaning than you."

"It may well be, not that I worry all that much about it," she shrugged, anything but nonchalant as they waited outside the gates for the Slums to let past a wagon loaded with Jansen turnips. The gnomish driver gave her a little nod as he rumbled past, "But I'd remind you that hate of the sort you hold for magic is just as corrupting. Not that I worry about that, either. So you keep your hate, and I'll keep my magic. Disapprove all you like, I'll leave you to it," she met his eyes only briefly before they moved on, her tone hard, "Just don't stop me from getting what I want. And more importantly, don't stop me from getting what I'll need to help my sister." _My sister in more than name. My good, virtuous sister…who is also a child of Bhaal._

He spoke no more to her after that, moving away to walk alone at the end of the group as they made their way into the Slums, past the Jansen Residence and up to the door of Gaelan Bayle's house. It was strange to see the tall house standing in the full glare of the midday sun, with its many windows darkened by closed curtains. There was no hint of a face at any one of those windows, yet the answer came just a second after Elatharia knocked.

"Coo! You be back sooner than I'd expected!" Gaelan himself exclaimed as he opened the door for the group and ushered them inside. All was the same within; even the fire was burning, in spite of the hot weather, "But in far smaller number than when ye left. Not too disastrous a journey, I hope?"

He was watching Elatharia with a fixed smile as the last few members of the group trooped inside, Valygar eyeing the place and its host almost as distrustfully as he would the Transmuter and Edwin. Conversely, Aerie was smiling widely in expectation of the conversation to come, and Elatharia could not blame her. Her own heart was pounding in the knowledge that she was about to fulfil the bargain she had been forced to make with the Thieves' Guild those many tendays ago.

"Not a disaster then, I take it?" Gaelan tried again, his expression remaining fixed, his eyes darting from Elatharia to each of the others and back again as he fidgeted, "Will yer other friends be joining us in short order?"

"Something like that," Elatharia nodded, eyes narrowing suspiciously, "And it's not like you, failing to think of the money I owe you first – _before_ the welfare of my companions, Gaelan."

"Oh really?" he laughed nervously, "How much closer to the total are ye, then?"

"We have it all," she promised, passing him the bag of holding in which she kept the sum, her heart dropping as he took the cloth container, inspected its contents…and his face fell, "The rest of the fifteen thousand gold, as agreed. Discounted, because you failed to tell me that Imoen was Irenicus's captive once more, not just hidden away with the Cowled Wizards at Spellhold."

"Aye," Gaelan chuckled, backing up a few steps before crossing the room in quick strides and depositing the bag in the draw of his desk. Something about the way it disappeared within hinted that it would not be so easy to retrieve.

" _Rothé…iblith!"_ Viconia's curse had several of the other's bristling as she stepped back, the Flail of the Ages suddenly in her hands and her eyes fixed on the dark doorways open in the corner closest to Gaelan. A number of figures waited beyond, arrows nocked and daggers gleaming with poison – all were dressed in the black and silver of the Shadow Thieves.

Haer'Dalis's shortswords were in his hands a second later, Anomen raising his purple shield as he pulled Aerie behind him. The avariel was shaking, but her expression was fierce. Elatharia found herself caught between these waiting Shadow Thieves and her own party as Gaelan turned back around and approached her once more. He hardly looked smug, but his tone was steadier now.

"And we do thank ye kindly for the speed with which ye bestowed upon us this precious sum," he told her as she watched him with the coldest, stillest rage she had ever known, "But things ain't so simple as they were before. We got to ask for a little more time before we can send ye off to get back yer sister," he held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak, "We haven't broken our promise. We'll still be helping ye. But later. And before ye make to cast yer spells, I'd like to remind ye that wizardry is forbidden in this city and there'll be a host of Cowled Wizards waiting to drag _you_ off…to wherever they're keeping wizards these days since Irenicus took over Spellhold. And coo! Don't you realise how many Shadow Thieves' I've got waiting ready to pounce on ye the moment ye attack me?" his steady explanation, each threat uttered without guilt or anger, became an almost imploring request, "So just give us the time, and we'll be sending ye off for yer sister soon enough."

Elatharia held his pale gaze for several long moments, her shaking fists clenched at her sides, until he started to shift from foot to foot in front of her. Her anger rose and fell in great golden waves. Her words came out in a snarl.

"You have still betrayed me, bastard," she told him, "And for the moment, I still need you – just like your guild. But one day your guild won't need you anymore. When that happens, if I have not already _destroyed_ your masters, I will _kill_ you."

Before she could start what she had promised right there, she turned and pushed past her companions, out through the front door and into the blazing hot streets of the late Athkatlan summer.

* * *

"I don't think I've ever seen her that angry," Aerie admitted softly into the thoughtful silence that had descended upon the kitchen.

"I have, _darthiir_ ," Viconia promised from where she sat delicately sipping on some soup, her blue eyes strikingly pale against her ebon skin as she glanced at Aerie, "The day she learned that she was a Bhaalspawn – that was the same day that we were arrested in Candlekeep, thanks to Sarevok's machinations. I think she was angrier then."

The Shadow Thieves' threat of attack had been more than unsettling – frightening, really – but Aerie had realised it had been a precaution. The real danger in that scenario had been Elatharia, and what she might have done in anger without the promise of immediate violent retribution. Such tactics saddened her, and she would always have preferred a more honest course. But the peace had been kept, and that was what mattere most.

All of those who had stayed had taken a little time to wash off the grime of the road and change into fresh, less battle-ready clothes before returning to the kitchen for some food – save for Valygar, who had gone out almost immediately after Elatharia to find the Planar Sphere. Only Yoshimo still wore combat clothes; fresh leathers and a peculiar short-sleeved suede shirt over the top. Still, it was Viconia, even dressed in simple black cotton, who made Aerie more than a little nervous.

"Her anger is not without reason," Anomen suggested, in that slow manner of one who is also persuading themself, "Although her threats were perhaps a little unnecessary. I would be the first to jump at a chance to be rid of these Shadow Thieves but it does seem that they have promised to carry out the agreement, even if it is a little delayed."

"Well," Yoshimo smiled to all of them as he pushed back his chair and stood, "I would suggest that our leader has a particular dislike of betrayals. An admirable quality, if you ask me. And for us – while we wait for her return, we might as well use this time to get a little rest."

Haer'Dalis had been rather quiet as he sat away from the others scribbling in his notebook intently, sitting back against the wall on one of the work surfaces. He looked up as the Kara-Turan stood, his dark eyes following Yoshimo's exiting form. He opened his mouth to speak, frowned slightly, twirled his enchanted ever-ink quill in his hand, and then seemed to think better of whatever he had wanted to say.

For a second or two Aerie watched him thoughtfully before turning her gaze back to her vegetable soup. Unlike Viconia and Yoshimo, she did not want to simply accept anger or frustration from Elatharia. Nor did she want to explain it away like Anomen, as well-meaning as the cleric was in trying to do so. In her experience, the avariel had learned that the best thing to do was learn where the real problem lay. In this case maybe it was frustration over the time that continued to stretch between the present and Imoen's freedom. Perhaps it was something more, because Aerie had always known that Elatharia's thoughts and life choices could take turns too nefarious to imagine without further information.

A glance out of the window behind Haer'Dalis showed that lovely, endless blue sky, the open back door bringing with it the distant clamour of the streets; the persistence of the town criers, the clopping of horses' hooves, the rumble of wagon wheels. Unlike the tiefling, Aerie _loved_ the bustle of the city; it was so particularly _human_ , so interesting for its alien nature. Even after so many days of walking she felt the need to be out there, rather than sitting in this kitchen so close to a drow who she could never trust and a tiefling who she feared she could have too easily loved and idolised like a fool.

Anomen looked up from his seat beside her when Aerie stood abruptly, the avariel smoothing down her long dress before stepping around her chair. It was a special garment to her, though Viconia had sneered at the sight of it earlier; she had made it for herself with Uncle Quayle's help from blue and white cloth, stitching in collected feathers over time. It was not a dress in the manner of the human noblewomen, and Anomen's glance moved across it with tell-tale bemusement now as she patted at it before speaking. It was long, though it still showed her booted feet, without sleeves or a bodice of any kind. He probably thought her terribly ugly in it.

"I…I think I will go for a walk," she uttered at last, "I'd hate to be cooped up in this…house all day."

"Then I will come with you," Anomen put in unexpectedly, standing as well and buckling on his sword belt before turning to join her with a crooked smile that set butterflies fluttering in her stomach, "I shall be your guide around this fair city, my lady."

"A-alright," Aerie nodded shyly now, feeling her cheeks growing warm. By Baervan, why did she have to blush so easily?

Viconia made no move even to acknowledge any of this, concentrating on her soup, but Haer'Dalis looked up with a grin, pointing the feather of his quill at Aerie just as she was about to head past him for the back door.

"Make sure you return, my Dove. We have a play to rehearse, do not forget!" he nodded fiercely when she agreed a little uncertainly, "Don't forget to close the door on your way out!" he added as Aerie and Anomen passed him. As she dutifully pulled the door shut behind her, Aerie heard the scrape of Viconia's chair as the drow stood, hissing a few words to the tiefling. Whatever the Sharan priestess said had the bard laughing loudly.

Shaking her head in confusion at his irrepressible nature, Aerie turned her attentions to the backyard of the Guild House, and the promise of the Athkatlan streets, taking Anomen's arm as he offered it. Trusting his greater knowledge of the city, she allowed him to guide her through the streets of the Slums in thoughtfully silence.

It was not much past midday, when most of the city paused to shelter from the summer heat, and people were only just starting to re-emerge to tread the cobbles about their daily business. It was a sad place to Aerie, the Slums, and she found herself distracted by its strange smells and the ever-present reminder of its poverty; the run-down houses, some barely more than shacks and others far less, the dirty half-starved children of the poorest, the hard and distrustful stares of those who saw her better state of dress and health, the grimy streets and the beggars who curled up in the shadows of the alleyways.

The avariel only looked back at Anomen as they reached the gates to the Bridge District. Not that she had been unaware of his arm linked with hers, warm and strong as it was, but as the sun glimmered on the river between the larger houses of the district, she became curious. Now as they stepped through with the wagons onto the main thoroughfare of huge, sprawling Athkatla and the light caught in Anomen's copper hair and glanced off his warm brown eyes, he became as interesting and strange to her as the city ever could be.

"I feel your eyes upon me, my lady," he commented softly, glancing down the next street as if looking for something. He sounded amused.

"I was just thinking…about the city," Aerie admitted as they meandered past a cluster of arguing merchants dressed in vibrant finery and dodged back onto the pavement before they could impede a wagon full of potted plants all in bloom as it rumbled past, "About how familiar it must be to you; how you know your way around. Not just in Athkatla, but to some extent in every city you visit. For me…it is so strange," she paused as he guided her down the next alley, a small smile on his face when she looked up at him uncertainly, "I…suppose _I_ must seem very strange to you, too."

"Not in a bad way," Anomen promised, glancing at her with that little teasing smile of his just as they turned one more corner.

All of a sudden the bustle of the road was gone and in its stead was a broad pavement overlooking the glittering river and the uneven, clustered buildings built up upon its banks. Benches were dotted down the length of this walkway, and the one in front of them was free. He guided her to it, and gestured in such a charming, courtly manner for her to sit. Bemused, she did so, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress as she looked up at him, framed as he was by the afternoon sun, splendid in his long russet velvet doublet, teeth flashing as he smiled.

"I will return presently," he promised with a wink, and left Aerie for a little while to ponder the scene around her.

With just the bustle of the main road a distant clamour behind her, it was fairly peaceful out here. There was just the rushing of the water beneath the bridge and the cries of the seagulls circling the city to accompany this excellent view of the city. And it was a different view, too. On the bench to her right an elderly couple were sitting, watching the seagulls together quietly. Beyond them a boy was sitting with his father, swinging his legs and chattering about something that she could not hear. On the bench to her left were a young man and woman, heads together and whispering, hands intertwined. Both were blushing a little, smiling, eyes searching each other's faces.

Aerie was so lost in thought that she jumped when Anomen sat next to her, offering her a little wooden bowl full of the hot walnuts and syrup that some of the street merchants sold from their stalls. He laughed at her surprise and held it out to her until she took one, nibbling at it tentatively.

"My mother use to bring Moira and I here when we were little; we used to sit here and watch the boats in the mornings," his expression grew thoughtful, that kind of fond sadness that always made Aerie's heart ache, "She grew up here – in a house across the street, actually, although it was demolished recently to build the mansion…" he paused, something like rage flickering over his features, "Of the man who my father promised me had killed my sister. Thanks to you, I did not act upon his wretched wishes."

"You did the right thing," Aerie promised with all the feeling that she knew how to express, placing her much smaller hand on his where it rested holding the little bowl on his lap, "You _did._ But now you have made me curious," she smiled when he did, "I do not know much about human culture, but from what you have said your father is a lord. If your mother grew up in a house that was demolished to make a mansion…"

"She was not rich, nor noble – you are correct, my lady," Anomen nodded, "It is hard for me to imagine, but my father was not always the wrathful drunkard I know now. He loved my mother and forsook his family for her. His father only forgave him on his deathbed," he sighed deeply, "And look how he has shamed that forgiveness."

"Why? What…what happened, Anomen? I…I don't mean to pry. I just…I want to help however I can," Aerie leaned closer, squeezing his hand, and her words sounded a little breathless to her own ears when the cleric looked up. But she meant what she said, by all the gods.

"No. I…mean yes. I understand," he covered her hand with his free one before looking out at the river, "It is a simple tale, really. My mother died when my sister and I were quite young. My father took to drinking after that; he had always tended to drink too much, but when she died…he started and never stopped. My sister was much like her; kind, gentle and beautiful. He has always loved her – and spared his rages for me. 'You should have joined the army' he would say, or 'you should have become a real paladin, not flaunting your honour without any of the real meaning as a cleric'. I was…I _am_ a great disappointment to him. With my sister gone, he blamed me. And when I refused to commit murder and ignore the proper course of justice, he threw me from his house and gave me our family sword and shield as a badge of my shame," Anomen laughed without mirth, his hand moving to run over the jewelled pommel at his hip, "Which is a successful goal indeed because I am, as a priest of Helm, sworn against using an edged weapon."

"That's…that's terrible! How can he be ashamed of you?" Aerie could not remember feeling so frustrated, "I have never met anyone who was better or kinder or braver!"

"I am glad you think so, my lady," his smile was very genuine, something gentle in his eyes when he looked at her again, searching her face in a way that made her blush brightly. Flustered, she looked away but he brushed a knuckle over her cheek lightly, laughing softly, "Your words are very kind, as you are. I can understand why the tiefling has been so interested in you."

" _Interested_ in me?" Aerie brushed brighter, but pulled away a little now, "What do you mean?"

"Indeed," Anomen's tone was innocent, but his smile was wry, "You are not altogether oblivious, are you?"

"Wha…I…he…" Aerie fluttered her hands in frustration, "He prefers Viconia!" The words burst from her somewhere between desperation and frustration. Anomen's smile grew wider and he patted at the air between them in a calming gesture.

"I am glad that you have noticed that, my lady," was she relieved or disappointed to hear that? "One such as him does not deserve someone as good and beautiful as you."

"And are you suggesting that you are deserving?" Aerie drew herself up, indignant, "I may be easily flustered, Anomen, but I am not a little girl. I was betrothed once, before…before I was taken…" she regretted saying that as soon as the words escaped her, but Anomen's smile faltered and he took her hand once more, expression earnest.

"Forgive me, my lady. I was only teasing, and perhaps a little hopeful," that crooked grin again, a boyish look that demanded she forgive him much more successfully than any words, "I did not wish to cause any offense. Come, I know a place that you will like to see in this city."

Not giving her a chance to decide whether she was offended or flattered, he stood, offering a hand which she took after a moment or two of uncertainty, linking their arms once more when she was standing.

It was to the Temple District that he took her, where the bustle of the city died away and the gates opened before them to reveal a huge square built across the river, its arcing pathways of streaked and coloured marble parting in artful patterns to reveal the rippling river beneath. And the temples that gave the place its name soared all around, spired and domed and colourful, of marble and granite and obsidian.

The temple to Lathander the Morning Lord rose up in the distance, its bronze tiled dome glimmering like a second sun against the sky. The temple to Talos stood opposite, just around the corner as Aerie advanced into the main square in awe, its sharp spires high and tipped with glittering blue crystal, its white marble walls shot through with jagged streaks of obsidian. Along the left of the square, closest to where she and Anomen stood, rose the temples of Tyr and Helm, the former a comparatively small and simple series of domes each decorated with the jewelled eye of Tyr, the latter huge and square, of glittering granite with the hand of Helm hanging above its tall doors.

Somewhere in the distance priests were singing some soaring religious song. The place was otherwise hushed, though the pathways were far from empty; populated by clerics making their way with quiet familiarity or citizens walking in contemplation to and from prayer in one of the temples. Aerie was just turning to Anomen, to express her awe at this place's beauty, when she noticed his distracted frown. Following his gaze, she saw a man approaching them down one of the marble walkways. It looked as if he had come from the many-spired building not far away; he was dressed in gleaming armour of silver and gold, with the colourful cloak of the Radiant Heart around his shoulders.

"You are Anomen Delryn, understudy of the Order of the Radiant Heart?" the man enquired in a strong, emotionless tone that implied years of training – and left Aerie feeling distinctly nervous.

"I am," Anomen drew himself up proudly, expression suddenly rigid.

"It is fortunate that I saw you here today. A summons has been sent out. You are to be tested for knighthood at the headquarters of the Order of the Radiant Heart in two days' time."

* * *

"Of all the places to meet I would like to point out that this is the worst," Edwin complained mutinously at Elatharia's side, sitting down reluctantly upon one of the cold stone benches that were dotted along the outer path of the Graveyard District, "It happens to be night-time throughout the city of Athkatla and I am sure we could have conducted this most clandestine of meetings in a far subtler and _warmer_ manner indoors."

"You agreed to come," Elatharia reminded him distractedly from where she was pacing in front of him, casting the Conjurer a brief glance. She could only just make him out in the illumination given by the tiny conjured globes of light both of them held. It grated a little that he had summoned both; such was the way of Athkatla, where she held no licence for magic.

"I had not thought she would keep us waiting for so long. I was curious to see what kind of idiotic mess you have embroiled yourself in. Now I am cold (and utterly bored)."

"It is not that cold," the Transmuter denied, eyes scanning the darkness for a sign of anyone approaching.

"It is easy for you to comment on the temperature in such a blasé manner when dressed in that cloak," Edwin groused, huddling further into his own dark cloak.

Elatharia could not even see his eyes beneath the low-hanging rim of his cowl, his hands swathed in leather gloves…but the Transmuter also knew that he had dressed in his Red Wizard robe for this occasion – something which would not ordinarily have been advisable in a city like Athkatla, even with his licence. That meant he was nervous. Probably as nervous as she was.

The rows of sombre tombs were each illuminated by the soft grey-blue glow of witchlights at this hour, giving a sight of many closed stone doorways and the mist that hung low over the paving slabs of the pathways. It was a little disconcerting, with so many human statues standing posed in various too-real attitudes around the gravestones and tombs, some alone at the centre of half-seen grassy mounds. Anyone could be watching. Unlike Edwin she did at least have the luxury of casting every Divination spell she knew upon herself; reaching out to these temporary augmentations, she sensed no trespassers upon the graveyard.

They had been waiting a long time; they had arrived at sunset and at least an hour had passed since then. Still, Elatharia doubted that Bodhi could possibly make her wait longer than the Thieves' Guild would – and what better revenge for their incompetence than siding with the group who were quite clearly the reason behind their problems? The Transmuter just wished she had foreseen this issue and decided to switch allegiances earlier. It would have saved her a _lot_ of gold.

Her frustration with Gaelan Bayle and his all but perpetually unseen masters had not abated since she escaped his home at midday. In a blind rage she had wandered the streets, so caught up in Bhaal's golden light and the wretched memories it brought her that she had no idea how long she had walked for. Regardless, by the time she made her way to the Guild House that she had won in the Docks, Yoshimo had already arrived. She had given the place to him to run, after all.

Edwin had been there since he had left them via a _Dimension Door_ earlier in the day; she had found him sitting at the table on the top floor of the building which he seemed to have claimed entirely as his own, herbal tea in hand and books strewn all over the wooden surface before him. Upon learning of the Shadow Thieves' failure to meet the terms of their agreement, the Red Wizard had been entirely amenable to Elatharia's rage-filled decision: siding with Bodhi.

For all of her (admittedly rather inexpert) Divinations, Elatharia was not the first to notice a change. She gave a start when Edwin rose suddenly, grasping her elbow and pulling her back to his side. The back of her head bumped against his shoulder and she looked up at him to see his expression was no longer angry, or annoyed…just watchful.

"The air has grown colder," he told her, "(Stupid of her to dress in clothes which impede judgement of these matters in a place such as this)," he gave her a little shake for good measure, hand tight around her upper arm now, "Look…"

"I had wondered when you would come to me, Elatharia," Bodhi's voice, husky and bordering on hoarse, oozed out of the darkness. Her dark clad form followed, stepping down the overgrown stairway up to the abandoned, older part of the cemetery without even a rustle of leaves.

"You kept us waiting a long while," Elatharia responded, backing up automatically and standing on Edwin's foot when Bodhi slinked into their conjured lights. The Red Wizard did not even hiss in annoyance at her clumsiness, staying very still behind her.

"Not as long as you kept _me_ waiting," Bodhi's broad, slightly coarse face did not seem well-suited to pouting – and here she proved that it was not, "Not that I hold your hesitation against you, of course. You needed time to truly understand why siding with the Shadow Thieves was such a bad idea; and now they have proven it, by reneging on their promises. Delaying."

"Are you telling me that you won't delay if I agree to help you?" Elatharia forged on, even when Edwin tugged at her arm, "I recall that you wanted a few people dead, first."

"Our original deal will still have to stand," Bodhi acceded with a graceful nod, her long black cloak rippling like liquid around her tall form. Her eyes flashed too-reflective and too grey-white in the darkness, her flawless skin paler than death. Her thick lips, deepest red, curled as she smiled – revealing a row of sharp, gleaming teeth, "Though as I am sure you are suspecting, anything I ask of you will take far less long than the Shadow Thieves' intend to delay you," her stare shifted to Edwin now before Elatharia could speak again, "You have brought a friend this time. No one who would seek to…compromise our agreement, I hope?"

"Ha! I have no allegiance to the Shadow Thieves," Edwin scoffed, and Bodhi's eyebrows rose at his distinctive accent, "Nor do I care for this city, whose leaders have no true concept of how to rule with magic."

"A Red Wizard? Elatharia, you keep strange company," Bodhi's tone was mockingly chiding, shaking her head with a small smile for a brief moment before she became serious and intent once more, "Is it settled then? Do we have an agreement?"

"We have."

"Then I shall be in contact with you very soon so that you may carry out your first…kill."

* * *

When Elatharia returned to Gaelan Bayle's house the next morning to the nearby clamour of many familiar voices, her anger with the Guild had dissipated into a kind of satisfied, lingering hate. With their host keeping well out of her way – and her sight – she crossed unremarked through the sitting room and down the short corridor to the kitchen. Thus for a few moments she had a chance to observe her companions, both newly arrived and less so.

Minsc and Jan were telling the story of the druid grove with Korgan occasionally interjecting; they were seated at the table with all of the others gathered around them. Jaheira, by Minsc's side, looked rather embarrassed by what was being related, attempting to pay more attention to her breakfast than to the wondering gasps of the others.

It looked as though they had only just returned from the druid grove near Trademeet, as all of them were still a little dishevelled from the road, dressed in typical travelling leathers for the most part. Korgan's blood-stained armour had been left in a stinking heap just behind Elatharia's vantage point, by the stairs. There was no sign of Mazzy but no one seemed particularly unsettled or unhappy about this; thus Elatharia surmised that the halfling had taken the beginning of the storytelling as her cue to head to the washroom first. A wise choice with Korgan and Jan about.

Aerie and Anomen were sitting together and listening intently, hugging steaming cups of tea. Haer'Dalis was nearby, his heels kicked up and crossed on the edge of the table, occasionally throwing in suggestions for dramatic embellishments on the story. Elatharia spared a moment to truly notice just how much attention Aerie was giving to Anomen compared to Haer'Dalis. It appeared the avariel had, for some reason, embarked upon the road to overcoming her infatuation with the tiefling.

Meanwhile, Viconia was sitting at the far end of the table from all three of them, watching Minsc and Jan with a disdainful sidelong stare and a curled lip. Elatharia had seen the drow and the tiefling creep off together that night on the road between the De'Arnise Hold and Athkatla; she had also noted just how intently Viconia had been ignoring him since. It was sometimes hard to tell if they had argued but in this particular case she suspected that was _not_ the problem.

Valygar was leaning against the frame of the open back door, arms crossed and expression typically fixed. He was the first to look up when Elatharia lingered in the kitchen doorway but he did not speak; it was Aerie who greeted her.

"Elatharia! You're back sooner than I'd have expected," the avariel smiled, waving her over and pouring her a cup of tea when the temporarily confused Transmuter took a seat beside her, "Viconia said you'd gone for another walk this morning. Are you feeling better?"

Ah. Elatharia cast a glance towards Viconia, grateful for the Sharan priestess's thoughtful lies but knowing that she could not show that much emotion in front of the suspicious eyes of Valygar and Jaheira. So she just gave a tight smile and nodded while the drow raised an eyebrow at her.

"What these Shadow Thieves have done to us is very unfair!" Minsc agreed, giving his best sympathetic frown. Jaheira nodded, a little stiffly – her eyes lingered on Elatharia as if hoping to read her expression behind the mask. Seeing the druid now, she found that she had far less motivation to speak of what she had learned about Imoen.

"Yes, thank you," she lied happily, "I went to look at the Planar Sphere." Well, she had meandered past its great, incongruous bulk on the way back from the Docks Guild House where she had really spent the night, "I'd like to start scouting it out today. I don't think we'll stay in there and solve all its problems at once if we can avoid it, since so many of us have only just returned. But we need to make a start at least. I've…sent word…to Edwin and Yoshimo. They should be joining us in a few hours." More correctly, she had spoken to both of them before leaving for Gaelan Bayle's house earlier that morning.

"Very well," Jaheira agreed, twisting about to glance at Valygar, "Then we should gather all of the information that we have on the place before setting out," she hesitated, nodding to Elatharia, "You will be pleased to know that Cernd has not returned with us."

"Good," Elatharia did not need to lie about her relief, "And alright Valygar, you're going to have to tell us everything that you know about the Planar Sphere, and why it's so important."

The ranger was just standing straighter, about to speak, when Mazzy appeared at the kitchen door, auburn hair fanning out in gravity-defying (but altogether rather neat) curls now that it was only newly out of its braids. She surveyed the gathered group with momentary concern, and then confusion, before moving to a seat near to Elatharia's.

"Everyone is up and back now, I see," the halfling paladin noted, her expression no less piercing though she seemed so much smaller now that she was out of her half-plate and dressed simply in a plain white tunic and dark leggings. Her blue eyes seemed particularly intent when they met Elatharia's, "I take it you have heard of Jaheira's defeat of the druid grove, and her succession to the role of leader therein?"

"I returned too late to hear that part of the story," Elatharia admitted, narrowing her eyes and looking away quickly to Jaheira lest the halfling read something of the truth in her eyes. Paladins could be unnervingly good at working out deceptions, especially of the type that the Transmuter had forged with Bodhi.

"Enough of this nonsense," Jaheira had gone rigid, her angular cheeks perhaps a little pinker, at the mention of her change in status in the druid grove. She frowned fiercely, as if that might solve her problems, and gestured behind herself at Valygar, "If we are to face the Planar Sphere I suggest we do so sooner rather than later. I take it all of our wizards have had chances to memorise all of their spells?" nods from Aerie, Jan and Elatharia, "And our priests have had a day of rest?" another nod from Aerie, affirmations from Anomen and Viconia, "Thus all of the magic which you seem to believe that we will need in the place is as ready as it will ever be. Those of us who have returned are well used to the road…"

"Or ready fer more killin'," Korgan put in with a grin that showed off two recently lost teeth and sent crumbs of something unnameable scattering from his beard, "Like I've said before, just bark yer orders and let me get to me killin'."

Aerie and Mazzy huffed in protest, Viconia rolled her eyes and Minsc rubbed at his head in puzzlement at these words, but Jaheira hardly batted an eyelid and instead forged on.

"Those of us who have returned are well used to the road and thus will not need much rest. We will take that when the work is done."

"And when it is, our Mourning Dove and I, Haer'Dalis, your humble Sparrow, will work to have a play prepared to entertain us while we await our shadowy employers," Haer'Dalis threw in.

The tiefling smiled at everyone though his words drew another eye-roll from Viconia and a hard glare from Jaheira that would have made Elatharia proud of herself had _she_ achieved it. Aerie, the Mourning Dove in question, looked as if she might have preferred to hide under the table rather than perform on a stage – but she just smiled tremulously at Jaheira, who did not seem to have the heart to glare at her, too.

"Valygar, I think you should start telling us about the Planar Sphere now," Elatharia prompted, sipping on her tea, swallowing and suddenly realising how _hungry_ she was. She plucked an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her and watched the Amnish ranger patiently as she peeled it.

"Very well," Valygar agreed after a moment's hesitation, moving to take a seat at the table between Viconia and Mazzy, resting his bracer-swathed forearms upon the wood before him and staring down at his loosely clasped hands with a frown that suggested he would much rather _not_ be having this conversation, "As Jaheira and Minsc know already, I was driven from my home in the city by Cowled Wizards several tendays ago, shortly after the Planar Sphere returned. They had come to me because only a Corthala can open the door to the complex, and none of their magics could break through its dome or move it from its current position without causing more chaos. They had interpreted the description on the door in their own foul and twisted way, and believed that it would be my blood that they would need to get through that door. I did not give them the luxury of finding out and escaped instead…"

"Wait," Elatharia interrupted, looking at him doubtfully, "Are you suggesting that you escaped from a group of Cowled Wizards…on your own?"

"I am not suggesting it," Valygar denied, his dark eyes utterly unreadable as they met hers, "I am _telling_ you. My family has fought magic for…a very long time. I wear certain items forged by my ancestors to protect me from spells. Wizards have a way of underestimating 'sword-swingers' like me and overestimating themselves."

There was a hint of a smirk on the ranger's lips when he quoted her own derogatory term from the day before back to her. Elatharia's good mood vanished, draining from her and leaving bare anger in its wake. Her skin _crawled_. She thought of Bodhi's offer, and then of Imoen. _He geased me the first few times. The most recent time I volunteered._

"Get on with it, ranger," the Transmuter sneered, "I'd like to hear something relevant to the Planar Sphere now."

"My family has fought a curse created by the Sphere's owner, my ancestor Lavok, for centuries. He has bestowed upon his family a great natural talent for magic which has always led to obsession, corruption…and death. And all the while he has stayed locked away in his Sphere, using its enchantments to drift between the Planes. And then, not long ago, that curse caught up to me. It left me as the last surviving Corthala and I have sworn to kill Lavok…to end the curse he began and to finally allow my family line to die out with me."

"Why now?" Elatharia demanded, impatient.

"Yes," Viconia nodded, speaking for the first time since the Transmuter had returned to the house, "It seems a little too convenient, _jaluk_. You swearing to kill your relative…and his sphere appearing just here in the Slums, waiting for you."

"I sought out the help of the Cowled Wizards. It is not a conversation I am proud of having, or money that I am particularly happy to admit spending, but they have powerful connections…who issued a challenge to Lavok. He has always been prideful, as all wizards are," Valygar's distrustful stare moved from Elatharia, to Jan…to Aerie, who looked particularly saddened by his tone, "Since the Sphere has now returned to Athkatla I believe he has accepted my challenge. And it is one that I will gladly take."

"This 'Lavok' of yours must be preposterously old, Valygar," Mazzy pointed out now, "How is this possible?" she glanced at Haer'Dalis, "Could it be the nature of the sphere? You mentioned before that it moves between the Planes."

"That would not be enough," Haer'Dalis denied, "Our Eagle has suggested that this Lavok has been alive for centuries."

"I would wager that a wizard like this is now a lich," Elatharia agreed, "Which, I suppose, means that we will be facing a lich today. You really are going to be glad that you sided with a group that can boast four mages and three clerics." She showed with her clipped tone that she was not particularly glad _for_ him.

"Perhaps I will be," Valygar agreed rather dubiously after a moment.

"Well that's all settled then," Korgan grunted into the silence of mutual glaring, pushing himself up to his feet with a grunt and stretching with a series of impressive crackles, "I'm fer headin' off straight away once yer Red Wizard's got 'ere."

Valygar nodded to this, and a chorus of agreements followed. As the party members began to stand and move away to get ready, Viconia moved up to Elatharia, sparing an uncomfortable glance towards where Haer'Dalis lingered – watching them with a little smile.

"You owe me a very detailed explanation, _khal'abbil_ ," the drow began as the room emptied, leaving only the three of them behind, though she still switched to drow sign language, ' _Luckily for you, Aerie is a very trusting little fool. She woke before the others returned and demanded to know where you had gone; I had already thought to tangle up your sheets for you as if you had slept in them, since you had not returned when I went to my bed. She happily spread the unwitting lie to the rest of the group that you had gone for a walk. It seemed very fitting, after your tantrum yesterday.'_

"I thank you, of course," Elatharia nodded with a sigh, "And you'll get your explanation soon."

"Does it have anything to do with Edwin? Have you made proper use of the scheming wretch yet?"

Haer'Dalis laughed at Viconia's wording, but Elatharia just glared.

"His proper use is probably as a source of fireballs and summoned…creatures," something scratched at the inside of her skull, pulling uncomfortably at her memories as she said that, and her wince did not go unnoticed by either the drow or the tiefling – both of whom raised their eyebrows at the hint of intrigue, "And no, it has nothing to do with Edwin. At least not in the way you're implying," she paused, and then signed instead, ' _It's so much better than that. And I think half of our party might try to kill me outright if they knew._ '

"That sounds like my kind of plan, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia smirked, and Haer'Dalis burst into laughter at her tone. Elatharia had no way of telling whether or not he had understood the signed part of their conversation – but if he had, he hardly seemed bothered by it, and that was what mattered.


	18. His Dark Pavilion

**Many heartfelt thank yous to those of you who are following and have reviewed this story - your comments help to keep me inspired and on track. :D Let me know what you think of this installment! :)  
** **The chapter title is a quote from John Milton's _Paradise Lost_ , and the song herein is an adapted quote from _Rise and Fall_ by the band Dargaard.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17: His Dark Pavilion Spread Wide on the Wasteful Deep**

* * *

The Planar Sphere was vast, a ball of bronze and platinum plates that towered over every building in the Slums and reached a height that many mages would happily settle for in a tower. It was, of course, may times wider than the average wizard tower, too. It shone dazzlingly in the midday sun, its incongruous wooden doorway suspended perhaps ten feet above the ground, as if the sphere had landed and rolled a little upon impact. A narrow scaffold had been built to support a makeshift stairway up to the portal, which possessed no windows – or a handle, for that matter. A moment of speculation gave Elatharia the conclusion that the Cowled Wizards had constructed this set of stairs during their first attempts to break through.

No doubt the Sphere's appearance in the city had been an unsanctioned use of magic to rival that of Irenicus on the day of her escape. Whatever had happened, its appearance had certainly been unlawful in some way – since it had shattered and splintered the houses and shops which had once stood in its current place, leaving jagged and gaping holes in the walls of the buildings surrounding its rotund bulk. The destruction it had created had undoubtedly been a scene of carnage originally; the whole area had been fenced off. Not to mention the rotten stink emanating from the area immediately beneath and around the Sphere.

As if sensing the death associated with the place, Bhaal's essence stirred at the back of Elatharia's mind, golden light flickering in hungry bursts behind her eyes. As they approached, her skin crawled and muscles tensed restlessly. A little ahead of the group, she paused a few feet away from the stairs up to the door. She felt as if something were writhing beneath her skin, some restless energy that longed to escape. _Murder. Murder_. _Murder and_ _ **death**_.

"I do not believe that we have ever fought a lich before (and no wonder, given the company we keep)."

Edwin's voice jolted Elatharia out of her trance and she tried to hide how much he had startled her, turning to look at him with a faint smile instead.

"Does that mean that I, as part of 'we', am not so incompetent, after all?" she asked. 'We' had made that pact with Bodhi the night before, after all. And here were all the others, yet utterly oblivious…

Still, all Elatharia earned for her comment was a slightly disbelieving sigh before Valygar caught up with them and moved straight for the stairway, Jaheira and Minsc in tow. The Rashemi ranger had to duck significantly to make his way up, his large size particularly evident as Mazzy and Jan followed him, two child-sized figures following a man who could have been an ogre in another life.

"And now I believe it would be wise to follow, my Raven, lest our Eagle's unbarring of the doorway be deemed an unsanctioned use of magical energy," Haer'Dalis noted jovially as he flitted in Jan's wake, placing a familiar hand upon Edwin's shoulder as he passed which almost earned him a fireball in the face.

"I…I don't like the looks of this," Aerie admitted, coming up to Elatharia's side as Edwin muttered something to himself and moved to follow Haer'Dalis, "No matter how big that place is, and h-how much bigger it is on the inside, there are a lot of us. We…we need to stick together."

"Wise words, my Dove!" Haer'Dalis called over his shoulder, winking at them through the bars of the scaffolding when Edwin almost ascending straight into him, "I for one am glad that the Cuckoo has not come with us!"

"And I for one am wishing that you had chosen to remain absent also, demon-thing," Edwin complained, "At least the bounty hunting snake would have been useful for finding and avoiding traps. What can you do? Compose a dirge for the funeral of whichever poor fool blunders into one? (Preferable yourself, though.)"

"I was about to add that we will need to avoid any foolish arguments if we are to succeed in a situation like this, but I think that the point is moot now," Viconia sighed as she moved past them to the stairs. That comment drew a somewhat dry laugh from Elatharia.

The Transmuter followed once Aerie and Korgan had gone ahead, and by the time she reached the top the entire party was gathered upon the platform – with barely enough room left for her to join them. She hoped that she was imagining it, but it seemed like the scaffolding had begun to sway a little under their combined weight.

Valygar was waiting at the door, a distracted look on his face as he surveyed the group. A magical glow swelled about him momentarily as he began to read the tiny inscription scrawled into the bronze panel by the door, squinting against the reflected sunlight. Seeing this phenomenon, the group hushed immediately, all stares fixed his way.

The ranger's eyes took on a pearly look, and Elatharia had the distinctly uncomfortable impression that he had been temporarily _Charmed_ by the Sphere. With his palms flat against the plain wooden door, he pushed…and the portal swung open easily. Darkness yawned before them, but Valygar stepped through with fearless (and rather absent-minded) purpose. As he did so, holding the door open for them to follow and shaking with the effort as if whatever force controlled him did not want anyone to go with him, the room beyond him lit up with a blink of light, showing a fair-size white-washed atrium with a peculiar circular door at its far end.

The crackle of magical energy on the ground below the group alerted Elatharia to the arrival of the Cowled Wizards in response to the Enchantment that had just been initiated by Valygar. Edwin's fluid cursing came next and a certain rippling panic overcame the group. Korgan barrelled in first, determined to see some battle without being caught by the authorities, swiftly followed by Viconia.

"Get the wizards inside!" Jaheira commanded.

The druid took a firm hold on Aerie's slender arm and fairly hauled the part-time wizard in after Edwin. With warning shouts erupting from the Cowled Wizards forming up below, the avariel pulled Jan in after her, and then Anomen and Mazzy moved out of the way for Elatharia to follow. As the group shifted and tried to make way for the Transmuter, Haer'Dalis took the initiative and pulled her in with him just seconds before Valygar slammed the door shut behind them, leaving the others standing rather conspicuously alone at the top of the scaffold.

With the door closed behind them, melding seamlessly with the white wall before vanishing entirely, silence rang in the room but for their still-panicked breathing. The pale light left Valygar's eyes and he shook his head as if dazed, blinking around at the circular, cross-vaulted chamber with a bleary, confused expression.

Jan was the first to recover, giving the area around the vanished door a cursory glance before beginning a close perusal of the bare room. As Aerie began to blink in horror at the direction they had just come, the Transmuter followed the gnome's path around the chamber. The walls were white and smooth, not painted as Elatharia had initially thought but of some unfamiliar milky stone. The floor was so smooth and polished that it was slippery, a shade or two greyer than the walls, while the ceiling was marked out by its distinctive cross-vaulted shape. The only change in the monotony of the place was the one remaining door in the far wall, round and framed with metal so dark that it looked black.

"No! The others! We have to get back to the others!" Aerie exclaimed, arms flailing and eyes wide, "We can't just leave them to the Cowled Wizards!"

Korgan looked at her blankly for a moment as if she were stupid before giving a grunt and hefting the end of his axe against the now uniform wall. The weapon bounced off with a resounding clang, a few sparks flew…and no mark was left behind.

"Looks as if the only way's forward ta me," he told her, "You any ideas, ranger?"

"No," Valygar took a moment to answer, frowning and rubbing at his head, "I have…no memory of opening the door…but I can _feel_ this place in my thoughts," his expression darkened, and his hand went to his sword hilt, "I would guess that we will have to confront Lavok if we are to get out of this place."

"I am beginning to wonder if being caught by the Cowled Wizards would have been preferable," Viconia sighed, wincing at the words of both dwarf and ranger. By her side, Haer'Dalis shrugged amiably.

"From what I have heard, this sphere can take us around the Planes. Such a jaunt could be rather interesting," his expression flickered with something a little more serious when he met Elatharia's stony glare, "Although that would hardly be conducive to rescuing your sister from Spellhold."

"But…the others! Anomen…and Jaheira…and Mazzy and Minsc!" Aerie looked on the verge of panicking, though she stilled when Haer'Dalis approached her and placed his hands upon her shoulders, looking down into her eyes with a smile that appeared to be understanding.

"We can only move forward now, as the War Dog said, my Dove. We can only think of what is currently possible for us…"

"And none of them are wizards…or drow," Elatharia pointed out, sharing an impatient frown with Edwin, who had been shifting restlessly at Viconia's side, "Nor did they commit the act of magic. I'd wager that what's really going on out there is that they were hoping to barge their way in."

"As much as I hate to say it, _khal'abbil_ , it may be necessary to be calm and placatory to them when we do get back out," Viconia warned, "You may have to behave in a manner that could seem deferential, distasteful as that may seem."

"(As if the incompetent Transmuter is capable of bowing to her betters. I should know)," Edwin muttered, sneering down at Elatharia when she made an indignant sound, his manner suggesting that he had fully intended for her to hear his inflammatory words, "Regardless, we are wasting time. We have the home of an ancient wizard to peruse and here we stand discussing the welfare of the baboons we left behind. I say we move on."

Aerie gave a whimpered complaint or two but in the end there was no other decision to be made. They had one door before them in a room that seemed utterly devoid of anything else. There was no hint of their entry point. So once Jan had checked the only available doorway for wards and traps, finding none, Valygar and Korgan moved forward, the ranger bracing his palm against the spherical portal and pushing. The wizards formed up behind Haer'Dalis and Viconia and the door slid open, pushing inwards with a jolt before rolling sideways under its own power.

"All clear ahead!" Jan called, and as one the party moved forward through the opened doorway.

"Well by Clangeddin's twin axes and Moradin's hammer to boot," Korgan breathed as they stepped out onto the walkway beyond.

Elatharia could only agree. The walkway upon which they stood was narrow, paved in an elaborate and colourful but apparently abstract mosaic and roofed by barrel-vaulted glass. And through that glass could be seen the _Planes_.

It was an Illusion, since it arced above them within the confines of a sphere, but it was impressive and dizzying and beautiful all the same, giving the sense that they stood amongst an impenetrable grey-blue fog that twisted and parted at certain intervals to reveal little globes of colour and infinite variation, worlds without compare spiralling outwards in concentric, rising circles. Directly above their heads hovered a globe larger than all the rest, detailing a mountainous landscape and crowned by a huge grey circular tube.

"Aha! There spins Sigil at the centre of the Planes!" Haer'Dalis cried, pointing at that particular sphere and drawing an awed gasp from Aerie, "And closer to us the dark Plane of Shadow! And further out, so far I can hardly see them…the mysteries of the other Material planes; you can just glimpse their forests and shores and trees. And there are the Celestial realms in their lofty ring, with the sombre grey of the Fugue Plane," he pointed outwards to the left, at the glittering collection of spheres and stars that twisted scenically around each other, "I can just make out the spire of Kelemvor's noble city," he added, squinting, before sweeping an arm left, "And there, opposite them, are the Fiendish Planes. Long have I lingered there in the mists and horrors of the Abyss – you can make out the crimson of the Blood Rift, just there, and all the way down there twist the flames and deserts and barren lands of the Hells."

A glance that way set Elatharia's heart racing, something in her calling out to those strange and half-seen lands. She found herself searching each globe that she could see of those Fiendish Planes, as if looking for something…

"And down there are the Elemental Planes; the rippling flames and endless ice, the pools of acid hissing in the gloom," Haer'Dalis was definitely enjoying himself, pointing at the globes that drifted beneath them, past the edge of the walkway, "The gusting wildlands of the realms of Elemental Air, as well. And of course, beyond it all, the endless variation of the Outer Planes speckling the distance into infinity."

"It's so…beautiful," Aerie sighed, her smile a little sad, no doubt thanks to the plight she feared the others outside the Sphere had found, "Have you been to all of these places?"

"No, my Dove," Haer'Dalis laughed, turning to wink over her shoulder at Viconia's disapproving visage, "But I intend to ere I die."

The glory of the place had shocked even Edwin into silence, but Jan and Valygar had moved ahead. The gnome had espied the collection of cogs and wheels grinding endlessly around a series of handles and strange symbols at the far end of the walkway. The ranger seemed to move forward simply because that way lay the next door, and he was determined not to be distracted. He pushed at its circular metal expanse just seconds before Jan could reach out and press one of the symbols on the control panel, and as the door unlocked something _else_ happened.

A mighty grinding sound rang all about them and the door through which they had come slammed shut with a shower of sparks and a great gust of air. Edwin and Viconia both swore colourfully in their native languages and all of them staggered as the spherical room, its boundaries barely visible past the Illusion of the Planes, shifted a hundred and eighty degrees around them. As it did so the three dimensional map twisted and reeled, bringing some of the globes closer at a dizzying speed and sending some out so far that they were visible as no more than dots in the distance. Aerie gave a high shriek (which was probably justified from all of them) when the globes which Haer'Dalis had identified as the Hells loomed closer, so close that the whole room swelled with the red radiance of the fiery ground shown to them, the screams and roars of monsters and their slaves ringing in their ears.

"Valygar!" Elatharia called, her voice more than a little desperate as she stumbled backwards away from the growing sight of the Hells and its multitudinous layers of horror; not all were fiery but all were dreaded, "Valygar! Can't you take us somewhere else?"

The ranger looked as horrified as she felt, and the Transmuter did not need an answer from him to realise that he was not controlling their current path. Aerie shrieked again and caught hold of Elatharia's arm even as Korgan roared and held up his axe reflexively. Edwin was staggering back against the far wall of the walkway now too, gaping, while Viconia had pressed herself back against the newly locked door. Only Haer'Dalis stood unshaken, watching the Hells spiralling past with his back to Elatharia.

First they saw a barren landscape of cracked red rock, canyons so vast that their scale could not be comprehended, huge monsters just dots in the distance. Next came the icy hell which Elatharia knew must have been Cania; it flashed past and left behind a gentle frosting upon the glass – but not before she had heard the hopeless wails of those souls caught amongst its icebergs and frozen wastelands. More archetypal hells, of fire and lava and distant, amassed armies of horror, all flickered past…and then the visions stopped at a cramped and worryingly silent marshland, full of twisted and blackened trees covered in dripping spikes. The ground was flat, oozing slowly with black and greenish slime. The stink was evident even through the protective glass and several of the group doubled up gagging.

"Of all the places to send this sphere, why did you have to choose _Minauros_ , idiot?" Edwin exclaimed between coughs.

"This was not my choice, Red Wizard," Valygar denied fiercely, just as something started to move in the gloom and Elatharia froze, her pulse pounding in her ears, "We had to move forward, and any change in our situation came when Lavok sensed our presence attempting to get through the _only available door_ ," he gestured at the portal that he had only half pushed open.

"Will the glass protect us, my Eagle?" Haer'Dalis inquired, carefully calm but keeping his eyes fixed on the marshy scene laid out around them even as he inched towards the door, his hands tight around his sword hilts.

"I would imagine so, Haerry," Jan responded cheerfully, momentarily baffling the tiefling – who had not been talking to him, anyway – with his strangely timed nickname, "But I don't think any of us can answer that without it being tested…"

Elatharia was not listening. She had seen the shapes, hunched and gnarled, silhouetted against the slime's green luminescence, loping unevenly half-seen in the thick mist. Her hands began to shake when she saw something shift closer to where they were standing on the walkway. The words for a spell came pouring automatically from her lips when she saw what she had dreaded, the spines around one of the nearest trees uncoiling and revealing the creature which had hidden itself against the broken trunk. When it stood straight it revealed itself to be a humanoid, long-armed and greyish, some seven feet tall and covered in steaming and oozing spines each several inches long.

A devil.

A _barbed_ devil.

It rushed them, and with a shriek Elatharia raised her hands, about to shout out the last words of her spell.

Hands closed tightly around her wrists, arms forcing hers down at her sides and locking them there. She could not see anything other than the creature as it shouldered the glass…and bounced off with a spray of painfully bright magical energy. She was dimly aware of Valygar pushing open the far door and the others rushing past her to get there, Aerie and Viconia both casting glances her way. When the barbed devil failed for a second time to get through the glass, its taloned hands scraping ear-splittingly against the smooth, clear surface, Elatharia could not stop shaking, or fighting against the arms that held her. She was vaguely aware that she was still shouting, her skin _writhing_. Behind the devil many more of those spined trees were uncoiling, its fellows awakening to join its murderous cause.

 _Murder_.

"Stop fighting, or I will leave you here to destroy yourself in this glass coffin, fool," Edwin hissed in her ear.

At the sound of his voice, and the sight of the monster, Elatharia's mind reeled, visions of a dark room full of knives, a bed in the Friendly Arm Inn, and the memories of spines tearing her, moving inside, outside and at the last…through her. _This is to teach you humility, Child of Bhaal._

"I won't," she gasped, her eyes fixed on the monsters who gathered outside, "You won't teach me humility!"

And to her shame, she fainted.

* * *

 _Lord Soth, once an honoured knight_

 _Of the order of Solamnia…_

 _He built a stronghold, tall and proud,_

 _In the shape of his order's sign._

 _A long time ago, he was disgraced_

 _For failing his duty to the realm._

 _He found love with an elvish maid -_

 _He let his minions kill his wife._

 _The gods threw a fiery mountain_

 _Upon his home…_

Elatharia awoke slowly, and as she rolled on to her side with a groan, feeling the cold, smooth floor of this new room in the Planar Sphere against her hip and shoulder acutely, she wondered if she was imagining this high, soaring song. And she might have been, but for the words. She had never heard of any 'Lord Soth' or any 'order of Solamnia'.

Squinting against the bright lights of this new chamber, the Transmuter refused to spare any real thoughts for what had passed before, quelling a wave of nausea before it could truly begin, and instead focused upon the scene that stood before her. Sitting up, still to the strains of this unfamiliar song, she saw that her companions – and some unfamiliar men and women – were gathered in an octagonal chamber beneath a huge conjured globe of light. It was held permanently in a crystal sphere set into the domed ceiling, upon which spiralled a detailed fresco of a dramatic spellbattle. Here, unlike elsewhere, a number of arched doorways stood – one for each side of the octagon – framed with decorated marble pilasters.

A tall, ornately armoured woman stood behind the largest chair at a circular table, around which were seated four others dressed in the same manner, along with Aerie, Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Korgan. This woman was responsible for the song, and it was her lovely voice that Elatharia had heard upon awakening. She was a non-descript woman given her evident occupation; she was obviously a soldier of some sort, and thus tall, fairly broad and undoubtedly strong. Her dark hair was quite short and had been pulled back with a few pins; there was a thin white scar that cut through the left side of her mouth and though her face bore a clear frown line her current expression was serene. A bastard sword hung at her hip, its ruby pommel glinting beneath her wrist, and the plumed helmet she held under one arm displayed a symbol which was unknown to Elatharia.

Jan was standing in front of an opening between two of the doors which Elatharia had initially taken to be a cabinet of some sort; on further inspection as she hauled herself back against the nearest wall she realised that it was another control panel, veiled behind glass. The gnome was crouched before it, furiously scribbling in a notebook and drawing detailed diagrams of the cogs grinding slowly in front of him. Valygar was pacing behind him, hands clenching and unclenching. He seemed understandably tense, trapped here in the home of a distant relative who had been the orchestrator of the downfall of everyone in his family.

"Ah, she awakens," Edwin's voice cut through the song mercilessly, and Elatharia twisted about to see him regarding her from where he had been leaning against one of the nearby pilasters. He was just folding his arms, disdainful eyes glinting their typical curious reddish-brown in the bright light. She looked away from him quickly when a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her.

"Oh, Elatharia! How are you feeling?" Aerie leapt to her feet and hurried to the Transmuter's side, helping her up before she could protest and beginning to lead her to the table. Haer'Dalis looked on with his usual amusement, taking in the bemused but carefully non-judgemental stares of the unknown knights. Elatharia knew better than to meet Viconia's too-knowing eyes after what had just happened.

"I'll be fine," the Transmuter managed, her smile more of a grimace as she sank into the chair next to Aerie's. The avariel was looking at her with a concerned and would-be empathic frown.

"After you fainted you did wake up…but you weren't yourself. So I had to use a _Sleep_ spell. You were so distracted that you didn't fight it," Aerie explained softly, in spite of the multiple onlookers. Only Jan remained oblivious, muttering to himself about the contraption he faced.

"I see."

Elatharia _did_ see. If she allowed that to happen again, she could be overcome by a novice mage spell. A glance towards Edwin proved that he agreed, thanks to his rather disapproving grimace.

"But we have at least got here," Aerie continued, gesturing with a fairly calm smile at their new surroundings, "And we have met these Knights…"

"…Of the Order of Solamnia," the woman who had been singing finished for the avariel, nodding stiffly towards Elatharia; a gesture which the four other knights replicated with murmured greetings of their own, "We greet you, my lady. And share with you our woe, for we have been trapped here some time now since this Sphere sojourned near our homeland. When we came to investigate, a dark foe came out to greet us with malicious intent – when we pursued him in his retreat we became trapped…and came to learn that he had not truly sought to escape us. He had in fact ensnared us for his own entertainment."

"What kind of entertainment?" Elatharia demanded suspiciously, and the leader of the knights sighed.

"The owner of this Sphere – the man your group has named 'Lavok' – has clearly gone mad. He has gathered a collection of small, flesh eating manlings whose spells and cunning have driven us back to this room. They killed…killed one of our comrades. We dare not face them again."

"The 'flesh eating manlings' that she has so inelegantly described are, as far as I can ascertain, in fact some kind of mad halfling band," Edwin explained, gesturing to Jan with the hint of a smirk, "A group that should welcome the gnome with open arms then."

"Sounds more like your type, wizard," Korgan grunted, and Viconia snorted at his side.

The Knights of Solamnia looked puzzled.

"You seem altogether unbothered by your predicament," their leader noted with some concern, "We know of no way to escape this place, and we are beginning to run out of food supplies."

"With four wizards amongst us – one of whom is a _Red Wizard_ – I am sure we can succeed where your feeble minds have failed," Edwin sneered, drawing little more than a faint frown from the woman.

" _Four_ of you? What is a 'Red Wizard'? I have never heard of such a thing. Wherefrom did you say you come?"

"From many places, good Hound," Haer'Dalis interrupted, the sparkle in his eyes suggesting that he understood something here that the others did not, "I am not a native of the Prime Material; I herald from Sigil, the Cage, the centre of the Planes and City of Doors. The rest are from many places around Faerûn, the primary continent of Toril."

"Toril? Faerûn?" the woman frowned more deeply, and Elatharia's heart gave a jolt of surprise. Who had not heard of the Prime Material Plane? "Such unknown places cannot be of the Prime Material… _we_ are."

A confused silence rang in the chamber for a moment before Haer'Dalis nodded in understanding.

"Tis as I had suspected. You come from another of the Prime Materials, far from the spirals of the Planes known to our flock."

Elatharia could not consider this piece of information a good omen. If Lavok was powerful enough to create a haven with which he could travel to other Planes then he was worryingly powerful; if he could make his Sphere take him to the other _Prime Material_ Planes, then he was even more capable than they had feared. A nervous glance to Edwin showed that he was thinking the same, frowning darkly at the revelation.

"I'm going to guess that what we thought was an Illusion of the Planes was in fact a real view?" Elatharia inquired, and Haer'Dalis nodded. She swallowed tightly, ignoring the sharp memories scratching at the back of her mind.

"There must be a way out!" Aerie insisted when a thoughtful silence descended, "Is there no way to reach Lavok? Surely one of these doors…"

"It is not so simple, I am afraid," the leader of the Knights said, with some genuine sadness, "For none of these doors are viable in this room, save for two – the one which you arrived through from the Viewing Point, and that door," she pointed to the opening closest to Jan; a few large scratches had been scored into its metal, "Beyond which lie the…halflings of which the wizard spoke. They have proven too ferocious for us, and we will not face them again. When we fought them last, they crept in here and stole one of the cogs from the control mechanism for the doors. Without it, it is impossible to proceed. Without facing those monsters." She gestured, frustrated, towards the series of wheels which Jan was perusing.

"Then it seems quite clear," Valygar noted, finally stopping his pacing behind Elatharia, "We have no choice but to fight these maddened halflings and repair the mechanism."

"I can do that!" Jan piped up, "Fix the mechanism, I mean. Might need a bit of help fighting the halflings."

Elatharia looked to her companions, her own mind made up. Viconia and Haer'Dalis shrugged, Korgan nodded a fierce agreement with Valygar's words. Edwin sighed and spread his palms out, as if to suggest that they had no other choice. Aerie was more uncertain, but her response much the same.

"It looks like we have no choice but to fight them and recover what they stole, then," Elatharia sighed, rubbing at her eyes behind her mask and _determined_ not to look back at what had passed before.

* * *

The strange, sharp-toothed halflings, mad with rage and far stronger than expected, had not gone down easily. They had been scattered, foul-smelling and half-starved – yet still impressively aggressive and persistent – across an abandoned section of the Sphere which sported several once-elaborate and now ruined bedrooms, each with a window overlooking a scenic view of a different Plane and all of them arranged around a verdant garden complex complete with a clear pool. Its glass roof allowed in the light of a sun which Elatharia could not recognise with certainty. As well as this, the halflings had colonised a lower level of the building, within which stood a number of stone archways decorated with the appropriate runes for portals to be created within them, as verified by Edwin.

None of the halflings surrendered, and after they showed signs of a willingness to eat human flesh, Elatharia was not inclined to offer them any mercy. Though it took some time, and some carefully applied _Invisibility_ spells, they inched their way through the halflings' appropriated stronghold and killed them all. The mess they left in their wake, thanks to Valygar and Haer'Dalis's swords, Viconia's flail and Korgan's axe...was hardly scenic.

At the end of it, Aerie was clinging to the Transmuter's arm, looking a little grey and faintly asking if anyone needed healing. Fortunately, the wounds which Elatharia's group had sustained had not been unfixable in the small time they had available to them, an especially fortunate turn of events since the wizards had been unable to contribute much, knowing they must soon face Lavok…or whatever force currently held the Sphere. With no evidence of the controlling force of the place, Elatharia was beginning to gain suspicions.

At least Jan found the cog that he needed, lying upon a table of alchemical tools amongst a host of diagrams. It appeared that the leaders of the halfling group had been attempting to incorporate it into the control mechanism of the portal room in a hope to find their way home. In a stroke of genius the gnome also thought to look through the collection of books standing untouched upon a shelf nearby; in one, he found a map detailing the entire Sphere complex as part of a series of journal-like explanations intended to help the owner of the building keep the place in working order. A quick perusal of this map with Edwin, Jan and Aerie, and Elatharia had determined where Lavok would likely be.

Since the Sphere was arranged as a series of connected globes, it seemed clear that he would be in the highest globe, the second largest, above the central sphere in which fanned out all of the other connecting doorways and passageways, along with the first atrium, the Knights' room and the Viewing Room wherein they had witnessed the barbed devils. Thus with new purpose the group picked their way back through the carnage they had created, ascending the rattling spiral staircase back through the bedroom complex and returning to the doorway which would reunite them with the Knights.

They returned to see that the Order had left the door open and had been taking turns looking out for the group's return. They seemed surprisingly pleased to see them coming back unharmed, and offered to share their food and water rations. Though Elatharia would have had no problem accepting, given that she fully intended to be free soon, Aerie and Valygar had quickly declined. Instead they had headed off together to collect water and possibly some food from the garden which connected the living areas which the halflings had been keeping as their own.

Grunting with weariness, Korgan slumped into a chair, still covered in blood as was his norm, and waited for the avariel and the others to return with _something_ ere he move again. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis and Viconia seated themselves nearby and she was just whispering something in his ear, her expression surprisingly concerned, when the Transmuter looked over at them.

For her part, Elatharia stood a moment and watched the others organising themselves, taking each other away to gather their thoughts or think of something else before their next inevitable battle came. The Knights watched them with a passive, rather useless air, unwilling to join in with events that they could not comprehend, likely even with the aid of Valygar's life story (which the ranger had refused to give, regardless).

When she turned to see Edwin moving to her side after a quick perusal of the newly fixed control panel, thanks to Jan, Elatharia sighed and held her palms out in a weary gesture of surrender.

"You really don't need to tell me, Edwin," she pre-empted him, backing away as if that might stop what he had been about to say, "I already know."

"Do you?" his lip curled and his eyebrow raised; folding his arms he looked at her expectantly, "Go ahead, incompetent Transmuter, enlighten me. What am I about to tell you?"

"You are _not_ my tutor," she told him instead, suddenly angry in the face of his superiority, "You are _not_ my superior."

"Oh, really," he looked calm, for a second or too, but his tone never suggested anything except fiery incredulity as he advanced on her, drawing a few alarmed looks from the Knights of Solamnia and an uninterested eye-narrowing from Korgan, "Because it certainly felt that way when you were attempting to send a _Cone of Cold_ through the glass wall that was our only protection from a host of barbed devils!"

The truth left her shaking, flushed with embarrassment and shame, looking up into his furious visage with a sudden lack of anger, her back against the cold stone of the wall and her hands twisting in the fabric of Gorion's cloak. This was beyond Edwin's usual superior annoyance. This was genuine. His fingers curled towards her but never really sought to touch her as he snarled at her a moment more before turning away and running both hands through his thick hair, seeking to calm himself. In a moment of strange detachment she noted that she ought to be jealous of the lack of knots he found.

"I know," she admitted at last, glancing at the Knights and seeing them all look away from the scene quickly, leaning together where they sat clustered at half of the table and at least pretending to discuss something else after that.

"Do you?" Edwin repeated his earlier question, sounding as tired as Korgan looked, his low voice uncommonly quiet. He looked at her sidelong, his arms falling to his sides. When he continued, his voice was just a whisper, his head bowed towards hers to keep the conversation private, "I have said before that Irenicus's behaviour was that of a madman, or a fool. But you are just as much of a fool, in your own way. Dwelling on what has passed. But if you do something like that again…"

"You will leave me to die, like you said – I know," Elatharia sighed, looking at the wall past his arm, the floor beneath their feet…anywhere but up at him, "I would do the same."

"Yes," his voice sounded rough, less convincing than she might have expected – and certainly than he had intended. When his hand closed around her wrist she froze, swallowing hard and still refusing to meet his gaze. His skin was hot against hers, "(Irenicus had a certain theme, I suppose)," he muttered, turning her arm over, and she felt his gaze moving over the scars left behind by the spiked manacles, "(Though no less artless for it)."

Elatharia pulled away then, her skin crawling at his words. Filled with rage at his trivial tone, she was momentarily overcome with the urge to slap him – or, better yet, test just how good his fire protection tattoos really were. The only thing that saved him – and probably her, too – was the emotion in his dark eyes when she finally looked up. It was not something she had words for, or a will to linger over. But it was not mocking, and that was what mattered.

"Does it give you pleasure to linger on the weaknesses of those around you, Edwin?" she hissed all the same.

He looked back to her face, his face registering surprise, and she realised that he had not meant it in the way she had assumed. Seeing her anger, however much it was beginning to dissipate, he sneered and turned away from her.

* * *

With the Knights of Solamnia looking on in polite silence, the group made their plans for an assault on Lavok's chambers. Valygar and Aerie had returned bearing a jug of water from the pool near the bedrooms and a collection of fruits, also gathered from that garden. The avariel had been unwilling to pass through the destruction they had caused, but had also been pleased upon returning successful. Elatharia knew that was a good thing – it meant their group was unified by its purpose and not divided by the fear which had also engulfed _her_ in the place the Knights had dubbed the 'Viewing Room'. The Transmuter had no wish to go back that way until Jan had worked out how to change the location – the only way she quelled her shaking after her argument with Edwin had been by forcing herself to believe that it was an Illusion after all, and not the reality Haer'Dalis had suggested.

"As unorthodox as this place is, I would expect the way we must take to be heavily trapped and warded, but with few living guardians (a foolish but common technique)," Edwin was saying as he, Elatharia and Aerie leaned over a veritable hoard of spell scrolls which the Red Wizard and Transmuter had rather unwillingly relinquished.

"Then we will need all of these," Elatharia pushed a pile of Abjuration spells towards the Conjurer, who all but ignored her, before looking up to where the others were watching the wizards, "And I'd expect to face one or two golems. Magic won't necessarily work all that well on them, so be ready."

"You sound very sure of yourselves," Valygar, for one, sounded doubtful, looking from Elatharia to Edwin and back again with a deep frown.

"Even someone of your limited intellect should be able to deduce that a group of wizards – one of whom has learned from the greatest academy on Faerûn (and of course this place has nothing like the beauty and elegance of Thaymount) – should be able to succeed at this where you would certainly fail," Edwin told him with all of his typical disdain…and more.

"We won't be betraying you in this, at least," Elatharia promised Valygar, annoyed by his distrust, "Unless, of course, you deny us our part of the bargain in this."

"Oh, you can have everything in this place," the ranger agreed, though his tone sounded anything but friendly. The Transmuter gave him her best mocking smile.

"Ah! And it goes in this way!" Jan interrupted the rising tension; all eyes turned to where he was slotting in the missing cog to the control mechanism in the room, "Not only can we get through those doors, but I _think_ I can get us back to the Prime Material now…"

"P-perhaps it w-would be wiser to wait until we have…defeated Lavok, Jan?" Aerie suggested a little tremulously. Perhaps the thought of being so far away from home unsettled her just as much as it did Elatharia.

"I would agree with that," Haer'Dalis said, nodding his head sagely but still managing to smile, "As entertaining as it would be to find ourselves potentially lost among the Planes, I suspect there are some amongst us who would not share this humble Sparrow's sentiment."

"Oh, by Shar," Viconia complained, gesturing impatiently at their intended door, "I suggest that we decide _quickly_ upon what spells you should save and which you should cast and that we make our assault upon our unseen captor before he mobilises himself against us."

Valygar gave the drow a long, thoughtful look before nodded minutely.

Edwin sneered at both of them and gathered up the Abjuration scrolls Elatharia had passed to him. After a moment of flicking through them, he handed a few to Aerie and a few more to Jan. He made a show of considering Elatharia before rolling his eyes and turning away. The Transmuter made a mental note to do something similar to him the next time someone was required to cast a Divination spell. For the moment she had stay _focused_ lest she look back and feel the real embarrassment that she knew would haunt her soon for what passed in the Viewing Room. At least there did not seem to be any further evidence that the Sphere currently rested in Minauros and not on Faerûn.

"Alright. We need to get through these – hypothetical – wards and traps quickly," Elatharia said, watching the map of the Sphere before her rather than her companions…but sensing Edwin's indignation at her suggestion of doubt all the same, "Then you other wizards need to throw every Abjuration at Lavok that you have left. Haer'Dalis, Valygar and Korgan, I'm sure you know what to do. Viconia…"

"You and I will weaken him with our spells, I understand, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia sounded strained. Perhaps she was also feeling the stress of this place, then.

There was only one thing left to do, if they wanted to escape the Sphere. And that was face Lavok.


	19. Saviours and Assassins

**Chapter 17: Saviours and Assassins**

* * *

Aerie had never expected to be in a situation like this. Adventure, yes. But that meant long walks through the plains and forests of Toril, a few caverns and castles perhaps…but not an ancient wizard's spherical complex, caught far from the Prime Material Plane. The others were trying not to think about it but she could see that their calm was fraying. Elatharia and Edwin had obviously been arguing, probably about the Transmuter's earlier response to the devils they had seen. For her part, the avariel could sympathise; travelling the Planes sounded so idealistic when Haer'Dalis talked about it but from what she had seen so far, of the Hells and the trapped, crazed halflings, there was little but fear and madness to be found in such a venture.

Lavok's absence from their experience in this place thus far seemed suspicious to her. She had not said anything, for fear of causing more worry than the others already felt, but…she would have expected more of a defensive response from a wizard whose enclave had been infiltrated by a group of adventurers, especially since one of that group was a relative of his. If he had been cursing his own family for centuries, why did he seem to be making no effort to kill Valygar?

The Knights of Solamnia agreed after some significant effort on Haer'Dalis's part to help them in the coming fight – and when Jan opened the next door, the largest of those in the octagonal room, Aerie for one was certainly glad that the tiefling had thought to enlist them. While she, Jan and Edwin were taken up with dispelling the various wards they found in the tunnels ahead, the sound of pounding feet could be heard. After such an audible approach it had been no surprise to the group when two huge clay golems burst through into the cool white stillness of the rounded corridor. The leader of the Knights braced herself behind her tower shield and actually managed to stagger one of the constructs, clay flaking in a shower around her as she dented its cumbersome body. A flurry of dodges and weighty hits from Aerie's companions had followed, Viconia aided by a _Strength_ spell upon her own request – and all of them under the effects of _Haste_.

Jan proved the most helpful to the group in finding and disarming the traps and wards in the corridor and stairway ahead. But Edwin's knowledge of the likelihoods of a wizard's living space had proved correct; the way to Lavok's central chamber in the upper level of the Sphere was littered with wards and traps but little else. They had already faced their greatest military threat in the trapped halflings earlier in the day – and Aerie was beginning to wonder if they had ever been intended captives of the place or not.

At the top of the broad spiral staircase beyond the first tunnel, just past the alcoves in which had hidden the golems, the door stood open. It was plain wood, swung welcomingly wide. Though its arched stone frame was covered in spiralling wards, none of them glowed with the light that might suggest that they were active.

"Oh, do come in, Descendant! Bring your flock of chicks into my sinister domain!" a rough voice called in a tone that sounded more weary than hateful.

Aerie shared a nervous look with Elatharia, who in turn passed this expression on to Viconia and Edwin. Jan just raised his eyebrows and looked up to Valygar. The Knights, gathered behind them, braced themselves for battle and gave Haer'Dalis a series of determined nods. Korgan just grinned and braced his axe in readiness.

"Do all planewalkers prefer naming those around them for birds? (How mad is our tiefling leech, really?)" Edwin wondered, eyeing Haer'Dalis in a manner that Aerie found rather distasteful.

"Most cutters – and berks, for that matter – are happier with my ornithomorphisations," the tiefling put in, momentarily staggering the Red Wizard with his verbosity. And probably also his obscure Sigil slang.

"That is _hardly_ a valid word, degenerate!" Edwin spluttered at last, only to be shushed to silence by several members of the group. Aerie could not believe he had the nerve to glare back at such sensible recommendations for silence.

"That greeting did sound a little strange," Jan commented into the momentarily ringing silence, still looking up at Valygar.

When the ranger moved forward without a word, his grip upon the handle of his sword so tight that his hand was shaking, the others followed with some unwillingness through the open doorway. Beyond, they found a tall cylindrical room topped with a vast crystal dome and through it could be seen an endless cluster of green, black-limned clouds across which flickered distant lightning storms far above whatever ground the Planar Sphere currently rested on, casting flickering green and blue patterns upon the black marble floor. Aerie had to will her breathing to steady as she looked back to the room ahead, fearing who or what she might see there.

At a first glance this place looked like a wizard's dream home. Its curved walls were lined to the beginning of the dome with books, the higher bookcases accessible by a circular walkway. A raised alcove in amongst this vast collection of knowledge held a bed and other pieces of furniture which suggested a place for resting. Before its graven white steps was a long, curved table…and in front of this stood a creature which had surely once been a man.

Withered and a little stooped, his flesh hung from his bones; sagging, ragged and rotten, greenish, greyish and wretched. His eyes were too pale and seemed to roll wildly in their almost-bare sockets when the lich looked to each of the group who formed up across the room from him. His lips were cracked inches deep, and they cracked audibly a little more when he tried to smile, gesturing in a mock-greeting accompanied by the groaning of old bones. His black-nailed feet were bare but otherwise he was dressed in the sweeping, gold-and-white robes of a wizard who had once been very vain in his great power, even stained and torn as they now were. A black gem pulsed with occasional green light at his throat. With each flash of the gem, his hands twitched just a little…and that detail set Aerie's mind racing. She had no time to consult anyone now, but…

"It is so strange and heart-warming to be paid this visit, young Corthala," Lavok rasped, his unblinking stare settling confidently upon Valygar, "It was only a matter of time before someone of my ancestry would come. The last of the line, you and I, I suppose. I wish I could offer you some tea." Another pulse of the necklace's light; another pained twitch. Aerie's heart was racing at the thought of what she _might_ know.

"Enough of this mockery," Valygar growled, his back to Aerie and his expression thus invisible, "I will have my vengeance upon you for what you did to my mother, murderer."

Behind her, Aerie heard the tell-tale sparking sound as Elatharia's _Fireshield_ went up.

"Murderer is it?" another twitch, and what might have been a pained smile, "If only you knew the half of it, fool."

Valygar wasted no more time on conversation and with a snarl he ran for the lich, Korgan charging after him. Haer'Dalis gave a hearty laugh and followed without fear; in his wake came the Knights of Solamnia with foreign war cries. Aerie started to back up to join Edwin and Elatharia – both of whom had already begun casting. Then in a blink, several spells fell upon the group all at once; the lich disappeared momentarily before reappearing duplicated five times, and with his reappearance three of the five Knights screamed and tore off in opposite directions, attempting to cower behind the bookcases. Next, a fireball erupted behind the avariel and with a shriek she barely leapt out of the way in time, feeling the hot ripple of the air as she staggered out of the way with Jan. Edwin and Elatharia, who were both heavily protected against fire, continued casting. Viconia was patting out a few flames on her cloak hurriedly before spreading her arms and trying to call upon Shar's power.

" _Time stop_ ," Jan muttered merrily at Aerie's elbow, "Better get casting, Wingless, before he gets us like he got them," he nodded towards the screaming Knights.

Haer'Dalis, Korgan and Valygar had been sensibly protected by Viconia against such a spell as _Fear_ and were attempting to fight their way past the lich's defences without being blown apart. Beside Aerie, Jan had started casting; nearby, Edwin's first Abjuration soared into the area of Lavok's duplicates, forcing three to fizzle out.

The avariel did not have the heart to complain about the nickname the gnome had just bestowed upon her in that particular moment, and instead reached for the power of the Weave. First, however, she saw Jan's Abjuration reveal Lavok's true whereabouts…and the lich's wild green gaze. Those eyes had not held that glow moments before, that bright colour that matched his rapidly pulsing necklace. In that moment the avariel had no doubt. She knew what she had to do. It was just a matter of _when_.

Her first Abjuration and Edwin's next crackled into Lavok's newly revealed form at the same time; it staggered him, but he still managed to dodge Haer'Dalis's two deft swings, stumble out of range of Valygar's angry chop…and finish his spell. The lich started cackling madly when a wall of flame roared into being between him and his attackers, giving him time to _Dimension Door_ to the opposite end of the room…much closer to Edwin and Elatharia, both of whom lost hold of their spells when their target disappeared. Not so for Viconia, however, whose spell ended at the precise moment that Lavok arrived nearby…it seethed from her in a tide of darkness and slithered across the floor to her evident glee, seeking out its momentarily disorientated target and creeping up his emaciated body before he could start to recast his spell protections. The effect was instantaneous, and Lavok swayed, visibly slumping…and then Elatharia's next spell crashed into him, crackling over his weakened limbs and oozing into him, forcing him to slump even more. The lich, who ought not to have been affected by anything like illness, began to shake.

Valygar, Korgan and Haer'Dalis were regaining their balance to dart back across the room to make short work of the lich, the Knights of Solamnia gathering their composure and starting to think about joining in, as Jan finished another spell. It created an eerily transparent black doorway in front of him…and he stepped through quite happily.

The gnome disappeared, and as Aerie watched in dismay, stumbling forward to try to intercept the fighters before they did something they would regret – but that only she seemed to have understood – Jan appeared again in front of Lavok with his crossbow raised to the lich's chest. The ancient wizard looked at him all but blankly, the green light still pulsing in his eyes, and tried in vain to push the weapon aside. The gnome just shrugged, gave a smile, and pressed the trigger. One of his own projectiles exploded against Lavok, forcing him to slump back against the wall; it seemed to do little damage but it soon became clear that its enchantment had paralysed the lich.

"You will die now for what you did, monster!" Valygar roared…and Aerie saw her moment.

Giving a wordless shriek and startling them all, the avariel ran between the ranger and the lich, calling upon Baervan's power the whole way with prayers as heartfelt as she had ever given. She was not aware of the confused stillness that descended upon the room, of Haer'Dalis holding Valygar back just in time before the ranger could seek to angrily push her aside. She just closed her eyes and fell into the power of her spell.

* * *

Elatharia hated fighting other wizards. She had never faced a lich before, and after the show that Lavok put up she was worried to ever meet one that was truly powerful. Dragons were a little less odious to fight…but not by much. It was something to do with being a Transmuter, forced to rely upon the spells of other wizards to break through the protections of her foe. Just one more incentive to finally learn how to cast a precious spell like _Ruby Ray of Reversal_.

It had been quite pathetic, in her opinion, how easily the Knights had succumbed to the lich's magic. It had fallen to her companions, and to her, to immobilise Lavok. What she had not expected was to see Aerie rushing between Valygar and his prey, turning to the lich and beginning to cast. The ranger fought against the tiefling's hold with all of his fury and strength, but Haer'Dalis did not release him – apparently understanding what Valygar could not. Viconia watched with confusion for a few moments before her expression cleared in surprised understanding.

"What is she doing?" the leader of the Knights inquired to no one in particular, but Jan of all people gestured for silence as the avariel's hands began to take on a bright white radiance.

"Do you trust the fool not to blow this place up?" Edwin hissed in Elatharia's ear, and she almost laughed aloud to look around at him and see the nervous distrust on his face. Trusting Aerie's clerical powers but also enjoying the Red Wizard's poorly disguised fear, she just gave a shrug.

At last Aerie reached out and touched Lavok…who jolted abruptly, eyes rolling in their bare sockets and flaring an even brighter green before the colour in them faded and they returned to the inhuman paleness that they had held when the group entered his library. Elatharia began to understand then, seeing the strange green and black necklace spark, hiss and drop to the floor with a clatter. With its loss, the lich crumpled with a groan…and his form blurred and shifted just a little. Away went the rot from his sagging skin, the stretches of bare skull upon his bald head…and he blinked with eyelids which he had not possessed before.

"I thank you," he rasped, his voice weaker and unhealthier than it had been previously, "Many centuries have I endured that curse."

"Wh-what is this?" Valygar demanded, pulling himself free from Haer'Dalis's grip when Aerie backed up from Lavok with a relieved smile.

"What's it matter?" Korgan asked irritably, leaning on his axe and watching the group as if they were stupid, "Just kill 'im and be done wi' it!"

"It was the necklace," Viconia explained when no else seemed to know how, "It was cursed, _jaluk_."

"That would explain why he fought like such a defenceless child," Edwin noted, "(For a moment or two I could have believed that lichdom is not so glorious a pursuit as I had previously thought)."

Valygar cast a glare from the drow to the Thayvian before turning back to Lavok and levelling the tip of his sword to the rasping old man's slumped form.

"You. I want you to explain why I should not kill you now for what you have done to my family…and all of my ancestors."

"I will not give that to you, descendant," Lavok denied, "Though I can explain, I will not be exempt from what has befallen. I…" he coughed weakly, "I have little time left, I think. The elf who speaks as a drow has told you truly – the necklace was cursed. Long ago, when I had newly made this Sphere, I sought the trinket's power – believing that it would give me immortality without turning me into a lich, for I had ever feared the prospect of undeath. Once I had it, however, it turned me into the creature you fought; made with hatred and rage, ghastly to look upon…but also weak, and changeable. It was that monster, whose strength of will was far greater than my own, that destroyed your family, young Corthala. In my moments of clarity I did not seek to remove the necklace, however," another, worse cough, "I sought to weaken it, overcome it…and failed every time.

"Had I been a kinder, wiser man I would have escaped this Sphere and allowed myself to die in Athkatla at the hands of the Cowled Wizards. That had been my intention when I forced the Sphere to crash in that city, but the curse received the challenge you had sent out…I lured you here. I will not ask for forgiveness – that I do not deserve – but I must say that I am sorry. At least I had enough lucidity to make the way easy for you, hoping at last my salvation had come, though I could not permit all of your friends inside. The creature who held me in its cursed grip had enough self-preservation to stop me, just as it locked you inside and sent us careering back to its place of creation, Minauros."

Valygar's sword lowered and he looked away sharply, as if seeking to hide the tears that had filled his eyes unbidden. He said nothing until he had mastered himself and his voice did not shake.

"You are correct that I cannot give you forgiveness, but I…I think that I understand, at least," the ranger glanced at Elatharia, "I do not think that your story has lessened my belief that the pursuit of power is a terrible cause. But I have also seen today that those who practice magic can be kind, as well." He nodded to Aerie, who smiled back through her typically empathic tears.

"Then that is something for which I am glad," Lavok managed to nod, attempting to shift his frail form into a better sitting position against the wall, "I have little time left. The power that has kept me alive is fading, and with me will go the understanding to relocate this Sphere. I will bring you back to Athkatla…and then I would ask that you allow me to see the sky of my homeland ere I die."

"I…" Valygar stopped himself and thought for a moment before nodding, "Alright. I can give that much to you."

"Thank you," the former-lich's eyes moved over the Knights of Solamnia, who had been about to speak, "And I will have my golems, now able to travel through the Sphere as they are…I will have them open one of the portals, by which you may return home," he looked to Elatharia and Edwin then, both of whom shifted uncomfortably under the old man's stare. The Transmuter did not expect to hear his amused tone, "I will have them clean up after the mess you made of the halflings, as well. I have a feeling that wizards such as you are going to like this place when I am gone."

* * *

"You are trying to tell me that none of you knew that unauthorised magic would be triggered when your ally – a fugitive of the Cowled Wizards – opened that doorway?" Rayic Gethras had never been a patient man, and now he was angry to boot.

"That is exactly what I have told the others," the hard-faced druid nodded stiffly, her peculiar accent grating against the Cowled Wizard's nerves.

"We do not have enough evidence to arrest them, sir," one of the other Cowls told Rayic, as if he did not already know.

None of this strange band seemed capable of casting arcane spells. It consisted of a druid – who had just taken over the Grove near Trademeet, apparently – and a member of the Radiant Heart gleaming in his tell-tale armour, as well as a halfling paladin and a half-witted Rashemi who towered bemusedly over the others. Not really the type of group he would have expected to be meddling wit hteh Planar Sphere, which surely held such a vast store of purely arcane wealth and knowledge. There was only one answer to that problem. They had wizarding friends inside.

They had been ordered down from the scaffold when the Planar Sphere vanished, bearing off their companions, and a tense discussion had begun between them and those Cowled Wizards who had arrived to deal with the _Charm_ spell activated when Valygar Corthala opened the Sphere's door. And all of it had been conducted here, in the streets of the Slums just paces from the putrid stink that had been at least half-contained by the Planar Sphere's presence…and which lingered even after the city guards had been ordered to clean up the wretched mess at long last.

Rayic had only arrived once the Sphere reappeared, and he had done so several hours later than he would have hoped. There were other duties which ought to have taken priority; his underlings had been under strict instructions to get inside that Sphere. And they had failed. No wonder he was in a bad mood.

"None of our companions have broken the law here," Anomen Delryn, newly disgraced from his noble home from what Rayic had heard, was just arguing with the grey-cowled wizards arrayed before him, "'Twas the Sphere which…charmed Valygar."

"Are you trying to imply that you do not travel with unlicenced wizards, Delryn?" Rayic demanded, and could barely contain his smirk when the boy's face twitched guiltily.

"None of our group has broken the law here," Jaheira interrupted before the cleric could fall into the trap, "And that is what matters to you, is it not?" She drew herself up, fixing steely grey eyes upon Rayic, but the wizard just smiled condescendingly at her.

"Of course, lady druid," he pretended to simper, and was distracted from her deep frown when a grinding sound emanated from the Sphere, "Ah, it looks like we can at last deal with your friends."

The door swung open slowly, and out onto it clambered the leather-armoured figure of Valygar Corthala…carrying in his arms what looked at first to be nothing more than a bundle of robes. After him filed a thin young woman with untidy blonde-streaked hair. A black mask covered her face from brow to cheekbones, and she was clad in a long grey cloak…beneath which she wore a robe which looked rather arcane to Rayic.

As he rushed to be first to the top of the scaffold, Jaheira and Anomen following at his heels, Rayic could hear other voices from above. Ignoring the cleric's protests and the druid's complaints, he made it to the platform at the top and saw Valygar just lowering the ancient, frail form of a man to the ground – more robes than living thing, really, but it took little power of the mind to understand this _thing_ must have been the owner of the Sphere.

By Valygar's side there now stood a small elvish woman, all blonde hair and large, tear-filled blue eyes. Her tunic-and-leggings, and her leather jerkin, suggested that she was not a wizard. Behind them lingered that masked girl, and with her another elf – this one was armoured in enviable black dragon scale and mithral, swathed in a striking yellow cloak. Not a wizard then – a shame, because she was altogether rather beautiful and Rayic's peers at New Spellhold would have been _very_ pleased to have her as one of their first inmates. Beside her was a tall…man...whose blue hair and pitch black eyes suggested that he was not quite human, really. Armed with two ornate short swords it seemed unlikely that he knew much of the arcane.

As those who had just emerged from the Sphere began to bristle at the sight of Rayic coming to meet them, dressed as he was in the grey robes of the Cowled Wizards, his eyes skimmed over the grimy dwarf who was just grunting his way through the door and the crossbow-wearing gnome following.

"Get out of the _way_ , gnome," a man's voice was complaining as the doorway cleared. Now that accent was _interesting_ , "How long must you make me wait to see real land again, fool?"

At this point, Rayic arrived in front of the emerging group and, trying not to peer too hopefully through the open doorway as the final, most irritable member of that group made his appearance, he made his opening speech.

"We have had reports of unlawful spellcasting, and the illegal usage of this Planar Sphere," he told them, to a barrage of hateful and weary glares, "My name is Rayic Gethras, Enforcing Officer of this Cowled Wizard Threat Prevention Team. Unless you can prove your innocence, all those among you who are arcane spellcasters must come with us."

"I, for one, have a licence," the man stepping through the door informed Rayic imperiously.

Ah yes, that accent was definitely Thayvian. He was tall and slender enough too, his skin a few shades too naturally tanned to be a native of this place, with the high cheekbones and sharp features of his people. His hair and beard might have put enough doubt in Rayic, since few Mulan deigned to even accept that they could grow such things…but he had heard the Thayvian speak, and that was enough.

"None of us – other than the legal one – are wizards here," the masked woman – not much more than a girl really form the looks of her – added shamelessly, "She's a priestess of Baervan," she pointed at the blonde elf, who blanched and then refused to meet Rayic's eyes, "And she's a priestess of Shar," she gestured over her shoulder at the moon elf behind her, "He's a ranger, he's a…dwarf," she pointed at each in turn.

"Never have met a dwarven wizard," the dwarf agreed when she shrugged at him. It looked like they were sharing some kind of humour.

"Then you have not met many dwarves, fool," added the beautiful elf, the one who had been labelled a priestess of Shar. Rayic had never heard a moon elf speak with such an accent but he let it pass. He could already see that she did not practice the arcane.

"He likes…shooting things with a crossbow, among other pursuits," she nodded to the gnome, who cracked the hint of a smile there when the masked woman continued shamelessly, "And me? I'm definitely not a Transmuter."

Oh, she was _mocking_ him. The blue-haired man failed to hide a smile. The dwarf and the gnome snorted at her brazenness. The Thayvian turned to her with a warning glare. And Rayic was not amused.

"It was my spell," the old man rasped from where Valygar had settled him upon the ground; Rayic jumped at the sound of the voice. He had assumed the bundle of robes was dead, "And I have disabled the Sphere's planar travelling capabilities. With…my…death little of its power will linger, and there will be nothing for you and your Cowls in there."

"I must protest at that, old man," Rayic denied, eyeing the Thayvian carefully rather than look at the dying thing in front of him, "My men will inspect the Sphere to ensure that what you say is true. You are lucky that you are already dying, else you would be on your way to New Spellhold by now."

That comment sent a ripple of unease amongst the group, and Rayic could not help but smile. The woman who had rather unwisely implied she was a Transmuter backed up a step and he noticed that the Thayvian's hand closed around her wrist reflexively. From the look he gave her he obviously meant it to be a gesture of reproach – but Rayic suspected it meant something else. A shame he had little interest or time for emotions beyond fear and anger, because that kind of thing might have been helpful to his intentions. Especially if that Thayvian with the 'licence' was the Edwin Odesseiron that he had been told to look out for.

When the other Cowled Wizards finally jostled their way to the centre of the platform, Rayic waved them inside, opting to wait _outside_ himself – at the foot of the scaffolding, well away from the influence of the Sphere. Less than an hour ago that thing had reappeared after a six hour planar jaunt. He had no intention of getting caught up in something like that, no matter how much its dying owner suggested that it was no longer functional. No, he would wait here until the old man was thoroughly dead, and then he would watch. He may not be patient, but he was no fool. There would be a better time to kill Edwin Odesseiron.

* * *

The Cowled Wizards had left eventually, even that cold-eyed leader of theirs whose piercing gaze had searched Elatharia and each of the others a little too perceptively. It seemed that they really had not found anything of serious worth in that place, especially since Lavok had shown them how to turn a few wheels and send the library out of alignment with its doorway. They would never have even known where to begin to put that right, so all of the amassed knowledge of Lavok's – admittedly insane – centuries had been preserved for the wizards of her group. Elatharia had rarely been grateful to anyone, but she had been to Lavok, and when he breathed his last there had been perhaps the faintest stirring of sadness in her heart. More interestingly, however, his last breath had sent with it the last hint of his immortality curse…and he had crumbled into dust before their eyes.

Aerie had cried openly, rushing reflexively into Jaheira's rather unwilling arms. The druid did at least attempt to hug her in return, patting uncomfortably at her back until she could extract the avariel and pass her on to the rather more willing embrace of Anomen.

"We are happy to see you return! Boo promised to me that you would be well!" Minsc greeted once the Cowled Wizards had left and Elatharia could breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps they had taken her rather unwise admission of her trade as too foolish to be true. She almost felt embarrassed.

"Better than well," she promised, suddenly feeling excited at the prospect of all those books, "We have a whole library to read through."

The Rashemi ranger did not know what to do with information like that, so he just nodded and smiled. Meanwhile, Jaheira approached Valygar and clasped his arm, meeting his eyes with an understanding look of her own.

"I…must have some time to think on all that has passed today," the ranger admitted gruffly to the druid, and she nodded, "I would…like to help find that daughter that you have lost, but I must go for now." No one corrected his mistake, and the comment seemed to bring a few tears to Jaheira's eyes though she would never admit it.

"We will come and find you in Waukeen's Promenade when the Shadow Thieves finally permit us a means of finding Imoen," Jaheira agreed, stepping aside to let him pass and looking anywhere but at Elatharia. It crossed the Transmuter's mind that maybe the druid had described Imoen as her daughter when first speaking to Valygar. Elatharia preferred not to think on that too much and looked to the others instead.

"Well, you must tell us of all that passed today!" Mazzy insisted, pushing her way past Minsc to look upon those who had just emerged from the Planar Sphere.

"That is a dramatic tale that I will gladly recite, my tiny Hawk," Haer'Dalis agreed, smiling unaffectedly when the halfling gave him an unamused look for the name he gave her, "Come, let us away and I shall tell all!"

"Well, if that's goin' to happen I'd rather be gettin' drunk at the same time," Korgan put in, starting to stomp past them and down the stairs not far after Valygar, "Someone tell me whether yer bound fer the Copper Coronet or the Five Flagons…and I'll be sure to pick the other! Ha!"

"We will follow where you lead, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis called jovially after the dwarf as Mazzy and Minsc moved to follow Korgan. Jaheira hesitated a moment more before doing the same.

"I believe we should return to Gaelan Bayle's home," Anomen disagreed, looking down at the top of Aerie's head where the avariel was hiding her face against his breastplate. He seemed more than a little pleased to have a damsel to care for. Haer'Dalis looked less amused by this than Elatharia would have expected.

"I'd like to stay here and look through the mechanisms," Jan added cheerfully, blinking up at Elatharia for a few moments before realising that he could not see her because he had left his goggles on, "Oh, there you are."

"Just keep out of the way (almost as addled as the ranger as you are)," Edwin told the Illusionist, who just shrugged and clambered back through the open door into the Planar Sphere.

"What of you, my Raven?" Haer'Dalis asked of Elatharia even as he watched Anomen and Aerie making their way down the stairway. There was definitely something wistful in the tiefling's expression as he observed the unhappy avariel's retreat.

Elatharia looked at him as if he might have just gone mad at last. A glance up at Edwin proved that the Conjurer's thoughts on this matter were already settled.

"We have things to plan," she admitted conspiratorially, and Haer'Dalis's eyebrows rose. By his side, Viconia snorted.

"Not of that ilk, fool," the drow told the tiefling as amicably as she had said anything to him since their return from the De'Arnise Hold. He gave her a wounded look that turned into a lingering stare. Her frown even seemed to start to wane under the weight of his gaze.

"Well, now I think I am more curious," Haer'Dalis admitted, glancing at Edwin, "When the chant is free to be told, do tell, my Raven and Sparrowhawk."

"We may have need of you at some point soon," the Conjurer admitted imperiously, "(Though how much you will deserve to know is doubtful)."

"Stay here tonight," Elatharia suggested to the drow and the tiefling, "Even if Jan forgets to leave, there are enough bedrooms." After the golems had cleaned up the mess which the group had left behind from wading through the mad halflings, at least.

The Planar Sphere seemed to have been imbued with Enchantments which made this task much easier – and that was just as well, because when Lavok had insisted upon ending the Sphere's planar travelling powers, the golems had deactivated as well. This was something for which the Transmuter had been secretly relieved. She would never be able to look at golems without distrust thanks to Irenicus.

"Gladly, my Raven," Haer'Dalis smiled, "I am tiring of the endless honour and valour of certain berks with whom we must travel."

"(It is almost as if we have started watching a circus show emphasising the failings of the Sigil dialect)," Edwin grumbled, turning and heading back inside the Planar Sphere. Viconia sent a disbelieving look at his back before turning to Elatharia and shrugging.

"I find myself in agreement with the tiefling," she admitted, ' _And I am no fool when it comes to intrigue, my good friend. I could see in your bearing that at least some of this is about the Thieves' Guild,'_ she signed, and smiled widely when Elatharia nodded. Intrigue always put Viconia in a good mood.

"Tell Korgan that we might want to talk to him about that," the Transmuter nodded with a grin of her own.


	20. A Pause for Breath

**Big thank yous to everyone who has reviewed and is following this story. :D**  
 **This chapter was simultaneously very fun to write...and incredibly difficult. Hopefully it works! Let me know what you think. ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 19: A Pause for Breath**

* * *

All of those who had not been in the Planar Sphere had soon been listening with rapt attentiveness to the story that Haer'Dalis wove for them. Viconia had been surprised when he rather tactfully left out Elatharia's fit of panic upon seeing the barbed devils in Minauros – it had been less surprising when Korgan insisted on including that bit. Since everyone there (apart from perhaps Mazzy and Haer'Dalis himself) would probably have wanted to respond similarly, the tale seemed to pass them by, but for Viconia it felt key to understanding the weaknesses of her friend. And though she had long ago accepted that she and Elatharia were friends, that acceptance of each other went far enough to understand that one day they would most likely betray each other in some way. Knowing the Transmuter's weaknesses was an invaluable boon to the drow…and while they were fully on the same side, it was also simply a curious fact. One that she fully intended to find out in full, eventually.

In fact, the whole time in the Planar Sphere had been so strange that the drow had no need to correct the tiefling's normally inevitable dramatic exaggerations. Each time that he started doing such a thing, he would look over at her and smile, as if taunting her with such stupidity would make her find him any less _annoying_. The fact that this thought now made her smile as she watched the others talking (or, in Korgan's case, drinking themselves into a semi-conscious stupor) was something that she tried not to linger on too much.

"How about ye tell us about that dragon ye fought with, tiefling?" Korgan's suggestion had never sounded more like a demand. The dwarf was holding himself up against the edge of their chosen table in the Copper Coronet, cradling his latest flagon of dwarven ale.

"That is a tale far better told in verse, or in a play, my War Dog," Haer'Dalis told him from Viconia's side. Unlike the dwarf, he was still sipping from the same glass of wine which he had bought two hours before, "But I shall give you a taster of the reality," he added with a wink when Korgan – and Minsc from the looks of it – had been about to protest.

"Boo says it is worse than stupid to side with a red dragon, but that it must also make an interesting tale," Minsc admitted, patting the hamster's tiny head where the creature sat perched upon one of his great shoulders nibbling on a nut.

Thinking of all the tiefling had already told her about his life in the Planes, Viconia sat back against her chair and folded her arms. Since the sun had started to set barely an hour before, the Copper Coronet had filled up fast with people, as it did every evening. The brothel that ran on the upper floors was already busy, from the traffic of people which moved up and down the stairs to the walkways above the tavern floor. Meanwhile, the scant number of drinking and eating patrons had swelled drastically – the drow was glad for the wise decision that they buy their food here earlier. The bar was completely out of view now, surrounded as it was by such a throng of patrons.

"I think you are all a little too happy to accept such an immoral alliance from one of our own group," Mazzy complained, her deceptively quiet voice almost lost in the clamour of the place.

Her eyes had started to drift uncomfortably around the Coronet, as if rather unhappy with the scenery. Viconia almost smiled to think of this; the paladin would no doubt be far happier back in the Five Flagons Inn. Come to think of it, it _was_ less busy there. Jaheira, seated by the halfling's side, seemed to be having much the same thoughts, watching the patrons bustle and jostle with a quiet, distracted air.

"Ah, my Tiny Hawk, 'twas no choice of mine," Haer'Dalis sighed as if sorely wounded by her disapproving tone, wincing a little when the halfling glared at him before he glanced at Viconia with a mischievous smile, "What say you, my Blackbird? Two demand the story and one thoroughly disapproves."

"Oh, why not?" the drow sighed after a moment, twirling her wine glass around upon the table and trying to watch him with her least interested look, even when he smiled at her like that.

"Good," Haer'Dalis only grinned more widely, "As it happens, my Tiny Hawk, I really did have no choice. As a slave born into the demonic side of the Blood War, I was bound against my will to side with whomever my superiors chose. If I had not done so I would have been slain by either my fellow soldiers or my devilish enemies," he shrugged, glancing at Viconia again in a way that made her heart jolt.

"Well…alright then," Mazzy nodded after a moment, frowning all the same and hugging her mug of water a little closer as if it might somehow become contaminated by the immorality of the story to come.

"Get on wi' it then!" Korgan demanded, waving his tankard angrily at the bard before taking a long swig.

"Very well, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis laughed, "It is, as I said, a better story for the stage. But I shall continue all the same. 'Twas more years ago than I can count, since time moves differently in the other Planes. I was still a slave to my great-grandfather's whims, the only tiefling who had risen above the lowest ranks of the demonic army which would newly be facing a host from Cania. Knowing we would be facing an onslaught of the icy denizens of that Hell, my great-grandfather had enlisted the help of a red dragon – who was more than happy to help, with the promise of mountains of spoils and the prospect of spreading some well-needed chaos through the ordered ranks of the devils. I had recently angered one of my superiors…or perhaps they had recently felt the need to inflict fear and pain upon their underlings. 'Twas something which they did every moment of waking, and most of sleeping, but there were times when the mood struck them to be even more thoughtful in their cruelty than ordinary…"

"You speak of suffering in very merry terms, bard," Jaheira noted, something cold in her eyes that had not been there at the beginning of his story. Viconia almost smiled at that – did the druid really believe she was the only one who had suffered? And that placing blame was the best way to deal with it?

"I have felt much from many, Ptarmigan," Haer'Dalis shrugged, though the drow thought she heard something a little more serious in his tone, "And I was fortunate enough to escape the ill fate intended for me. For my superior had sent me to die with the dragon; I was first to watch him before battles, and then to steal from his hoard until he found me."

"And what did ye do instead?" Korgan was slurring badly now, but sounded curious enough.

Mazzy looked rather appalled, by dwarf and story both.

"I'm not so sure that I will want to know the answer to that," the paladin admitted. She looked to Jaheira for backup, but the druid's expression was fixed into a frown and her eyes were trained on Haer'Dalis.

"Aha! And in that sense I suspect you have a far more sordid mind than you would like to admit, my Tiny Hawk!" the bard told her, to her consternation. He turned to Viconia next, his expression far less teasing and far more thoughtful, his eyes locking with hers intently. It was as if he was telling only her, as a continuation on their previous conversation about his earlier life, "I did what anyone ought to do in such a situation. I told the dragon everything, and promised him the chance to kill the demon who had set me up. He agreed, of course, and was perhaps grateful enough for the preservation of his hoard and the chance to kill his betrayer that he permitted me to live. We even fought together at points after that."

Viconia's thoughts turned back to the stories Haer'Dalis had told her of his early life in the Planes, as a slave, a soldier and a fugitive. She thought of Raelis Shai, the tiefling who had been his lover and taken him to Sigil…and she could not ignore the uncomfortable pang she felt at the thought. As the others asked questions of Haer'Dalis about the dragon and his time in the Blood Wars – none of which he truly answered clearly – Viconia waged war with herself. And the more she thought angrily upon her feelings, the more confused and frustrated she became.

Another glass of wine later, Mazzy had headed back to her room at the Five Flagons Inn, Korgan was staggering over to the bar for another pint and Minsc was staring into his beer with the morose, fogged expression of one who would have been lost in thought…if he had been capable of thought. It was late now, nearing midnight, and the Copper Coronet was as hot and rowdy as ever. More patrons were staggering and falling, fewer prostitutes were lingering at the doors. It surprised Viconia that they had ever managed to lure Mazzy into such a place. At least Minsc was too clueless to realise what those women did for a living.

Jaheira stood abruptly, and when Minsc looked up at her dazedly she gestured at the door. Her thoughtful frown had not abated since their conversation dwindled and she had hardly touched her mug of…whatever it was that druids drank in taverns. She was hardly out of place for wearing her combat leathers, scuffed and muddy as they were – this was, after all, the favoured place of mercenaries, sojourning adventurers, and ruffians. It did appear, however, that Jaheira was the only person in the room (other than perhaps Viconia and Haer'Dalis) who was not drunk. There was no hint that she had enjoyed herself even slightly for the entire duration of her stay at the tavern that evening.

"We should leave, Minsc," Jaheira told the Rashemi ranger, who instantly grunted an affirmative and made to stand.

"Ah, Ptarmigan, ever unable to forget what haunts you," Haer'Dalis sighed up at her, "No ailing soul ever did grow whole again from dwelling upon pain."

The druid's mouth, set in a hard line, twitched with sudden anger. Her frown deepened, pale eyes boring into Haer'Dalis's dark ones as if no words could have been more insulting.

"And those who cannot care for the plight of others are the most worthless of all creatures, tiefling," her eyes drifted over Viconia disdainfully, "On that score, I would be careful of whose company I keep, if I were you."

Haer'Dalis just raised his eyebrows and watched them leave, apparently not at all bothered by her confrontational tone. Only once she had gone did he turn to look at Viconia, setting his own half-empty wine glass upon the table before him.

"Has the Ptarmigan always been so?"

"She has always been insufferably righteous," the drow told him, sneering at the exiting druid's back, "And she has always been hard with those who struggle, or show weakness – that at least is an admirable quality. Ever led by the tenets of a faith that keeps its mysteries close, she firmly believes that outsiders are unwelcome, because they will upset the Balance of this surface world. Ever has she been thus with me, and her distrust for Elatharia grew when we learned of her Bhaalspawn nature."

"Then here is to ever being an outsider," Haer'Dalis grinned, raising his glass again and tipping it towards her in toast, "I think I am in good company."

"Spare me your empty compliments. From the avariel's blushes I could believe you have once claimed to have wings and thus to share your nature with her as well."

The tiefling chuckled into his wine glass.

"Are you implying that I am not capable of getting what I want based on charm alone? That I must lie?"

"With the avariel you could probably have her at your heels for eternity, gaping in wide-eyed and pathetically selfless adoration until one or both of you dies," Viconia snapped at his flippant tone, "And do tell, _jaluk_. What precisely is it that you want?"

"Hmm," he finished his wine and set the glass down for good, nodding as if she had made a fine point, and standing, "That is a problem. To be so innocent is to be fascinating. To be so sad, and yet so willing to leap with childish glee…but you are right, my Blackbird. She would likely be overcome by my…charms. And though she might linger, I do not doubt that my journeys would take her to places in the Planes that she would not always enjoy."

"Oh, male. You are so ludicrously certain of your prowess," Viconia sighed, eyeing his offered arm disdainfully and standing all the same, "I take it you are leaving?"

"I take it that _we_ are," Haer'Dalis corrected, saluting Korgan as the dwarf returned to the table with two more tankards, "Good War Dog, our Raven has told me to suggest that she may have need of you on the morrow."

"If there be killin', I'll be waitin'," the dwarf slurred, slumping into his chair and fixing his eyes upon his tankards. He offered no parting comments as they left, but for a hearty and resonant belch.

It was surprisingly cold outside, given how hot the days had been lately. The sky was pitch black and speckled anew with twinkling stars, just as it had been for so many days over the long, sweltering Athkatlan summer. The chill in the air was a reminder to Viconia that, as it surely had near Baldur's Gate and Beregost, the autumn and the winter would soon be drawing in. Leafall they called it, here in the human lands along the Sword Coast. Shivering, she pulled up her deep hood and hugged her cloak around her shoulders, eyeing Haer'Dalis. The tiefling wore a dark cloak over his unbuttoned doublet and loose shirt, but he seemed utterly unconcerned by the weather.

"Is it getting colder, my Blackbird?" he inquired innocently as they extricated themselves from the drunken throng outside the tavern and remembered to turn right for the Planar Sphere, rather than left for Gaelan's Bayle's house. Each of them had their backpacks with them, in order to transfer their belongings to their new lodgings.

"Clearly," she told him, rolling her eyes, "And I will not permit you to get away from my question, tiefling."

"Ah," he grinned, pushing his hands into his pockets and glancing at the cobbles ahead almost bashfully, "You wish to know what I want?"

"Yes."

"That is a very open question, my Blackbird," he warned her as they moved down the dark, quiet street, all but utterly without light at this time – and all the better for it, as far as the drow was concerned, "I want many things," his arm bumped her shoulder as they turned a corner, and his hand brushed hers ever so briefly, "I want to learn of this world before I move on, and to witness its brand of chaos ere I leave. I want to see chaos in all its forms, ere I die, and to travel every Plane that I may."

"Your evasive words do you no credit," Viconia sighed, "I know that my meaning was clear…"

When Haer'Dalis caught her by the waist and pulled her with him off the street, Viconia's first response was to assume that they were under attack. When he let go, his back to the wall of the nearest building and his smile unchanged, she pushed herself back from him and _glared_.

"How _dare_ you…what…"

"Enough of that, my Blackbird," he chided softly, pulling her back towards him. Though she remained rigid and untrusting, she did not resist. Her hood fell back when she looked up at him from so close, "I am confessing, as you wished," there was a hint of mischief in his dark eyes, "For I do want the Dove, as you implied," he held onto her when she attempted to pull away, but his hold was not worryingly tight. She did not fear him, though anger filled her at his words, "I think you would have difficulty in finding a man who did not, in truth. But…you are right. What she wants and what I would want are not the same. What of us?"

"Of us?" Viconia asked the question reflexively, surprised. Her skin ached treacherously where his hands rested at her waist. Her eyes widened when he ducked his head towards her.

"What of us?" Haer'Dalis asked again, more softly this time, "I have confessed, as you had hoped. I want her…and your jealousy is rather appealing." He just smiled when she squirmed in his hold.

"Jealousy? What egotistical, idiotic…"

"I want her, but I want you _more_ ," he whispered it into her ear, his breath drifting over her skin in a way that forced her to stillness, her heart racing. Reflexively, her hand fisted in his tunic, "I remember your kiss, my Blackbird. And I see…in your eyes…that what we want is the same." His lips skimmed her cheek as she turned her head to meet his eyes. It felt like tendays since she had kissed him on the roof of the Windspear Castle…

"You are far too impertinent, male," she surprised herself with her vehemence, wrenching herself from him and stumbling back. His eyes positively burned when they looked back at her. The slow smile he showed her was part demon and all predator. Her throat was dry, and her words caught a moment before she managed to speak again, "Should I want you, I will come to you. Not the other way around."

* * *

Lavok's library was huge, with a few concealed doorways that led off into a kitchen, a washroom and the bedroom that Elatharia had seen upon first entering. Not only that, but hidden in amongst the stacks there were stores of chemicals and ingredients of far more varieties than she had ever seen in a shop. As a Transmuter, who had first learned her profession sitting bored during religious or martial classes of Candlekeep, changing the shape and composition of her quills and her paper, Elatharia had been struck with a great deal of nostalgia at the sight of such supplies. Smiling to herself, she had taken a little block of wood and reached into the Weave, twisting it first into a tiny cup and then into a pile of wood shavings. The deactivated Sphere, now safely anchored in the Prime Material and full to the brim with ingredients and information, was doing wonders for her mood.

"Faced with a library full of magical knowledge, she turns to the most juvenile of pursuits. (What more should I have expected from a Transmuter?)"

Edwin's voice sounded from just behind her, quiet in spite of his derisive tone – as if honed by years of indoctrination that no respectable person ever spoke loudly in a library. Not even a library that they had just won and likely had an equal share in. There was something wary in his eyes, behind his disdainful grimace. They had not really spoken since their argument earlier that day, after seeing the barbed devils.

"I leave the scroll-hunting to you, obviously. Because I definitely trust you to show me everything you find. In the spirit of fair play. Of course," she smirked at him over her shoulder, determined not to spoil her good mood, dusting off her hands defiantly and letting the wood-shavings fall to the floor.

"I did give you your precious _Ruby Ray of Reversal_ (which you have not even transcribed correctly yet)," Edwin pointed out, not really bothering to sound affronted. He was holding a small cup of his herbal tea in both hands and his Archmagi jacket had been discarded; she could see the lines of his tattoos at his neckline and along his forearms where he had rolled up his sleeves.

"You're settling in nicely," she commented, ignoring his words and making a point of stepping closer to look over the rim of his teacup – which he held cradled at his chest-level – peering at the steaming liquid before tilting her head back and grinning at him, "Did you go back to the Guild House for your tea set? None for me?"

Edwin's expression flickered at her brazen manner, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to hide amusement. Was there a little relief there, too?

"You are perhaps a little overconfident about your deal with Bodhi," he suggested, deliberately sipping his tea – and correctly surmising part of the reason behind her renewed good mood, "From attempting to blow me up with a barbed devil to mocking me about my perfectly _superfluously_ good taste in beverage…this is a change that not even I, long-suffering minder that I am, have seen before."

Elatharia's smile fell at his words and she looked away, fixing her gaze upon a fallen book that had not been righted since the spellbattle with Lavok, fighting away the grating, scratching, _screaming_ things that crawled behind her eyes. Golden light sparked in the back of her thoughts, flaring light a lit match.

"I don't want to talk about that," she gritted out. A sidelong glance to Edwin showed his eyebrows rising.

"And what about that writhing, screaming thing you became before Aerie sedated you?" his voice was lower, a little softer. Elatharia flinched, a flash of red rage, remembered, arcing through her thoughts.

"No," she snapped. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

She heard Edwin's tea cup settling upon the shelf beside him and turned away quickly. She made to rub at her face and found her mask in the way. Trembling, her head pounding with the renewed memories, she pulled it off and let it fall down her arm, its ribbon catching at the bend of her elbow. Golden light burst behind her eyes when she covered them. She gasped she felt Edwin's hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her to face him.

"Don't touch me!"

She scrambled back until she felt the shelves behind her collide with her back. A few jars of alchemical ingredients rattled with the impact. Edwin watched her without affront or worry. He looked…curious. Not even particularly taken aback.

"You do not remember? (Raving and shouting thing that you were)."

"Aerie said…said…" _I wasn't myself._ She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the shelf behind her waist. Golden light burst in the darkness and she trembled.

A smirk slowly spread across Edwin's face as he looked back to her with dark eyes that glinted red in the bright, conjured light of Lavok's library. He approached her incautiously, in a few quick strides.

He hissed when she fought him. Her bare foot stamped on his booted one. A wordless scuffle followed. He barely caught her arm when she moved to push him back, intending to get away. He took a step closer to use his greater weight and height to gain better leverage against her

"And just what did Irenicus do to you with the barbed devil to make you turn feral, Elatharia?" Edwin demanded, voice full of the soft menace of one who had not expected to be fought. He caught her chin when she tried to look away from him.

"You said it yourself, Irenicus had a…a theme."

Some level of understanding flashed across his face. His thumb moved over the raised scars across her writs from Irenicus's spiked manacles. And she just watched him, desperate not to think too deeply.

Edwin was easily tall enough to hold onto her in that manner and look down upon her tilted face. She caught at his arm with her free hand, but her hold only dragged them closer.

"Ah, there it is," Edwin nodded, and a faint smile curved his lips in spite of everything. His dark eyes narrowed.

Still with his fingers gripping her chin, he tilted back her head a little to better catch the bright light diffused above them. He did not let go of her, even when she attempted to pull back. Instead, her resilience forced him to take hold of her shoulder with his other hand and step closer. His smile returned, _hungrily_ this time.

Of course. He was seeing the power in her, and there was nothing that Edwin wanted more than power. She understood because that was a sentiment they had always shared. Her heart skipped. Her breath caught as his gaze shifted to her lips. She licked them nervously, gripping his arm tighter.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Your anger, and the spark of Bhaal's power," the Red Wizard told her distractedly, his eyes searching hers in a thoughtful, calculated way that was both disturbing…and strangely disarming, "I had thought that I might test that, given a chance."

"Are you saying you can see something in my _eyes_?" Elatharia's stomach dropped at the thought, "Like Sarevok? And the elf that tried to kill me on the road to the Windspear Hills?" she found herself gripping his forearm tighter, as if by physical contact she might anchor herself in the reality that she was not like her brothers.

"Yes," Edwin told her, "To a degree. (A spark, a brief flash. A…reminder.)"

"Why?" her voice was hoarse, "Why did you…did you mention it?" She wanted to shake herself. She sounded as tremulous and weak as Aerie! The knives were scratching behind her eyes, and though she fought it the flashes of memory would not leave her.

The question broke Edwin's distracted train of thought and he looked back to her eyes, his grip weakening enough for her to pull away. If that bothered him, he did not let it show. His smirk did not abate.

"In the absence of your own academic sense, I have taken matters into my own hands," he informed imperiously, gesturing back down the stacks to the main floor of the library, where she had left him reading his books when she went off to find this little alcove of alchemical supplies, "And I found an interesting comment in a book detailing the denizens of the Infernal Planes and their Prime Material offspring."

"I'm not Haer'Dalis, Edwin…"

"No, but Bhaal's domain existed in close conjunction with the Infernal Planes," Edwin interrupted her, retrieving his tea. "And there may be tea for you if you come and learn your part in my plan," Edwin added before turning away and beginning to move back to the central floor of the circular library.

"What plan?" Elatharia demanded suspiciously, following all the same.

"I believe we already discussed the matter."

"The Nether Scroll, yes. You want to go there tomorrow," Elatharia sighed, rolling her eyes at him, "We haven't even been allocated our first task for Bodhi yet. Gods know how long it might take for us to get to Imoen, even bypassing those lying bastards that call themselves Shadow Thieves."

"Did you have better plans?"

"What, than watching you becoming a lich? Probably."

"I have already told you that I have no intention of becoming a lich at present," Edwin paused amongst the stacks, frowning at her. "This is far more important. Far more _fascinating._ (And that is all you will hear of it)."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"My unending gratitude," he told her deadpan.

She just glared at him, hands on hips.

He narrowed his eyes before rolling them.

"Fine, fine. I shall first explain to you what it is that I have found regarding your heritage. (Not only is she incompetent, she is impatient as well.)"

As they moved down the few steps and out onto the black marble floor at the centre of the room, Elatharia's thoughts wheeled back to her sense of familiarity at the sight of the Infernal Planes in the Viewing Room earlier that day. She distinctly recalled the feeling that she knew something ought to be there, and that she should be searching for it.

Edwin moved straight to the semi-circular table that stood before the bedroom alcove, the desk now strewn entirely with papers and open books, along with his teapot and a spare cup. He moved to the other side, watching her expression smugly as he sat down. She did not follow his lead, and stood opposite, staring at him expectantly.

"The theories disagree a little," he began, gesturing vaguely at the books before him, "But generally it is believed that his Plane, the Throne of Blood – also known as the Throne of Bhaal – existed closer to the Hells of Nessus and Cania than to anything in the Abyss."

"Fine, so Bhaal's realm used to be near Nessus and Cania. What are you telling me?"

"It is universally accepted that the children of gods manifest no physical symptoms of their godly heritage, unless various spells and prayers are involved, and probably a great deal of incredibly impressive Conjuration (I clearly took the most fruitful path amongst mages). As a god can take many forms – even a god like Bhaal, who was once human – then his children ought not to look similar in any way."

"But Sarevok, our recent attacker and I…we all have that one thing in common. Our power manifests in our eyes, at least to some degree," the thought made her feel a little sick, but she continued – at least hers was just a fleeting spark in the wake of anger, "Are you suggesting that he took the same shape before he sired us? That can't have been possible."

"Not necessarily," Edwin leaned forward, watching her intently from beneath his brows, "What about your _mother_?"

"But Sarevok was a full human, and I'm a half-elf. The Bhaalspawn who attacked us was an elf…"

"Was he? Are you really what you think you are? Have you ever felt any kinship with Aerie, with Jaheira? With our companions near Baldur's Gate; Imoen's fool, Coran? Is there really anything about you that you can definitively say is elven? Who told you about your mother?" His suggestions were relentless, his expression intense.

"I…no," Elatharia admitted, blinking into empty space, "No. Gorion told me, and I believed him. But what about my markings?" her hands came up to her cheeks automatically, feeling the indented patterns beneath her fingers, "Unless Bhaal took a different shape and sired me…with the same mother?"

After a moment of thought, she sighed noisily and shook her head, moving over to Edwin's side and peering down at the book he had open in front of him. She scanned the words upon the page, looking for something helpful.

"None of those traits are mine," she said, slumping into a chair next to Edwin, "What does it matter anyway? They attack me, I kill them. I'm not going to save them just because I'm their real sister."

"And you shouldn't," Edwin agreed, "I was more interested in this entry, however," he pointed to the picture in the bottom right of the page, a drawing of a female…devil, or something of that sort. Two tall horns protruded from her head, and beneath her eyes ran several meandering dark lines, branching off from each other like tributaries from a river and ending at her cheekbones. Elatharia's blood ran cold. She read the lines that Edwin indicated, following the path of his finger like a pointer.

"'High priestesses of Bhaal could on occasion take on a devilish appearance, including horns, facial markings…and could even at times manifest a golden light within their eyes. It is likely that this was some indication of their god's favour; it did however leave them quite disfigured, as the drawing indicates. Only the most powerful and favoured of his servants are likely to have been granted this visage.'"

Her hands flew to the indented markings on her own face, fingertips tracing the black, interlacing lines. _Tears of the devils_ , Ulraunt had called them. She wondered if he had known the truth.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Elatharia turned to meet Edwin's eyes.

"You think my mother was a high priestess of Bhaal," she stated, "Not an innocent elf or half-elf. A willing parent."

"Yes. It is likely that Sarevok and the other sibling you killed either shared a similar parentage, or there is something else at work. Perhaps Bhaal's taint is stronger in you…and was in them. It has certainly increased in you. It has not visibly affected Imoen, as far as we know."

"What does that mean?"

Edwin looked at her as though he thought she was stupid, but he did at least pour her a cup of tea. When he set it in front of her as begrudgingly as anyone had ever done anything for her, he spoke again.

"It means you should stop acting like a victim in this, and start using what you are given…the _power_ that you are given. If you are going to use a benefactor like Bodhi, rather than simply act upon her every whim, then you are going to need to be intelligent. And when the time comes, you are going to have to be more powerful than those you wish to betray."

"And?" she could hear a smugness in his voice which suggested that he had won somehow. It irritated her that she could not follow his thoughts, but it was also obvious that he had spent a lot longer considering this topic – and this speech – than she had.

"And I will help you, Elatharia," Edwin promised, "In return for your aid in gaining this Nether Scroll tomorrow morning when the necromantic powers that undoubtedly bind it to the crypts are at their weakest. (Should you prove ultimately weaker than your foes it will be a different matter, of course)."

"I heard that," she snapped, and he raised an eyebrow, "And fine. I accept. After all, if you fail when we go for this Nether Scroll then I get to laugh in your face before you blow yourself up. And since you've just so openly promised to betray me if necessary, loyal friend and upstanding Red Wizard that you are, you can count on me when I promise that I am serious. I will laugh. And I will leave you, as you would leave me." Was that a threat, a promise…or a hope?

Edwin closed the book slowly, and when he looked back at her it appeared that he was attempting to hide a smile again. Did he look impressed?

"Sometimes I dearly wish that you had been born Mulan, Transmuter," he told her softly, "You would have liked Thaymount."

* * *

They discussed Edwin's plans for findings the Nether Scroll in detail, perusing maps for the old crypts of the Graveyard and arguing over which would be the best spells for each of them to prepare in the event that they would be facing a lich in the morning. Jan came by to tell them that he was leaving for the night – after a detailed perusal of the Sphere's mechanics – and shortly afterwards Haer'Dalis and Viconia arrived to inform Elatharia that they had returned and would each be staying in the bedrooms around the pond in the western globe of the complex.

Time passed unnoticed. It had been a long day, and Elatharia was glad to have this to think of, rather than what had passed earlier. She did know that at some point this distraction would have to end.

The black sky glittered with stars, visible above them through the glass dome of the library, and it was fully dark and all but deserted in the city outside by the time Edwin poured their last cups of tea, rubbing at his face and sighing wearily. Books were strewn all over the table, from the tome of maps to the still-open account about the priestesses of Bhaal. Both of the wizards had been peering down determinedly at their spellbooks for some time, making sure they had prepared their appropriate spells, but Edwin had finished shortly before Elatharia.

This was another clue, about what was going on with him and his spells, Elatharia realised. She had been noticing it perhaps for longer than she had consciously realised, and he liked to hide it behind bluster and overconfidence. Now she was a better wizard, and she could see that something was a little strange. She was not slow to memorise her spells; he was _fast_. And it had nothing to do with being a better wizard.

When at last the Red Wizard had finished his tea and left, she turned the wheel by the door to set the room out of alignment with the rest of the Sphere, dispelled the lights of Lavok's library and lay down in the bed in the alcove across the room, drawing its curtains behind her.

Sleep came slowly in the darkness.

When it did, the memories crept in. She remembered the bite of spiked manacles at her wrists…and at her ankles. She recalled the spines of the barbed devil and how they had torn her skin. And she woke screaming. Her first thoughts were of Imoen, and of what she had read in her journal. The torments Irenicus had inflicted upon her sister had not been as overtly violent as they had been for the Transmuter, but they had been just as awful in their own way. She woke _angry._

Once the fear ebbed there remained the golden light, bright and comforting and wrathful. She reached out to it and drifted back to sleep in its soothing warmth, thinking of revenge. Irenicus would _not_ win. Especially after what he had done to Imoen.


	21. What Fell with Netheril

**Thank you to those who are reading this story and to those who review - your comments are, as ever, hugely appreciated. ^.^**

* * *

 **Chapter 20: What Fell with Netheril**

* * *

The dawn was bright, clear and crisp with the promise of autumn's colder weather; as Elatharia and Edwin left the Planar Sphere, the Red Wizard was shivering visibly.

When they had reconvened in the library at dawn, the Red Wizard had been poorly attempting to conceal his nervousness. A few times the Transmuter had caught him staring at her, his expression unreadable – and she had found herself watching him in much the same way. But for now they had an agreement to uphold, and some companions to round up.

First, they headed under Edwin's insistence to the little cluster of rented rooms atop the Copper Coronet. They were accessible only via the roof terrace – and it was at the far end of this only recently cleared sprawl of tables that Korgan's home stood, past vomit and spilled beer that had not yet been cleaned by the unlucky tavern staff.

Seagulls were fighting noisily over scraps of discarded bread on the roof of the crooked row of shacks, but above that raucous choir could be heard the thunderous snores of Korgan Bloodaxe. Wrinkling their noses at the smell of the whole terrace, the two wizards stopped outside the open doorway of Korgan's simple abode, both filled with trepidation.

"Are you sure that he is a better bet than Haer'Dalis and Viconia?" Elatharia hissed, peering into the gloom and seeing a single table decorated with a half-eaten plate of…something and an empty flagon. There were no windows in any of these 'apartments', and through the doorway she could make out mouldering plaster half-heartedly covering mouldering wooden boards. Korgan's still-bloody armour had been discarded in one corner, by the alcove from which rumbled his snores. The handle of his axe was poking out from the closer end of that sleeping area, along with one booted foot.

"He and the bounty hunter will follow without asking questions," Edwin reminded her, giving the Transmuter a little push over the threshold and not following, "It is bad enough that you insist upon including the tiefling and drow in your other plans." By which he meant: Bodhi.

Haer'Dalis had stopped by at the doorway of the library upon his return to the Sphere an hour after midnight to tell them that he and Viconia would each be taking one of the rooms around the pond, out in the western globe of the complex. Edwin's half-grumbled comments when he and Elatharia had reconvened in Lavok's library in the morning had suggested that the tiefling and the drow did appear to have each chosen _separate_ rooms around the pond. Having taken a chamber nearby, he did not appear to have _heard_ anything to suggest otherwise.

The Transmuter steeled her nerve and forged forth into the cramped, dark room that served as Korgan's home. Trying not to breathe too deeply, in spite of the open doorway and the cold wind that whistled through the place, she peered through the gloom and witnessed Korgan's slumbering form. He was still holding a bottle of spirits, his beard still dripping with what was hopefully just the emptied remains of the container. His bed was nothing more than a pile of dishevelled sheets and he was lying horizontally across it, his shirt riding up and revealing a broad and terribly hairy back, a continuous expanse broken up by crisscrossing lines of innumerable pink-and-white scars. He grunted and squirmed a little when Elatharia had Edwin conjure a globe of light as bright as any he knew how to create. His snoring stopped for a moment…and then resumed.

"Korgan?"

A grunt, little else.

"Korgan!"

Nothing.

The dwarf turned over fully onto his face and refused to respond to shouted promises of gold, or more alcohol. Beginning to consider implementing one of her _Shocking Grasp_ spells, Elatharia cast about for inspiration. Eventually, her eyes alighted once more upon the sight of the axe handle protruding from the bedding. She grasped hold of it and pulled. He spluttered a little and shifted, but continued to sleep resolutely.

Seeing Elatharia's train of thought, Edwin snorted. She was grinning wickedly herself when she at last managed to pull the axe free with some effort, staggering back as she raised it, and brought it crashing into Korgan's discarded breastplate. The clang of metal on metal tolled like a bell in the small room and the dwarf sat up suddenly, cursing. There were sounds of a wakening commotion in the neighbouring rooms, too.

"Moradin be damned, spellslinger!" Korgan reprimanded bitterly, dragging himself into a sitting position and glaring from beneath his bushy brows, rubbing his head, "What do ye want?"

"We have a job to do in the Graveyard," Edwin told him unsympathetically, leaning around the doorframe but not stepping inside.

"And what's in it fer me, Red Wizard? Not so many things to be killin' in a Graveyard now, is there?" Korgan pointed out with some shrewdness, rubbing his head and sitting back more fully against the wall that served as his headboard.

Watching the dwarf squint at her through the bright light with dawning concern over his possible helpfulness to their quest, Elatharia pointed out of the room towards Edwin.

"He will be paying you. A lot of gold."

"What?" Edwin's eyes widened in disbelief, but one look at Korgan reminded him that he had no choice. Eventually he threw his hands in the air and snarled something mutinous which Elatharia took to be an agreement, "Fine, fine, insufferable dwarf. (Let us hope he can keep his mouth shut, too…)"

"So this is t' be in secret from the weak-stomachs who ye like to keep flutterin' around ye?" Korgan assumed correctly, grunting unwillingly when Elatharia tossed his armour towards him.

"We're going to come back with Yoshimo, and when we do…be ready," Elatharia suggested as she nodded in answer to his question, backing out of the room with gladness, "Remember, the Red Wizard is paying."

* * *

The Graveyard was far less intimidating in the early morning. Every dark, posed statue and stone tomb lining the long, paved walkways was rendered sharply against the clear blue sky and the rising sun. Though mist still clung to the grassy verges and the air was still, sheltered amongst the high walls of the crypts and the scenic mounds, the ominous feeling of the night before was gone. Elatharia did however feel rather exposed as she and her three companions made their way through the newer section of the district. The place seemed deserted, and that set her on edge.

Edwin was determined, if a little jumpy. Beneath his long black cloak he wore his Red Wizard robes as he had when last they had been in the Graveyard together, his hood pulled low over his face. He strode at a swift pace down the narrow pathways – with Korgan stomping behind noisily in spite of the wizards' attempts to quieten him. Yoshimo flitted a few paces behind them, watchful and silent as ever.

They passed the little cluster of benches where Elatharia and Edwin had met Bodhi – and trod the overgrown steps which the vampire mistress had descended to greet them. Beyond lay a dirt path, all but covered by ferns and fungi, walled in by crumbling stone and looming trees whose broad leaves tickled Elatharia's face and snagged in her hair. Though there were no names on the vine-covered tombs they passed, cracked and half-collapsing into the undergrowth, Edwin's path was confident.

Eventually they stopped in front of the old crypts, a complex of crumbling stone that had been half-swallowed in plant matter and long abandoned. A perusal of the maps the previous night had shown to the two wizards that this area was large enough to fill a third of the rest of the entire graveyard. All of the scholarship, nefarious, coded and blood-spattered, suggested that the Nether Scroll of Athkatla was guarded by an ancient power somewhere in this crypt's depths.

"Shoddily made, and shoddily maintained," Korgan complained as he caught up with the two wizards, "Typical o' humans. No idea how they ought t' build wi' stone."

Edwin was inspecting the doorway closely for wards, and it was Elatharia who turned to look at the dwarf. Yoshimo was just picking his way far more gracefully over a cluster of roots. He was frowning slightly, his eyes scanning the trees around them.

"As long as the building doesn't fall on our heads or trap us inside forever, I've no problem with this," Elatharia shrugged, distracted by Yoshimo's watchfulness.

"Then I believe we should proceed," Edwin informed them all as he finally stepped back from the doorway, gesturing for Korgan to go first. The dwarf moved as if to pass him, but stopped at his side and turned to stare up at the wizard, axe planted between his feet.

"Not so fast, Red Wizard," Korgan disagreed, "I've a demand o' me own t' make now ye cannae back out."

"Oh? And what might that be? (As if he has not already demanded too much. Mercenaries would be cheaper, and perhaps less expendable.)"

"I'm goin' t' pretend I didnae hear that, because I'm about t' enjoy watchin' ye squirm," Korgan grinned – with very little mirth evident in his tone.

He paused for effect.

"The red dragon scales. I'll be wantin' me fair share. Fer armour."

"No! Unthinkable! Insufferable…" Edwin's anger flashed immediately, and Korgan shrugged. Picking up his axe, he turned about and started to stomp back the way they had come. Elatharia fought hard not to laugh.

"There is plenty to go around," Elatharia noted, "It can't be that important to keep it all."

"(Says a Transmuter whose profession requires her to throw away endless and uncalculated heaps of ingredients for innumerable and pointless alchemical experiments,)" Edwin huffed, somewhat inaccurately since Elatharia largely favoured the Turmish Transmutation Method – as taught to her by Gorion, a native of that country.

A moment more passed, with the Red Wizard rubbing at his forehead as if the concept she had suggested was physically painful. When Korgan had passed Elatharia and was almost out of sight through the trees, Edwin threw up his hands and snarled something in Mulhorandi before acquiescing.

"Fine! Fine! Wretched, uncivilised dwarf!"

"Good. Glad ye can see sense," Korgan affected a cheerful tone and turned back, hardly pausing before shouldering through the door and the darkness ahead, "Like I said – shoddily made and shoddily maintained…but good killin' grounds nonetheless! Ha!" his voiced echoed ominously and he paused, "I might be a dwarf well used t' the dark, but I cannae see a bloody thing down 'ere! Hurry up, spellslingers, afore I'm th' first t' die!"

"Perhaps that is the plan," Edwin muttered irritably, turning and following all the same with a globe of light already conjured in his palm.

Yoshimo paused next to Elatharia, placing a hand upon her shoulder that made her jump sharply, looking up at his serious expression.

"My apologies, leader," he promised, "I did not mean to startle you. But…be on your guard. I have an uncomfortable feeling that we are being followed."

"By whom?" Her thoughts immediately turned to the Shadow Thieves, and she scanned the trees automatically.

"I do not know," Yoshimo admitted, "But I will keep a careful eye behind us. We will not be taken unawares if I can help it."

"Good," Elatharia nodded, and hurried after the others into the darkness that had been newly lit by Edwin's conjured light.

Within stood a small cobweb-ridden chamber, its tiled floor cracked and breached by tree roots. Korgan was just peering through another doorway into deeper darkness and Edwin was looking around at the statues of robed figures lining the walls. He turned to look down at her with a violated hiss when she put a hand on his arm.

"We're being followed," she whispered urgently before he could complain, and that angry expression of his changed abruptly. He glanced over her head, back out at the Graveyard, with concerned eyes, his fingers brushing her arm as hers curled in his sleeve. "Yoshimo doesn't know who by."

"The Shadow Thieves?" Edwin suggested darkly, letting go of his conjured light and sending it to bob just behind them instead.

"Possibly," Elatharia nodded, "Though I would have thought here in the Graveyard we'd be under Bodhi's protection from that sort of thing. Is there anyone that you know who might be interested in what you're looking for?"

"No," Edwin denied immediately, but his expression showed his lack of certainty. He let out an exasperated breath and glanced down at her, wincing, "I suppose now is the time when you berate me for persuading you that you would not need any pointless Divinations today, yes?"

"It would be, yes," Elatharia bit back a laugh, "Except you never did persuade me, and I have a few that I can cast."

His dead-eyed glare held a flicker of amusement, and she grinned at him, nodding after where Korgan and Yoshimo were just stepping through the other doorway with the Conjurer's light drifting after them.

"Shall we?"

* * *

The crypts continued deep into the foundations of Athkatla, well beyond the current confines of the Graveyard. They were coiled, labyrinthine and crumbling, smelling of damp earth, mouldering cloth…and rot. As the group descended the steps ahead, fully intending to plumb these depths, there was an eerie silence which was filled only by the faint echo of their footsteps. Edwin's globe of conjured light swelled and brightened to try to allow a broader view of the ruined city of the dead, but it came up against thick, swirling dust. It was harder to breathe here, something which hardly abated as they reached the bottom of the creaking staircase and stood at the epicentre of a crossroads.

"Stop, friends," Yoshimo hissed, and all of them listened to him. He flitted past them, his grey and black clothes blending in eerily well with their surroundings, and stopped at the mouth of the nearest tunnel, this one looking a little newer than the others – since its frame still bore its original roses-and-butterflies pattern and had not been warped by years of pressure.

"What is it?" Elatharia whispered, wishing the bounty hunter could converse with her in drow sign language. Thinking of that, she sent a glare Edwin's way. It was becoming rapidly evident that the drow priestess would have been invaluable in this place. Who went into a crypt wherein a lich might dwell without a cleric? If nothing else she could have cast a _Zone of Sweet Air_ around them to clear out the dust.

"There are tracks here," Yoshimo told her as she crept up to him, "I am no ranger, but it looks to me as if they are recent. Only…" he grimaced, "It looks as if whatever made them was dragging its feet, and that there are many."

"Undead," Elatharia spat the word like a curse, wheeling on Edwin and pointing at him accusatorily, "I told you we should have brought Viconia!"

"I say: what does it matter?" Korgan interrupted, his tone worryingly loud, as he hefted his axe, "So long as they fall like th' livin', we should keep on. Lead th' way, Red Wizard. I've me red dragon scale t' collect!"

"I find myself more inclined to agree with the dwarf (though he tries to rob me of my own fair spoils)," Edwin grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Elatharia was not so sure, already concerned about facing the lich who would be guarding the Nether Scroll, but she followed like the others into the more dilapidated corridor, wherein the smell of rot became choking and the dust was too thick for the light to penetrate properly. They had been walking for only a short time when she saw something shift in the gloom ahead and heard the scrape of something nearby. Reflexively she gripped Edwin's arm, pulling him up short beside her. He was about to berate her, until he saw her expression.

"What is it now?"

"There's something up ahead. Korgan!"

But the dwarf had already moved ahead a few more paces. When she saw him straighten in surprise, falling back a step with a grunt that sounded more than a little nervous, Elatharia stepped back from Edwin and reached into the Weave, her hands plucking at the air speedily to bring up a _Fireshield._

"By the gods o' th' stone…I'll cleave yer head from yer shoulders, monster!" Korgan roared. It sounded like a warning, not a promise.

"No need, Korgan Bloodaxe," a smooth female voice promised, even as Elatharia heard the creak of Yoshimo's bowstring behind her.

The dwarf wheeled about as a female figure materialised from the gloom between him and the two wizards. He brandished his axe at her, too, but she just smiled, revealing two long canines beneath her thick, blood-red lips. Tall, thin to the point of emaciation and pale as death, it was undoubted that she was a vampire. Her red dress was a little frayed and dusty at the hem where it had been in contact with the ground, but she could have passed for a respectable lady at a glance.

"We have a common mistress, in Bodhi," the vampire promised, looking to Elatharia knowingly and drawing a surprised sound from Korgan.

"What is it that you want? We had no intention of infringing on your territory, regardless," Yoshimo insisted unexpectedly. Elatharia stiffened at his familiar words, casting a confused glance to where he was relaxing his bow behind her. His tone was formal, forced…but not alarmed.

"Of course, of course," the vampire smiled too widely, still looking at Elatharia, "I am not here to threaten, as you who have made your pact will know. In fact, quite the opposite. I am here to assure you that, so long as you stay within the boundaries of the old crypts and do not descend into the lower crypts, the undead that walk here are under Mistress Bodhi's command and will do you no harm. If you leave her area, however, the creatures that dwell within are far older and more lost than those pawns we use here. Have a care of _them_."

"We thank you for your fair warning," Yoshimo intoned before Elatharia or Edwin could speak, coming up to the Transmuter's side and nodding firmly.

The vampire inclined her head and sent a long, pale-eyed look to each of the companions.

"Our mistress wishes me to inform you that she will have need of your services tonight. Meet with me here, and I will take you to her."

Before anyone could answer, she flitted off into the gloom.

"So, I'm guessin' that's somethin' ye were goin' t' tell me, as a member o' yer team?" Korgan demanded, setting his axe before him and levelling a hard glare Elatharia's way.

"Tonight, actually," the Transmuter was hardly impressed by his threatening tone, since he would be getting no pay without her.

"An' yer Red Wizard hardly looks surprised. Typical wizards, trustin' each other when ye'll most likely be the ones to murder each other," the dwarf snorted, "Let's get this over with."

"I take it your…scroll…is in those lower crypts she mentioned?" Elatharia sighed, pointedly ignoring Korgan. She had seen the maps, but was not as familiar with the names of the areas as Edwin.

The Conjurer nodded, though his eyes were fixed hatefully upon Korgan's back. He did not bother speaking, and instead moved forward with greater speed. Elatharia caught Yoshimo's arm when he started to move past her.

"You sounded surprisingly familiar with her," she noted, and the bounty hunter looked back at her mildly.

"I am familiar with the less reputable members of Athkatla's less reputable societies, Elatharia," he explained, "All of them have given out bounties which I have collected in the past."

"Can I trust you with this information?"

"More than you think, most likely," he shrugged, smiling wryly, "I have no affiliation with the Shadow Thieves, if that is what you fear."

"Good. Are we still being followed?"

"I can sense nothing, but that does not in itself mean 'no'," Yoshimo admitted, "Stay watchful, leader. It is likely that the one who pursues us is more familiar with these tunnels, or with the inhabitants of this particular area of the Graveyard. If their intention is to attack us, or accost us…it will most likely not be here, under Bodhi's influence."

* * *

The vampire's promise proved true. As they walked down through the interlocking tunnels, past innumerable openings to ancient burials, the shuffling and groaning and _stink_ of undeath grew ever more obvious. From half-seen forms shambling in the gloom, they found themselves passing right by the twisted forms of reeking ghouls, zombies…and darker things that seemed to have little presence in one's vision, but filled the air about themselves with a tiring, dragging feeling. Shades, and the like.

Korgan's brash manner quietened until he was stomping along beside the silent form of Yoshimo, both of them behind the two wizards. A glance back at him showed that he was wide-eyed and vigilant in a way that was probably quite admirable, given how drunk he must have been the night before. Edwin strode determinedly at Elatharia's side, but he held a cloth to his face and his brows were drawn together. When he caught her looking, his dark eyes seemed reproachful.

For her part, the Transmuter was _intrigued_. It was not often that she had a chance to see Necromancy in practice, since the monks at Candlekeep had been particularly keen to steer her away from that topic, and she soon grew used to the stink – unlike the others. She found that she could sense the zombies in particular before they shambled past upon their guard duties for Bodhi, their approach sending an uncomfortable shiver up her spine…and a little flare of golden light at the back of her thoughts.

The reminder of the power that taunted her thoughts made her giddy, and it also made her feel strangely unstable. The longer they walked through the old crypts, the more her realisation of this natural affinity with undeath grew. Elatharia's fingers itched with the need to try…something. She was so distracted that she almost walked past the turning that Edwin and the others took.

The Red Wizard caught her arm before she could go astray however, pulling her into the short corridor beyond. At the far end, Korgan and Yoshimo were just inching to the doorway which stood open, peering down into the darkness.

"We are in a crypt, Incompetent One," Edwin reminded in a half-whisper, shaking her a little, "This is not the time to become distracted by the power of your dead father."

"I'm not distracted," she denied feebly, though she looked up at him defiantly. He started to say something else, but his eyes flickered back to hers as if doing a double take. His grip tightened on her upper arm.

"Bhaal was a god of death, not the dead," Edwin sounded incredulous, his voice quietening further to a hiss.

' _I think I can reach out to them with Transmutation,_ ' Elatharia signed, and the Red Wizard's eyes widened. He pulled her a step closer towards him as if the information she was telling him needed to be hidden further until her leg bumped his. ' _I feel Bhaal's power around them._ '

"You think this could be useful…against what we might face?" Edwin asked, frowning as if he were forcing himself to concentrate. Elatharia nodded, and he started to smile.

"Enough o' yer schemin', wizards! Yer makin' me sick with yer…" Korgan started to complain loudly from the other end of the corridor, but Edwin interrupted him.

"We were discussing important tactics which fools such as yourself are not capable of comprehending (made as you are solely as fireball fodder)."

"Ha! Don't ye be forgettin' that dragon scale, Red Wizard!"

Korgan's chortle faltered when Elatharia looked around, back into the darkness of the main corridor. A moment later the crawling on her skin and the flickering behind her eyes proved correct; a zombie ambled past, half-seen through the drifting dust.

After that, they passed through into the lower crypts, and Elatharia was sure to cast her few Divinations as they did so. It had been a long time since she had been in such an environment – Ulcaster, south of Beregost, had been the last place in which she had encountered undead of this type. Her connection with Bhaal's taint had been nowhere near as strong back then. She had no way to tell how reliable this new ability for sensing the zombies and their ilk really was.

As Bodhi's servant had so enigmatically warned, their path from then on was not as easy. Still, only twice did Korgan have to hack his way past a zombie; it seemed that Bodhi's malevolent power was the main offensive necromantic force in these crypts. There had been traps left down here, however, and Yoshimo was kept busy in clearing the way for them. Perhaps they had been set by criminals hiding their stashes of stolen goods, or by families who did not want such thieves to take their relatives' burial treasure. Several times Elatharia nearly pulled a trip wire only to be saved by Yoshimo.

The dust was more settled down here, with far fewer signs of rot. There was just an all-pervading sense of age. It showed in the worn tiles beneath their feet and the collapsing walls around them which Edwin's conjured light illuminated in sharp contrast to the darkness beyond its sphere of influence.

When the golden light of Bhaal flickered hungrily behind her eyes, Elatharia stopped by the next adjacent corridor, turning back to look at Edwin. Wordlessly, she gestured in that direction and he nodded. Yoshimo seemed to watch this interaction as closely as Korgan, but his expression was far harder to read. At least the dwarf looked openly suspicious of the pair.

Edwin made a point of perusing the runes around the opening frame of the corridor before insisting that Korgan go first. When nothing happened, he glanced at Elatharia with a hint of a smile, and she realised he had not been sure of whether or not those wards were active or not. The dwarf did at least have more significant natural resistances to magic than the rest of them, but he was also far less effectively armoured against it.

For her part, Elatharia was far too distracted by the insidious power of Bhaal to even try to look reproachful. She suspected she would not have bothered overmuch even without it.

"It's a dead end, ye magic-addled fools," the dwarf grunted back from the darkness. His eyes flashed with a hint of redness in the lack of light – for the first time, Elatharia wondered if he could see in the dark much like Viconia and Haer'Dalis, and the lack of that kind of knowledge always unsettled her.

Edwin approached the dwarf, and with him went his conjured light. It showed that Korgan was correct; the next ornate archway had been blocked up with crumbling plaster. After a quick Abjuration which sent the runes around the frame hissing and popping into inactivity with little puffs of dust, Edwin rapped on the plaster with his knuckles. Korgan sighed. Then, with very little preamble, he swung in a neat arc and sent the head of his axe crashing through the plaster.

Coughing, the Red Wizard backed up rapidly from the rising white dust as the plaster lost its integrity and collapsed before him and the dwarf. When a light flared beyond, Elatharia fell into a well-practiced series of spells to augment herself even as Edwin did. _Speed, strength, Fireshield_. It was rather paltry compared to the series of contingencies which flared up around the Red Wizard thanks to his tattoos, rings, and familiar Abjurations. A few seconds of stillness followed, until Korgan cursed.

"Oh, gods damn th' both o' ye," he complained, backing up from the doorway even as Edwin stepped through.

The dwarf eyed Elatharia distrustfully when she moved to the Conjurer's side, peering into the chamber beyond. At first all she saw was a series of stacked sarcophagi lining the walls, and a glass cabinet before a stone table. The cabinet was empty and open, but for a few mouldering books and a small gilded box. Edwin was already a few paces inside, his expression hungry and utterly without fear. When something moved from behind the dirty tapestry beside the cabinet, Elatharia tugged at the cool air around her and twisted it into fire in her palms.

"H-h-have the Cowled Wizards found me at last?" a rough voice inquired as the Transmuter moved into the room fully, reaching Edwin's side. Korgan and Yoshimo followed with a great deal more trepidation. The words had been spoken in the rolling, tonal mass of syllables which it took her a moment to recognise as spoken Ancient Netherese.

"I think the Cowled Wizards have forgotten you," Elatharia suggested in the same language as the thing limped into view under its own summoned light. It was a more diffuse light than Edwin's, more like the spell that illuminated Lavok's library.

"That cannot be. Long have I lingered, but not as long as their memories. The months have been long in truth."

He stepped into the light, revealing his strangely cut, tattered black and gold robes and his withered, twisted body. His skin was cracked and shrunken against his bones, his lips gone and his sparse teeth dusty. But his eyes were bright, curious and all too human. This was a lich, not the pale imitation that Lavok's curse had projected. Bhaal's power roared in her veins.

 _This is a dead thing. It has cheated death. It is a dead thing, caught in my realm of death._

"Months?" Elatharia inquired conversationally, tasting the power crackling on her tongue. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she should be fighting this, lest it take her over. It was hard to remember that, however.

"It has been months since the fall of Netheril, yes?" the lich sounded a little exasperated, and Elatharia wondered if that perceptive look in his eyes was not real. Netheril had been fallen for more than ten centuries.

"I will have the scroll," Edwin interrupted, the complex and irregular agglutination of the ancient language tripping off his tongue far more confidently than it had for Elatharia, and the lich looked to him with a curious frown. His voice was forced, but determined. "If you relinquish the scroll, there will be no need for a further disturbance of your rest. (Though you are hardly competent enough to befoul the memory of Netheril with your senile words)."

"Ah, so the Red Wizards have caught me at last. Needless to say, you will not have what I keep, Mulan _thing_. My apprentices were not buried with me for no reason."

As the lich seemed to gain a little coherence, the prickle of rising power swelled in the crumbling room. Three of the sarcophagi shattered and the mummified remains of those who had been interred in the tomb clambered forth, shrugging past Yoshimo's arrows. Korgan roared and leapt forth…and Elatharia had to think fast.

Her _Invisibility_ spell cloaked Edwin and herself before either he or the lich could achieve a spell. It would force their adversary to call forth his own Abjuration even as Edwin sought to break through his protections. Without that, Elatharia would be of little use.

Yoshimo's katana rang free from its sheathe and the bounty hunter dived into the tangle of shambling arms and legs in time to divert one of the other mummies, even as the third brushed up unknowingly against Elatharia's _Fireshield_ …and ignited. She stifled a laugh and tried to focus as it flailed away from her invisible form. She could hear Edwin's chant rising and falling beside her, even as the lich's own spell began to form between his withered fingers.

The two opposing Abjurations soared past each other, and she watched the lich's protections shatter around him like breaking eggshells even as Edwin popped into visibility beside her. He was already calling forth a fire-based spell but the lich was faster, sending a fire arrow his way which he barely dodged. But the creature was still vulnerable and Elatharia's paralysation spell crashed into him just a split second before his protections went back up. She hardly had time to gloat, however, for Edwin was calling forth his next spell and Korgan was currently chopping one of the mummies to pieces.

When Edwin's next spell failed, Elatharia realised that the lich had been more cunning than she had realised. _Time stop_ was one of the most useful and terrifying spells a wizard could ever cast, and it seemed that this lich had cast it at some point before she paralysed him. With Edwin spluttering in shock beside her, she knew she had to act fast.

"Yoshimo! Korgan! Get back into the corridor!"

They barely managed it before the delayed fireball tore through the chamber, knocking Elatharia and Edwin both from their feet. The mummies burned and crumbled even as they attempted to follow the bounty hunter and the dwarf, and the cabinet doors slammed shut, its hinges blazing white hot. The lich stood unaffected, still frozen in place. And though both wizards were protected against the fire that rippled through the air for long, long moments, they were starved of air for that time too and were both wheezing and gasping when the flames subsided. All of the sarcophagi were smouldering ash, along with the mummies. Edwin's cloak was smoking, and he patted it out with a sneer.

Dazed, not yet fully aware that she had banged her head and her elbow upon her collapse to the ground, Elatharia dragged herself to her feet and attempted to cast. As she had expected, her spell failed. The lich's arms twitched. She could hear Korgan and Yoshimo coughing in the corridor outside. Edwin attempted to cast again, and failed.

"Kossuth be damned!" the Red Wizard cursed, staggered back when he realised the fully protected lich was fighting the _Paralysis_ spell and both he and Elatharia could no longer cast.

Their spells may have been failing and the lich may have been awakening, Elatharia may have been feeling faint, dazed and struggling to breathe…but she could still feel the warmth of Bhaal's power in her veins. And she smiled when she reached for it.

 _Ah, the child of Bhaal has awoken…_

 _This is to teach you humility…_

 _You…will…learn…_

The world span around her, memories tangled with reality. She lost focus on it and for a moment she saw a platform of stone spiralling endlessly within a void of nebulous black cloud. She heard a high voice humming tunelessly, saw a pillar of golden light rising up into infinity. She caught the faintest hint of a woman's voice, a pair of green eyes…and long curls of red hair.

It would have been too easy to forget where she was. But the pull of the lich's trapped soul, of his phylactery sitting there in that cabinet, reminded her of her purpose. The confusion fell from her like a shroud and she reached out to the soul which was caught forever in Bhaal's former domain, death, without ever achieving Myrkul's former domain – that of the dead. Kelemvor now commanded both, but that did not seem to matter.

The little box which held the lich's phylactery ignited as she overcame the spell which forced her magic to fail and her _Fire Arrow_ soared into it. The lich staggered, and his spell protections fell away. For a moment he looked as if he might fall, and then he spread his arms to her with a sigh. She had taken his soul, and now he was powerless before what little strength Bhaal had given her. She called upon her knowledge of the less categorised aspects of Transmutation…and tore him apart.

* * *

As the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the ashes which had once been sarcophagi and mummies smouldering, Edwin inched forward across the room. For several long moments he stared down at the broken remains of the lich before looking back at Elatharia with a long, searching stare. He was breathing hard, and he had split his lip when he fell under the fireball's power. Dazed, Elatharia just watching him, leaning back against the wall and trying to catch her own breath.

"I know not what just happened, but I've a feelin' ye're more lucky than clever, spellslinger," Korgan grunted as he returned with Yoshimo, "The way ye were swayin' and twistin' about I thought that lich'd had ye fer sure."

"Whatever you did, incompetent Transmuter, you had better pray that the scroll is here," Edwin warned, tearing his stare from hers and casting about for some suggestion of where it might be.

After a moment of coherent thought, he grunted in memory and moved towards the cabinet. A little gingerly, he plucked a long urn from the shelf above the smouldering phylactery and opened it. His shoulders relaxed when he pulled a deep brown scroll from its depths, tied with a black ribbon. Though he did not check the item, he seemed satisfied that this was what he had been looking for.

"We should leave, lest she pull the crypts down on us," Edwin suggested now, nodding Elatharia's way, which drew a chuckle of agreement from Korgan. Yoshimo had turned back from the room at the last second and vanished back into the darkness of the corridor; the dwarf followed.

"Don't ye be forgettin' me dragon scale," he called over his shoulder.

Edwin paused in front of Elatharia as he tucked the scroll away into a hidden pocket of his robes, frowning down at her wordlessly for a long moment.

"I reiterate: I do not know what you did," he told her as she forced herself to stand straight, wincing when she realised that she had twisted her ankle. He steadied her automatically, his hand closing around her elbow before she could fall back against the wall, "It is not quite what I had in mind when I suggested that you actually use your heritage (she could just as easily have torn _us_ apart!)"

"That's not much of a thank you, but I'll take it as one," Elatharia responded with a pained sigh, leaning against his arm heavily for a few moments before looking up from an inspection of her ankle.

"As if using me as a walking stick is not demeaning enough, you attempt to take all of the credit! Bah!"

His tone was far less fearsome than he had intended, and he glanced over her head as if checking to see that the others were out of sight with his conjured light bobbing after them. It suddenly occurred to her that this scroll was all that Edwin had wanted since she had met him in Athkatla. What happened now? He had claimed that he would help her once he had the Nether Scroll, but what did that really mean? He could leave at any point, surely?

"Edwin?" her voice sounded tremulous to her own ears, "What happens now?"

He looked down at her as if she were mad.

"We leave this crypt – which is no place for civilised conversation – and I begin my perusal of the scroll. While you go and play with the other idiots. Of course."

"No…I mean…what happens now?"

"Are ye followin', wizards? Or are ye finally doin' somethin' more interestin' than arguin' over magic?"

Both of them ignored the dwarf and his following grunt – assuming that he had no doubt turned back and decided to wait for them around the corner. Instead, Edwin blinked down at her without understanding.

The fizz of magic behind Elatharia and a shout from Korgan interrupted any epiphany that Edwin might have been about to have. She twisted about, limping heavily in time to see the silver sparks of a _Dimension Door_ dying away, revealing an altogether too-familiar man. Though he was not dressed in the grey cowled robes which he had worn the last time she had seen him, Elatharia recognised this tall, thin man to be the leader of the Cowled Wizards who had attempted to arrest them at the Planar Sphere. What had his name been? Ah: Rayic Gethras.

His hard expression did not change when the two wizards backed up in surprise, his grey eyes without emotion. He brandished a wand in his hand, and a glance behind him showed that he had already used it once; Korgan was lying face-down on the ground, unmoving. He brought it to bear against Elatharia before any words could be spoken, and she did not even have time to curse before the spell hit her.

She stood as one frozen, the magic fizzling along the Robe of Vecna, and willed that he did not realise his mistake.

"I take it you are not thinking of arresting us this time," Edwin noted far more coolly than she would have expected, "As I see no lackeys following you."

"Edwin Odesseiron," Gethras greeted without even a glance at Elatharia, "You have some powerful people who want your head."

"I take it the price was too high for even one as principled and intelligent as yourself to pass up," the Red Wizard's heavily accented voice was dripping with sarcasm, "And that you have no interest in what is it that I just found."

"Correct," the Cowled Wizard nodded as if he did not understand the mocking nature of the words. He raised the wand again, as if he knew Edwin was out of spells. "Though I will take it from your corpse, no doubt."

Elatharia moved then, much to Gethras's surprise, throwing herself between Edwin and the wand so that the Robe of Vecna could absorb the _Paralysis_ spell as it had before. For a moment the Cowled Wizard blinked in surprise, and then staggered back as Edwin managed to right himself in time to let off a number of magic missiles. The globes of energy did little more than throw him off-balance, but it helped – and they had little else left to them.

"Get the wand!" Elatharia exclaimed, gesturing at her injured ankle pointedly.

Edwin rolled his eyes before complying, leaping forward and grappling with Rayic Gethras. For herself, the Transmuter utilised a _Larloch's Minor Drain_ and was pleasantly surprised when the pain in her ankle subsided – and Rayic yelped, losing his footing and falling to one knee. She had not expected him to be void of protection spells. Was he a Transmuter also? Or had he been unwittingly – and fortuitously – caught in the lich's earlier Abjuration? That would certainly explain that look of horrified surprise on his face.

Edwin staggered back, with the wand in his shaking hands, and only just remembered to turn it about to face his target before firing it. Gethras stiffened and fell to the side, eyes wide. The Red Wizard looked over his shoulder to share a look of disbelief with Elatharia at the wizard's hubris. Just exactly how unprepared was he?

The answer came as Yoshimo stepped out of the dark corridor, unnoticed in the fuss, and pushed his katana through the wizard's back.

"An enemy of yours?" the bounty hunter inquired calmly as he wiped the blade on the dying man's robes, raising a curious eyebrow Edwin's way.

"Wha-," Edwin panted, looking back at Elatharia with wide eyes, "He…"

"He was _terrible_ ," Elatharia nodded, starting to laugh, "After killing the worst lich I could have imagined, we meet the worst assassin of all time. I…I can't believe it…" her laughter only grew louder, and for a moment or two Edwin looked from the dead wizard to her, the wand in his shaking hands.

"He wanted to kill _me_!" he exclaimed, scandalised by her amusement, brandishing the wand at her as Yoshimo moved away to help Korgan to his feet, "Agh! I do not know whether to be offended or relieved that he was so incompetent!"

"Offended?" Elatharia could barely get the word out through her laughter. She took the wand from his hands, and he just stared at her. "Why? Because someone sent the world's worst wizard to kill you?"

"Yes," he snarled, as if that were the natural state of affairs, though his lips twitched. When she continued to laugh, his eyes softened a little.

"Well we didn't have any useful spells left, and you just fought him for this wand…so…" she was fairly crying with laughter at the memory of him grappling with Gethras, "Oh, gods, we need to get back to the Sphere. I have to tell Viconia."

* * *

 **Author's note: Dammit, Gethras - what _timing_!**


	22. A Dramatic Evening

**With thanks to those who have reviewed, and are following, this story.**

 **Evil themes ahead. ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 21: A Dramatic Evening**

* * *

Haer'Dalis and Viconia had been eating breakfast at the round table in the central room of the Planar Sphere when Elatharia and the others arrived. It looked as if Viconia had only just dragged herself from her bed; she squinted towards them with the bleary eyes of sleep as they entered the octagonal room which had once held the Knights of Solamnia.

"Our wayward flock returns!" Haer'Dalis greeted, saluting them with a pastry he had bought not long before from a stall outside, "May we know the depths of your schemes now, my Raven, ere I flit this nest to practice my play with the Dove?"

"Now that's a terrible euphemism, if ever I heard one," Edwin commented, sparing only a cursory glance to the drow and tiefling before moving for the door behind Viconia, "If anyone has need of someone with a real intellect, I will be busy in the library and will not want to be disturbed."

With that he vanished to his chosen destination and Elatharia slid onto one of the chairs with a tired sigh. She left the recounting of most of what had happened to Yoshimo and Korgan, who joined them at the large table, but was sure to take up the tale of Rayic Gethras herself. Viconia did laugh at the thought of Edwin struggling to wrest a wand from another wizard, without the aid of magic. It was not a dignified image.

"And who was it that wants Edwin's death so badly? And why?" the drow priestess inquired, intrigue shining her blue eyes.

"I don't know," Elatharia admitted, "But I certainly intend to find out. And soon."

"If I were an author of comedies, I would include such a scene," Haer'Dalis promised, "But now, my Raven, I would like to know what it is that you could not tell us before," he leaned forward intently.

"Alright," Elatharia nodded, seeing Viconia's expectant expression. In fact, Yoshimo and Korgan looked fairly attentive as well. She stood first, however, and turned the wheel by the door which led to the entrance, shifting the room out of alignment to avoid anyone who was not welcome interrupting, "First, I need some assurances – for what they are worth…Korgan, Haer'Dalis – that the information I give you will not leave this Sphere unless explicitly stated otherwise by me."

"You wound me with your assumptions," Haer'Dalis put a hand over his heart, but inclined his head to her all the same, "The berks of this anthill are a strange and rowdy lot. I have no fondness for Athkatla, or any allegiance to those who are not of your close acquaintance, my Raven. You can trust this Doomguard with your information."

Viconia glanced at him doubtfully, and he flashed her a smile.

"I'm fer killin'," Korgan reminded Elatharia, twisting about in his seat as she returned to hers, "I'm not so bothered who for or why, but I've a feelin' me best options are tae stay with ye. Mostly 'cause ye keep throwin' yerself in plots like this one. Otherwise, ye might be makin' a big mistake in tellin' me, ha! I'd need a lot o' gold…but ye've promised me the dragon scale, and that's good enough. Fer now."

"Fair enough," the Transmuter shrugged. She glanced at Yoshimo as well, and when the bounty hunter nodded his acceptance of her request, she continued, "Alright then, it's simple. The Shadow Thieves have been competing with an even shadier group for some time now. This…group…is led by Bodhi, who makes her lair in the crypts and is most likely as much of a vampire as her minions. But she has promised to get us to Imoen – and sooner than the Shadow Thieves, who have proven just how untrustworthy they are with their recent delays."

"And this Bodhi…what has she requested from you in return?" Viconia inquired as calmly as if they were discussing a monetary transaction.

"Some deaths," Elatharia admitted. A quick glance at each of those gathered around the table proved that this was the right audience. Yoshimo's expression hardly changed; he just nodded in understanding. Korgan actively smiled, while Haer'Dalis just raised an eyebrow, keeping his intrigued smile.

"And you are sure that Bodhi can act on her promises? That she has the power, influence and resources to do this?" Viconia insisted, and Elatharia felt a moment of frustration. These were not things she had really considered…but she nodded firmly all the same. The drow seemed mollified, "Then I do not see any problems with this. People who hire work to assassinate are often an untrustworthy lot, but the same could have been said of the Shadow Thieves. If we are to demean ourselves then we may as well take the path which is most brief."

"Agreed," Elatharia smiled in relief, but seeing Haer'Dalis still smiling, so unreadable, she remembered an important point, "The others can't know about this. Not Aerie, Minsc, Mazzy, Anomen or Jaheira. Probably not Jan either, since I wouldn't trust him to keep a secret about anything from anyone. It needs to be just us."

"And how were you intending on breaking the news when it matters most?" Viconia asked dryly in that tone of hers which meant Elatharia had, for all of her intelligence, failed to notice the obvious flaw, "Jaheira will, ultimately, follow on any path to Imoen and her revenge against Irenicus. Much as you. With her properly gagged by these goals, we could probably deceive Minsc quite completely. The others will be less amenable," she glanced at Haer'Dalis warningly, "The avariel and the Helmite could betray us in their righteous fury. The halfling paladin definitely will."

"I had imagined that we would just ferry them onto the boat that takes us to Spellhold," Elatharia explained, annoyed now, "We managed to keep them out of most of what we did for the Shadow Thieves, after all."

"Very well, although this is significantly worse in their eyes," Viconia persisted, spreading her hands and shrugging when Elatharia glared, "Control yourself, _khal'abbil_. I am, as ever, on your side."

"Fine," the Transmuter agreed grudgingly. The words were disarming, at least.

"What follows, then, my Raven?" Haer'Dalis asked now, "When must we commit the first deed?"

"Bodhi has asked to see me tonight. To give instructions," Elatharia told them, "Viconia and Yoshimo, I'd like you to come with me. Korgan, I'll always be sure to inform you before we've been given our orders." The dwarf had been about to complain, but grunted in agreement at this.

"Very well," Haer'Dalis shrugged, "I shall work on my play while you are out. And weave some pretty tales to the others if need be."

* * *

After their meeting, Korgan had retreated to his home above the Copper Coronet, and the others had headed out to the Five Flagons Inn to watch the rehearsals of Haer'Dalis's play. However the tiefling had managed to coerce Aerie into agreeing to act with him was a mystery to Elatharia, even knowing of the avariel's rather obvious interest in him. Though the idea of Viconia being present for those rehearsals was amusing to her, the Transmuter had not gone with them initially. Still intrigued by the lure of Lavok's extensive library, she had perused the books therein for some time.

Edwin had been sitting at the table, surrounded by books and staring down at his new Nether Scroll when she arrived. He was still in that attitude, frantically scribbling notes, when she left. He seemed remarkably unbothered by the attempt on his life earlier in the day. Just as he had looked rather unsurprised when it happened. From this, Elatharia could quite readily deduce that he knew who his enemies were and may have even been expecting something of this type for some time. He was too fixated upon his work to force the information from him at that time, and her day was far too full, but she made a mental note to learn what she must from him later. It seemed too petty to be angry with him about something like this – how many assassins had he helped her fight off – and ones who had been after her head, no less?

Later, Elatharia had met with almost all of her other companions on the lower level of the Five Flagons Inn; Valygar, Korgan and Edwin were the notable exceptions. Haer'Dalis, who was after all still officially employed by the inn as the director of its new group of actors, had arranged for their dinner to be brought down to them, and they had eaten together around the table in the back room. All the new actors were absent, but the group ate surrounded by stacked props and piles of costumes.

No one was sure who had invited Jan – or indeed if anyone had – but he, Haer'Dalis and Aerie were deep in a discussion about acting. Meanwhile, Viconia and Anomen were taking it in turns to send distrustful glares the bard's way. He had an arm around the back of Aerie chair and they were laughing together freely. Elatharia found herself a little confused by the situation, but once she finished her food and her drink, a look out of the window showed that the sun was setting.

As if reading her mind, Yoshimo sent her a very subtle nod and slipped from his chair, heading up the stairs to the clamour of the tavern above. When Elatharia elbowed Viconia to get her attention, the drow did not immediately respond. Another nudge prompted her to tear her glare from the increasingly loud conversation rising up between Haer'Dalis and Jan, Aerie giggling between them.

' _We need to leave,_ ' the Transmuter reminded her, using the vast range of expression available in the drow sign language to denote her impatience.

' _Of course, my friend,_ ' Viconia agreed, standing first and speaking aloud, "We must have words about your Red Wizard's ridiculous insults earlier," she lied, an easy enough ruse to get them away from the inn without suspicion. The idea of Edwin insulting anyone was more of an expectation than a likelihood, after all.

Still, Jaheira sent Elatharia a long, searching glance from where she was sitting a little removed from the others at the far end of the table. Dressed in a simple tunic and leggings today, she was obviously at least making some attempt to blend in with the city, but she was did not seem to know what to do with herself in these situations. Mazzy, who was seated closest to her, had been trying to talk to her through their dinner – but had failed to create any lasting conversation.

There was something in that bleak look that made Elatharia pause behind her own seat while Viconia moved for the side door that would take them out onto the walkway by the river. That long, empty look in Jaheira's eyes reminded her of Khalid's torn body in Irenicus's dungeon. And of Imoen's nervous, strangely removed journal entries, of which the druid knew nothing. _We have to find her_. And in that one thing, if nothing else, the Transmuter and the druid were united.

"Fare thee well, my Blackbird!" Haer'Dalis called after Viconia, who did not so much as pause as she stepped through the door. He raised his cup to Elatharia as well, grinning, "My Raven."

The Transmuter followed the Sharan priestess, and they made their way up the steps outside to meet Yoshimo at the front door of the tavern, which stood on the main thoroughfare of the Bridge District. It would have seemed more suspicious if he had left through the same door as the pair; this way there was no proof that they had, ultimately, left together. He gave them a swift nod, and moved ahead of them on their pre-agreed path.

' _You should have enchanted your mask for infravision, my friend,_ ' Viconia signed when they reached the district gates and awaited the side door to be opened for them. Her own eyes would be glowing red in this dusk, but for the Transmutation that rendered her as a moon elf.

It was a wise reminder; Elatharia had once travelled with a real moon elf of some significant wizarding skill, Xan of Evereska, and he had insisted that the mask she had then worn be imbued with a number of Enchantments. Among them were the augmentations of _Infravision_ and _Mirrored Eyes_. But that mask had also been more showy; embroidered with green leaves, rather than the plain black that she hid behind now. In the face of this reminder, all Elatharia could do was sigh and accede the point. Perhaps she would have a merchant imbue the same Enchantments upon this new mask…and add _Detect Illusion_ to the list of imbuements.

"How do you know that our movements will not be tracked?" Viconia hissed in her ear as they walked the streets of the Slums, now mostly deserted but for groups of tavern-goers and -leavers.

"I would imagine that Bodhi is expecting us, Viconia," Yoshimo responded, falling back a few steps to join the pair, his smile half-seen in the darkness for the Transmuter, "I have had dealings with her in the past, and when she is expecting your presence in her lair there are far fewer Shadow Thieves to be glimpsed about the streets. None, in fact."

"Your words alone, without proof or any sense of trustworthiness at all, are not going to sway me, _jaluk_ ," Viconia told him coolly, and shooed him away. Elatharia pretended to hide her smile, glancing at the drow's frowning face.

"That was about as subtle as your glaring at Aerie earlier," the Transmuter sniggered. It sounded like Yoshimo laughed at that, but he was walking in front of them and she could not see his face to be sure, "Which brings me to a question I think I'd finally like an answer to: is it you or the avariel that Haer'Dalis wants to bed?"

Viconia's silence was hard to fathom. She just kept her eyes on the road and her lips pressed together tightly. When she wanted to be, she was impossible to read.

"And what about Anomen? I'm more than relieved that he quickly gave up on talking to me like a saviour come to sweep him off his feet…but him and Aerie. She was staring at him before we even met Haer'Dalis…"

"Shut up, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia advised sharply, "It is irritating enough to bear witness to these things without you prattling about it like a child just out of training."

"Swaddling might have been more accurate for we pampered surface folk, oh mighty-fallen-priestess-of-Lolth," Elatharia suggested far less sweetly than a more virtuous person might have managed. She and Viconia had known each other many months. They had saved each other many times. But neither of them took criticism well.

"Do not speak that wretched name to me, Bhaalspawn," Viconia spat into the darkness, but her words held little venom towards the Transmuter. That was all spared for Lolth.

"Seriously, as the leader of our rabble, I would prefer it if this ridiculous situation with Haer'Dalis sorted itself out sooner rather than later. I'm not having Aerie throwing herself off-deck midway to Spellhold because he prefers you, and Anomen's pride can't cope with the competition."

"As much as I would like to see her do that, I shall warn you now that Haer'Dalis is doing this deliberately, _khal'abbil._ "

"Why?" Elatharia asked immediately, and she did not need to look at Viconia to know that the drow's shoulders had slumped. She should have known better than to discuss this with a wizard, who would always want all of the facts.

"It is utterly demeaning – and, I maintain, childish – to discuss such things in the street, making one's way to a Graveyard in tow behind a bounty hunter," Viconia complained as they rounded the corner to the dark gates out of the Slums and in amongst the crypts.

"Just spit it out," Elatharia suggested, ignoring the crawling sensation that ran over her bare arms as they neared the black gates of the Graveyard. Something about the place drew in fog…and the mist was particularly dense tonight.

"He is doing it deliberately," Viconia reiterated, eyeing the Transmuter with some exasperation as Yoshimo unlatched the gate a few steps away. Eventually, she fell into sign language, ' _He has made his want of me clear. I have pointed out to him that it is not his place to seek me so openly, but rather his place to give what I ask from him. He is…attempting to make me jealous, I believe. Though he also would be happy to have the avariel, regardless.'_

' _You…rebuffed him?'_ Elatharia surmised, snorting loudly enough that Yoshimo twisted about to look at them curiously as he held open the gate, ' _We farming nations of the surface have a phrase for that: you reap what you sow. He loves chaos, and he'll make it. It's up to you to make a decision and either push him away for good…or accept him. Simple.'_

"Leader, should we continue?" Yoshimo sounded amused rather than impatient, but Elatharia waved him to silence all the same.

When she looked back at Viconia, the drow was smiling darkly.

"Oh, Elatharia," she purred aloud now, "If only you could take your own advice and stop trying to tell me, who have seen a _century_ more of life than you, how to conduct myself. Now, did we not have someone to see? I grow tired of such chatter."

The Transmuter gave her the sternest look she knew how to give whilst wearing a mask, and headed off without another word. She could not tell if her heart leapt in her chest at the thought of taking her own advice…or at the prospect of entering the crypts again.

* * *

Aerie had gone upstairs with Jaheira and Minsc, intending to go home and rest after a long day practicing the play with Haer'Dalis and assuming that Anomen was right behind them. She still had her misgivings about the play, not least because of the tragic ending of the story, but she also felt that it was her duty to help the group keep its spirits up while waiting for passage to Spellhold. However, since the others had come to have their evening meal at the Five Flagons Inn, the avariel had sensed the tension in the room. Even once Yoshimo left, and Elatharia was taken away by Viconia, there had been something amiss. Every time she had looked towards Anomen, she had seen a hurt, reproachful look in his eyes. And now the cleric had not followed them up, which meant that he and the tiefling were alone together in the theatre.

"Oh!" Aerie exclaimed, making a show of pausing in the doorway and rummaging through her little satchel of things. As predicted, Jaheira and Minsc paused a little ahead of her, "I've left some of my notes!" She hadn't, and lying was painful, but this was for the greater good, "I…I should go back and get them."

"We will wait here," Jaheira answered immediately, though her shoulders tightened as if at the mere mention of something as frivolous as one's lines. Minsc nodded with significantly better humour.

"No!" Aerie had to battle with controlling the momentary fright in her voice, "No, that's alright. I-I'll catch up with you…"

"Absolutely not," Jaheira disagreed immediately, her ready frown appearing, "The streets are too dangerous for one person alone at this time of night. We will wait for you here."

"…Anomen will accompany me," Aerie finished quickly, smiling as openly and innocently as she could. Minsc blinked as if dazed, before looking to Jaheira for intellectual aid.

"I…" Jaheira paused, and then her stance softened. The hint of a smile even showed on her face, "Very well. I will wait up for you at the house."

"Thank you," Aerie's smile was more genuine this time, surprised and pleased by the druid's concern.

Jaheira was hard to read at the best of times, but it seemed that behind her coldness and her impatience she did care. On impulse, the avariel stepped forward and put her arms around Jaheira for a goodbye hug. For a moment the druid tensed as if she might pull away…and then her hands patted awkwardly against Aerie's back.

"I won't be long!" the avariel promised as she stepped back, waving at the ranger and the startled druid before retreating back through the doorway of the Five Flagons Inn.

The inn was much quieter than the Copper Coronet, its tavern maybe a fifth as large and furnished with more comfortable seats around smaller tables. The barkeeper was less hassled (and actually owned his own inn), and the kitchen staff were always friendly. The floor was carpeted and clean, and a fire was crackling happily across the room, which was filled with patrons talking quietly over drinks. The stairway in the corner of the room led up to nothing more than several comfortable, merchant style rooms – one of which Mazzy rented permanently. Aerie much preferred this place to the Copper Coronet. At least she normally did, but as she moved across the room for the door leading down into the theatre…she had her misgivings. Haer'Dalis had been in a particularly irreverent mood, and Anomen had seemed tense.

Closing the door quietly behind her, Aerie crept down the little narrow stone stairs – past paintings of various landscapes and scenes from plays – and down into the lobby of the theatre. Only a few candles lit this area, and she could make out clipped men's voices coming from the darkened theatre beyond. Her heart sank, and she inched forward, leaning against the partition by the open door in order to first ascertain what the conversation might be.

"…are not yours to torment, flaunt and abandon, rake!" Anomen's voice, poorly hushed, seemed to be coming from closer at hand.

Haer'Dalis chuckled softly, but there was not much genuine mirth in the sound.

"And you believe that is how I conduct myself? I leave such behaviour to the berks of this city. But to enjoy the beauty and variety of those who are outsiders just as I…I do not deny that is a fascinating diversion," his voice deepened as if in threat, and Aerie tensed in surprise, "I leave the misogyny and prejudice to those who have learned it from birth, cleric of Helm."

"I…you…" Anomen spluttered for a moment, obviously understanding that the tiefling was implying those flaws were traits of his, "I will not be side-tracked from the truth! You must be more honourable in your intentions, or face my wrath! I see you leading on Lady Aerie, and the next moment turning to conspire with the drow!"

"You think that they do not have some part in this? I am but a humble Sparrow, flitting amongst my flock. And if beauty turns to me with hungry eyes, who am to deny them their enj…"

"You are acting without care for those you might hurt!" Anomen exploded. Aerie jumped where she leaned against the partition, "You cannot…it is immoral…to court Aerie whilst you dally with the drow. And…and vice versa."

"I find your turn of phrase fascinating, Peacock," Haer'Dalis responded – though his tone was much quieter, there was something slow and menacing in it that Aerie would never have imagined, "And I think that you will have to leave it up to the Dove to choose whether or not she prefers you, childish son of a drunken lord, over me."

"You are shallow, selfish and favour outer beauty to inner goodness! You are using her, no matter what you claim!"

"I, shallow? What of you, cleric? You who watched our leader with such fascinated eyes…until she removed her mask, and you saw how not all those born of elf kind and filled with power are also beautiful of form."

"You…you never so much as glanced at Elatharia! And I swiftly came to my senses because she does _not_ have a good heart, no matter how much she cares about her sister."

"I know when my 'glances' would not be welcomed," Haer'Dalis corrected, "Can you say the same?"

Aerie could imagine how Anomen would be drawing himself up proudly, about to say that yes, of course he could – and that the tiefling probably could not. But the pause stretched several moments too long. From the quiet murmur of Haer'Dalis's voice, it sounded like he was adding something too quiet for her to hear.

"Scoundrel! If you go near her again I will…I will…" Anomen's irate voice was followed by the thud of heavy feet upon the wooden boards of the seating area.

Aerie rushed into the room, no longer able to hold her alarm at bay. From the way that Anomen was just stumbling forward, visibly off-balance and red-faced even in the half-light while Haer'Dalis was just shifting nimbly into a braced position a few steps away, it looked as if a fight had been about to break out.

"What are you…what are you _doing_?" Aerie exclaimed, and both of them looked abruptly to her. Anomen straightened immediately, flushing even more now – only this time it was embarrassment and not anger that suffused his being. Haer'Dalis, conversely, just raised his eyebrows and _smiled_ , his hands still wresting easily on his sword pommels.

"M-my lady…"

"I heard everything!" the avariel pre-empted the cleric, knowing that her voice was shaking almost as much as her hands and not sure whether she was angry, upset or frightened by what had been about to happen, "And I…I think you should both know that I'm not your _thing_ to…to barter over." She was fairly close to stamping her foot in annoyance. Seeing Haer'Dalis's lingering amusement, she let out a wordless snarl that somewhat startled Anomen.

"My lady," he tried again, his palms out towards her as if it were _her_ that needed calming even as he was visibly torn between his previous frustration and his current mortification, "I was only pointing out to the tiefling that his behaviour towards you has been thoughtless and nigh on unacceptable…"

"I will be the judge of that!" Aerie insisted more furiously and forcefully than she knew the cleric would have expected from her, "And…as for you…" she turned to Haer'Dalis and felt herself blushing even as she forced out her words, "You…you have been unkind! Very unkind! You know that Viconia is a cruel and selfish creature and you make a point of flaunting your behaviour towards me in front of her like I am some toy to be used! I won't have it anymore!" she looked away from the tiefling before he could answer, and pointed at Anomen, "But I'm angry with you, too! We talked about this! You…you should trust me, a-and you can't tell me what to do, either!"

"I…my lady…forgive me…" Anomen's gaze fell to the floor at her feet, and when she gestured to the stairs he headed that way without complaint.

Only once he had gone out of sight through the lobby did Aerie look to Haer'Dalis. In the dim light his blue hair and black eyes were the same, inky shade. His skin was very pale, offset by the dark lines that curved over his chin. He was as frightening as he was beautiful; graceful and powerful in even his smallest movements. And in that moment, seeing him watching her with such faint, wistful amusement, she knew that she could not fathom him. That she never would.

"Wh-whatever it is you think that you're doing…it won't work," Aerie told him tremulously. He moved as if to approach her, opened his mouth as if to speak, but she waved him to silence hurriedly.

He paused, and she fled from him before he could see the tears in her eyes.

* * *

Elatharia's conjured lights had never been as good as Edwin's, or Imoen's for that matter. Where her sister was capable at all of the schools of magic and Edwin was a master of Conjuration, Elatharia was sadly neither. Transmutation was her school, and in her youth she had dabbled more in Invocation and Divination. Necromancy had been a fascination, but one she could never act upon whilst in Candlekeep.

All the same, her light illuminated the crossroads of the ancient pathways in the old crypts of the Graveyard district in a faint, greyish glow. Viconia's eyes were shining bright red in the gloom, her moon elf Transmutation dispelled. She was a drow, and she was more comfortable here in the dark than she ever was above ground in the city. Even her movements had changed subtlety; her footsteps were utterly silent, her sign language so fast and fluid that Elatharia could barely follow it.

Fortunately, they had not been waiting long, Yoshimo lingering in the shadows behind them, when the same vampire-lackey who had warned them of Bodhi's monster that morning approached them through the gloom. Gesturing for them to follow, blood-red smile broad and knowing, she had led them through the corridors of the crypts, far beyond the area which Elatharia had become familiar with when perusing the maps with Edwin.

When they stepped through a poorly aligned door, Elatharia had expected a crypt, or some kind of rudimentary office. She did not expect to step out into the open air to the rush of the wind and distant crashing of waves. In the faint light of the moon and her own Conjuration, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. They were standing close to a cliff edge overlooking the sea and a broad, sandy beach. The moonlight was dancing, white and eerie, across the distant waves. Trees loomed in around the crypt they had just left, creeping down the crumbling walls behind them. A few paces away, across the short stretch of knee high grass, stood Bodhi…and in her grasp squirmed a young, wild-eyed man in the black and silver of the Shadow Thieves. The red sash at his waist denoted him as a novice.

"I am so glad that you could come," Bodhi greeted silkily as Elatharia, Viconia and Yoshimo stepped out to join her. She waved her servant away, and the vampire bowed low before flitting back into the darkness of the corridor.

"Help me! Please!" the man begged, struggling in vain against the hold Bodhi had on his wrists, which were bound behind his back.

Viconia tensed at Elatharia's side as she joined the Transmuter on the cliff edge, her hand automatically going to the handle of the Flail of the Ages at her hip. Yoshimo waited behind them both, and was silent. Elatharia just raised an eyebrow and looked into Bodhi's pale eyes. The mistress of the vampires smiled, showing long canines, and pulled at the man she held, her free hand curling slowly around the side of his neck. Feeling the long sharpness of her black nails, he stopped struggling abruptly, panting hard, panicked eyes rolling.

"You have brought some more friends for me to meet," Bodhi noted, nodding to Viconia with a curl of her lip. Her eyes skimmed over Yoshimo and her expression fell to one of blankness, "I think I preferred the Red Wizard."

Surprisingly, Viconia did not rise to this bait. She just smiled coldly, and watched.

The man continued to struggle.

"I hope my…servants…did not unsettle you too much on the way here, Elatharia," Bodhi offered when the silence had stretched, broken only by the captive Shadow Thief's pleas.

"You mean your zombies and ghouls?" Elatharia could barely contain her amusement, but just shrugged as if ambivalent.

The Transmuter could still feel the pull of her heritage distantly, and knew that some of those monsters lingered not far away. Curiously, the vampires which she had met – and Bodhi herself – did not seem to be so vulnerable to Bhaal's power. She began to wonder how weak that Netherese lich had been, and how long it had lingered in the crypts, withering, inactive and insane.

"I do hope you found whatever it is that you came for earlier," Bodhi added, as if stalling…or waiting for Elatharia's curiosity to win out. She gave another sharp tug on the captive man when he attempted to pull free again.

"Yes," Elatharia agreed distractedly, her eyes on the young man now, "And maybe you could explain what he's here for?"

He was clearly a member of the Shadow Thieves. Who had let her down. Whom she had betrayed.

"He is the reason that I called you here," Bodhi admitted, smiling widely again. She staggered slightly when he pulled harder, his eyes alighting hopefully upon Elatharia. The vampire mistress bared her teeth at him and her hand clenched tightly beneath his jaw.

Elatharia folded her arms slowly, looking to Viconia and then Yoshimo with her eyebrows raised in a show of nonchalance. In truth, she was curious. Once she might have been shocked. But this young, struggling captive represented a group who she perceived to have all but betrayed her. And she had decided to start killing things that betrayed her.

"He is just a novice, a boy who has been forced into his trade because he can do nothing else. An orphan, who lived on the streets. Now he is a ward of Renal Bloodscalp, deputy to the leader of the Shadow Thieves," Bodhi explained conversationally, "That group which you once worked for. As you know, the Shadow Thieves hold a monopoly on this town, and I intend to break it. We have been…recruiting…from their ranks where we can. Sometimes, however, they are a little too uncooperative. He has resisted the temptations we laid out for him. And now I give you a choice. Kill him…or I will release him. He will return to the Shadow Thieves and tell of how you saved him. This is all I require…a few deaths to prove your loyalty, that we see the world with the same eyes of which this will be the first. And then there will be a ship waiting for you, to take you to Spellhold."

Elatharia had the distinct feeling that Bodhi was expecting some kind of horror, or at least shock, from her. This was a helpless young man, not armed or armoured and not violent. Just afraid. But Elatharia had learned that the good way was often the easy way…and not the most economical.

A glance to Viconia showed the drow's distaste for the simple execution work, but she did not argue. Yoshimo was carefully blank, and only inclined his head when Elatharia looked towards him. Faced with such ambivalence, the Transmuter turned back to Bodhi and smiled coldly.

"Fine, if that's what you want. Although I must admit to being a little doubtful. You have few obvious reasons for aiding me – there are probably far cheaper and more efficient executioners that you could hire."

"We want the same thing," Bodhi explained, reaching into her robes and pulling out a small knife, extending it towards the slowly approaching Transmuter. The man squirmed and begged loudly in the brace of her other arm, "I too have unfinished business with Jon Irenicus and at Spellhold," her head dipped and a mischievous look crossed her broad face, "Nothing to be overly concerned about. Here, use this."

The knife that she extended towards Elatharia came into the conjured light which followed the wizard the few short steps to the vampire mistress and her captive. The white blade caught her eye, and she snatched her hand back in surprise. A bone dagger. It resembled the dagger she had dreamed of when first she had left Candlekeep. The dagger with which Bhaal would have had her kill a man in her dreams.

"I have need of no weapons," she snapped, watching Bodhi's face closely now. Was it deliberate? A trick of some sort? Her skin crawled uncomfortably. Was she being used even more than she had thought? It was demeaning enough to be acting as this woman's executioner. A flicker of anger stirred in the back of her mind.

"Of course," the vampire mistress showed no disappointment at the rejection, tucking the weapon back into her belt, "I had only thought to offer you the use of one of our daggers, lest your manner of killing be recognised by those who once called you friend."

Elatharia's smile was cold and distrustful when it turned to Bodhi.

"I don't need a dagger," she reiterated, gesturing quickly with one hand and muttering a few quick phrases.

Bodhi watched curiously, but did not appear to show recognition of her intention. Elatharia's smile only grew when she moved forward one final step, placing her palm gently against the terrified young man's cheek.

"Perhaps a simple _Ghoul's Touch_ will be enough. Sustained, it should be," she nodded to herself, as if certain, and reached for the Weave, pronouncing the appropriate words and feeling the creeping power of one of her few Necromancy spells spreading down her arm, through her fingers, and into the man's skin. He gasped and trembled and pulled weakly and ineffectually against her arm.

"As you wish," Bodhi agreed softly, no judgement in her tone.

When the vampire mistress released him, Elatharia met her pale eyes again and shrugged.

"Or, I could just ensure that no one finds the body. Then why would I worry about whether or not it looks like I killed him or you did?"

She pushed the young man then with her free hand, a simple shove against his chest. He crumpled weakly, probably already only half conscious after the creeping influence of the spell, and slipped easily over the edge of the cliff. He did not even scream.

Elatharia watched him fall, and his landing. Her hands clenched against the flash of power that she felt. It was not real power, she reminded herself. It was Bhaal's promise, living in her blood. _Murder. Murderer. Death._ She hardly noticed Bodhi's sudden laugh, a harsh and hungry thing, her pale eyes fixed on the tinge of spreading blood far below them.

"I hope you weren't intending to set me up, Bodhi," the Transmuter said softly.

The vampire mistress observed her mildly when their eyes met, with just a hint of a smile on her dark red lips. She spread her hands, and the gesture almost closed the gap between them. Elatharia had to fight the urge to take a step back; there was a coldness that permeated across the gap between them.

"Or course not," Bodhi promised, with all the sincerity of one who does not mean a word they say.

"Because I still have to live in the Slums during the day," Elatharia reminded her sharply, and Bodhi just inclined her head, "When your power presumably can't protect me. I suspect the Shadow Thieves would have something to say should they learn…too soon…about my change of heart."

Bodhi peered over the edge of the cliff, the wind stirring her long black cloak. She was fearlessly close to that terribly steep drop. She eyed Elatharia with some evident amusement when she looked back at her.

"Somehow, I do not think there will be any evidence left to stir their suspicions," she promised, and the words held a measure of…respect?

Though her friends shifted uncomfortably behind her, and Viconia's hand at her shoulder suggested she back up a little, Elatharia just met Bodhi's eyes and smiled back.


	23. Our Duty

**Chapter 22: Our Duty**

* * *

Edwin did not raise his eyes from the scroll in front of him when Elatharia returned to the library, though he raised his head a little when he heard her boots clicking on the smooth black marble floor. His black hair was dishevelled and the area around the table smelled strongly of herbal tea and conjuring salts. Elatharia paused at his shoulder, peering down at the dark scroll even when he let out a weary sigh and covered it with his hands. She caught only the briefest glimpse of a few Netherese sigils.

"Been summoning things to work it out for you?" the Transmuter inquired as she unbuckled her cloak, slinging it over the back of the chair beside him. She sniffed the air pointedly, "It smells like you've been conjuring things." Conjuring salts and herbal tea. She would never be able to disassociate those two things from this man, she knew.

"No, idiot, obviously not," Edwin groaned, "There is more to Conjuration than bringing forth devils and demons to sell my soul."

"Good," she paused, and then slipped off her mask as well, "I just killed a Shadow Thief," she admitted in the next breath, running her hands through her tangled curls of dark hair until her fingers snagged and she winced, "Executed him, actually…" Her insides twisted at the words. She pushed any chance at rumination aside hastily.

"Hmm. Very interesting. Go away."

"This library is joined to my bedroom, Red Wizard," she reminded him as she plucked the teapot up from the table, "And you have been working all day. Something happened back at the Graveyard, and you'll only blame me when something happens and I never told you. I'm just making sure it'll be because you wouldn't listen in the first place."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut in irritation, but she heard his chair scrape across the ground when she moved for the kitchen area with the teapot and no further explanation. She was a little surprised by this compliance, but then again he had been staring at that scroll for ten hours straight (at the least), as far as she knew.

The kitchen area stood through an open archway beside the bedroom alcove. It was not large, but one of the stranger things in the building; it was furnished with little more than a few cupboards full of different pots and pans, a few plates and even fewer cups. It also featured a large basin which collected clean, apparently miraculously fresh, water from an endlessly dripping tap protruding from the ceiling above. There was a drain beside it for used water, and Elatharia now filled the kettle from the tap which stood out from the side of the basin much like the tap on a beer keg. Once it was full enough for use, she placed it on the newly lit fire in the wall nearby and turned to look at Edwin.

The Red Wizard was leaning back against the opposite counter, rubbing at his eyes and temples. When he blinked back at her, those eyes – normally sharp and perceptive – seemed bleary and tired. Edwin was someone who needed only a few hours' sleep a night to function well, and would always rise after a maximum of six hours. Elatharia peered at him in disbelief.

"Well, you look tired," she noted wryly, "Made much progress? Deciphered _anything_?"

"(I am seeing three of everything)," he glared at her as if it were her fault, "(No, four – definitely four,)" he rubbed at his eyes again, "And I have made very good progress, incompetent Transmuter. A few more hours' study and I will have achieved the scroll's purpose. I have already performed part of the casting required."

"A few more hours' study? Tomorrow, I hope? I don't much relish the idea of you blowing up the library while I sleep," the Transmuter told him, "And what is the purpose of the scroll, then? Or do I have to wait until tomorrow to find out, when I trip over your corpse?"

Edwin rather resentfully started putting the tealeaves into the teapot's internal strainer. He seemed too tired to argue properly, which was in itself a little worrying.

"You will have to wait. I am not telling my secrets to idiots who might add apocalyptic suggestions or even attempt to steal the scroll for themselves," he glanced at her while she pulled off her boots and took them to stand just outside the arch leading to the room, "You seem particularly blasé tonight. And your mocking tone is highly irritating."

"Like I told you, Bodhi had me kill a Shadow Thief tonight," anger stabbed through her at the memory, and she could not meet the Thayvian's eyes, "And she offered me a bone dagger. Which I refused, because if nothing else she was expecting me to accept it…but I pushed him over the cliff. She wanted his colleagues to find his body, killed by magic, and thus to turn against me – if either refused to kill him with the dagger, or refused to kill him at all."

"Surety," Edwin nodded, shaking his head at her as if she were stupid, "It is a reasonable tactic, and one I have heard of being used many times. (A little blatant, though.) I am unsurprised by your uncultured response, however," he sighed, "I suppose she still has her proof that you are happy to murder your way through your service with her…"

"She has some history with Irenicus," Elatharia pointed out, watching the kettle as it started to whistle quietly, "She wants to get to Spellhold, and – for some reason I can't fathom – she's happy to help us get there, for the minor price of a few lives. She seems awfully well-connected for someone who wants help from us in killing him."

"Her motivation at least sounds better than the Shadow Thieves'," Edwin half-muttered, rubbing at his head again, "Who have, after all, already taken your money. Nor does she have any clear allies who can move about in daylight."

"She has proven herself to be deceptive," Elatharia insisted, "And I think we need to be careful. Especially since both of us have had assassins attempt to kill us within the last two tendays."

She caught his arm as he passed her to pick up the kettle, and he looked down at her darkly for a moment before continuing on his way. When she placed the teapot between them, he responded automatically by pouring the water. She might have laughed at how coordinated they were in this most domestic of tasks, but she was distracted. So instead, she leaned her elbow on the counter and looked up at him expectantly. He fiddled with the teapot lid for a second before grimacing and turning to face her.

"That man who attempted to kill me was a Cowled Wizard," Edwin stated, "We saw him dressed like one, surrounded by colleagues. No one can survive for long pretending to be a Cowled Wizard in these parts (one of the few sensible laws in the city). He was not dressed like one when he came to kill me. And he was the most pathetic mage I have ever seen…" he paused, face going blank for a moment, and waved her to silence when she started to speak, "Do you remember the crackle of his _Dimension Door_?" His voice was low and urgent all of a sudden.

"…yes?" Elatharia thought back…and realised, "It wasn't just a _Dimension Door_. When he arrived something stole his spell protections."

"Bodhi's wards," Edwin told her, "I saw them on the way in and the way out of the crypts which she has claimed as hers. He must have passed through them to get to us, and not known about her Abjuration wards. There is no way that he was in league with her."

"And, to save your pride, he was actually a very good wizard," Elatharia snorted at the thought, a little of the pressure that had settled upon her mind easing, "Albeit a Diviner. Since he managed to track us, avoid my own Divination spells, and follow us to our exact location. All through several layers of warded stone."

She laughed properly at his scandalised expression.

"Although I'd still like to know why someone is trying to kill you. Did you know him? Was he paid to do it? Who might have paid him? You didn't seem all that surprised to see him, or interested in keeping him alive for questioning."

"You ask questions like a small child, constantly nattering," Edwin complained, "About something which is none of your busin…"

"It's the Red Wizards, isn't it?" Elatharia interrupted, surprising herself by how her voice caught and quietened when he looked at her with an expression that was, very briefly, afraid. Her throat tightened, and she leaned towards him, looking up into his eyes and searching in vain for an explanation, "What did you _do_?"

"Nothing that is any of your business," Edwin reiterated, frowning blearily, "And we should not be discussing this so late at night when I ought to be better spending my time completing my decipherment of the Nether Scroll!"

Elatharia snorted at his tone, utterly undeterred. She felt too relieved by the idea that there was no conspiracy against them. Not yet, anyway. The rest did not need to be considered. If it got her what she wanted in the end, what did it matter?

When Edwin leaned around for their cups, she did not immediately think much of it. When she started to shift out of the way automatically, her hand brushed his outstretched arm and she paused, remembering their conversation the night before and her following resolution. She would not be defeated by Irenicus and his attempts to destroy her. She would do as she _wished,_ not wallow in fear over her choices.

Hesitantly, she looked up to his face again, and as he met her stare his expression was guarded.

"We will discuss it tomorrow, when I have achieved my goal," he told her, surprisingly softly – as if half-distracted or deep in thought.

As he poured their tea and she picked up her cup, cradling it between her hands, she watched him. And try as she might, she could not decide to what it was that he was referring; his pursuit by the Thayvians, or the question she had shown in her eyes.

* * *

A high-pitched and highly unfamiliar scream awoke Elatharia a few hours later.

Heart racing in confused fright, arms and legs shaking uncoordinatedly as she automatically rolled out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown, the Transmuter stumbled to the thick curtain that separated her room from the library. She leapt back when that curtain was pushed aside roughly and an unfamiliar woman almost bowled straight into her.

The stranger, half-seen in the early morning pre-dawn gloom, leapt forward with a shriek of frustration when Elatharia raised her hands to cast some kind of _Paralysis_ spell. She latched onto the Transmuter's wrists and held them down at her sides. The expression on her face was imploring and horrified, not aggressive.

"Change me back!" the woman demanded, her dark eyes furious, and the accent was unmistakable. Elatharia choked on her next in-breath, "You are a Transmuter, change me back!"

"E-edwin?" she asked incredulously, peering at the woman in a new light.

The hair was dark enough, shorter than was common among women of these parts; curling around her ears. Her eyes were dark, her skin an olive shade. She was thin, and black tattoos visibly wound up her forearms and neck. The dark red shirt and black trousers which sagged off her frame were definitely his. Her face was regular; pretty even, but for the wild glare. Her nose was slightly too large, and her lips perhaps a little thin, as if the transformation process had not completed quite perfectly. Those were not negative features of Edwin's _real_ face.

"Of course!" the woman insisted, her 'r' rolling distinctively. She stepped back with a furious huff when Elatharia choked again, this time on a laugh, "This is not funny!"

Covering her face in a desperate attempt to control herself, Elatharia breathed in deeply, a few chuckles escaping in spite of her valiant attempt. She had the feeling that this could quite easily turn into something that was _not funny_. A look at Edwin's panicked face, that kind of awful panic that people only showed when they knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong, helped her master herself. She suspected that the reactions of Viconia and Haer'Dalis, not to mention the others, might not be conducive to her retention of a serious mood.

"Alright," she agreed eventually, still smiling wryly as she tightened the belt on her dressing gown, "I am a Transmuter. We should be able to fix this. And failing that, there is always Jan."

"No!" Edwin leapt in front of her again when she attempt to move past him, "I will not be seen in this compromising, embarrassing state by anyone else!" He looked down at his body and shuddered as if in horror, pulling helplessly at his sagging clothes. Elatharia took the hint.

"You can wear something of mine," she offered grudgingly, "But you need to show me the scroll afterwards."

Edwin waited in silence while the Transmuter looked through her wardrobe. She had few possessions; a spare nightdress, a Traveller's Robe, a few pairs of leggings – all grey – and a few black tunics, not to mention the Robe of Vecna. After a moment of thought, she passed him a tunic-and-leggings combination. When he moved as if to start undressing right then, she waved him to stop and rummaged through the draw beneath the wardrobe. She wordlessly handed him some more 'appropriate' underwear for his current female form.

"You can keep those," she told him as he took the items gingerly, "I take it you have undressed enough prostitutes in your time to be able to extrapolate the reverse process."

It felt strange being in the same room as him while he changed, in spite of his altered form. He seemed too dazed and frightened to even start to consider her discomfort, so she left him in her room and moved down the steps into the library. The table was still strewn with books, though the chair Edwin had been using was lying on its back. One of the teacups was shattered beside it and tea was glistening in an aromatic puddle across the black floor. A flick of her wrist a few simple spellword saw the shard pull back together and the cup reform.

The Nether Scroll lay unfurled, held in position by four small metal paperweights, exactly where she had last seen it. Somewhat gingerly, the Transmuter plucked it from its place and peered at its dark brown surface. The sigils and the detailed notes around them stood out starkly in a peculiar bronze ink, shimmering as she held it up to the light. The alphabet was that of Netheril, a language and script which she had learned to read in secret one year. When Gorion had discovered she had been bribing Imoen to sneak into the library and steal the appropriate books, he had not been pleased. When he had realised how fast she had gained a reading knowledge of the language, he had mellowed somewhat. The same could not be said of the year in which she had taught herself how to read the Infernal script.

None of the sigils were familiar. They did not bear any resemblance to Transmutation sigils which she had seen before. The notes seemed more abstract than informative, explaining the history of each form before warning against usage by any but the most competent mages. Squinting, still shaking a little from her rude awakening, she slumped into a chair and attempted to make sense of the swirling shapes. Ah, there it was, the symbol for 'form change' – or at least a symbol which closely resembled it. Smiling to herself, she looked for the attached reverse…and blinked. There was not one. The shape was repeated, overlapping in two layers so that it interwove with itself. But it was not reversed. Tracing the shape of this first sigil slowly with her fingertip, she focused on its differences compared to what she was used to. She was a Transmuter who favoured the rather less orthodox style of the Turmish spellcasters, who needed no spell components for their Transmutations, but she had never seen anything like this.

"This…isn't a Transmutation spell," she muttered to herself, "Not like any I've seen."

The next few sigils were foreign to her, their forms blurring and shifting in her thoughts before she could grasp them. Abjurations. It seemed safe to say that Edwin had not reached these points – or if he had, then they had not caused him the same kind of trouble.

"Tell me you did not just say that," Edwin all but begged as he appeared at the top step up to the alcove. It seemed that he had, eventually, navigated his new underwear properly, and the tunic hung around his new female form flatteringly. The leggings were a little short, and Elatharia eyed his feet sceptically.

"You have tiny feet," she observed, "As a woman, I mean. I have small feet, but yours are _tiny_. I think we're going to need to ask Aerie for a pair of shoes."

"Ask Aerie for a…" Edwin gasped the words out as if they were utterly mad, his female voice rising shrilly as he failed to control its unfamiliar range. The furious grasping gesture he aimed her way was very familiar, however, "You should be able to fix this! If you cannot, then you are an incompetent, worthless, idiotic…"

"…only ally you have in the entire Prime Material Plane," Elatharia finished for him, her tone laced with warning. The truth behind her words twisted uncomfortably inside her, and she decided to ignore it.

"We must be able to work this out," Edwin offered eventually, his voice full of resentment as he descended the steps and padded over to her side, shifting uncomfortably in his new clothes.

"It does not have the opposite form that it needs to have to be a full Transmutation sigil," Elatharia sighed, shaking the paper as if that might help, "And the form does not quite match up to what I would expect of a 'shape change' notation. Transmutation _is_ a very varied field; there are a lot of things that we learn the basic theory for, but have to freestyle in order to achieve what we want. This doesn't look like someone's written down one of those. It looks like…" she paused, squinting at the bronze shapes before her.

"What? What does it look like?" Edwin demanded, raking a hand through his hair – which was one of the only features, along with his tattoos, that he had retained.

"…it looks like a curse. An arcane curse."

"There is no such thing," he straightened up in denial, momentarily fumbling with his arms to achieve a successful folding of them across his chest. Elatharia might have laughed at that, if her mind had not been racing so fast and so far across all that she knew.

"I can try to reverse it," she said slowly, placing the Nether Scroll on the table in front of her and letting it slowly coil back in on itself, "But it will take time. I'd need to consult Viconia – if not preferably Aerie, since she has knowledge of arcane notations _and_ divine magic."

"No, no, no," Edwin denied at speed, "I will not accept help from the scheming drow, nor allow my weakness to be shown to the simpering avariel! We must be able to do this together! Perhaps…perhaps we should return to the tomb in which we found it? Maybe there is something to be learned there. (And I cannot abide any more people seeing me in this demeaning state.)"

Elatharia shot him a dubious look before standing and pulling his abandoned Archmagi jacket off the back of a chair nearby. She threw it at him, and he caught it, eyes wide as he stared down at the black fabric as if it might betray him if he tried it on.

"That will be too big, but you can always roll up the sleeves. You'll need its magical protections – which are better than that Travellers' Robe you were eyeing up in my wardrobe – and before you ask, I'll be wearing my Robe of Vecna. So no, you can't have _that_."

Stalking back up the stairs to pull on her day clothes, she was suddenly angry with him for waking her up and getting himself in the predicament in the first place. She was even angrier with herself for her failure to solve the problem immediately and return to her bed. But above all, she was furious that she cared.

* * *

The Planar Sphere was comprised of five separate globes, all of which could be turned about enough to set them out of alignment with one or more of the other globes. In the western sphere of the building were the four guest bedrooms, all of them situated around an incongruously verdant garden and central pond, from which water was siphoned into basins in each chamber. Viconia had not felt so self-sufficient _and_ clean at the same time since she was a young priestess of Lolth in Menzoberranzan. Of course, that had ended badly thanks to a weakness of hers which she could never have foreseen.

She liked to think that she would not fail in that manner again, but she was also determined to make the best of this life while she could. She was bathing in the deep basin inset within the floor of her semi-spherical room when a knock came at her door. Surprised, she paused just as she was ringing out her long, white hair. When the knock came again, louder this time, she sighed and stood with a shower of droplets, the warm water sloshing against her legs as she unstoppered the drain and clambered out.

"Viconia, even you ought to be awake at this hour," Elatharia's voice sounded strained. There was another woman's voice chattering nervously nearby, too.

Knotting her hair, and still not deigning to respond vocally because she was the eldest daughter of the DeVir house, once fourth in Menzoberranzan, Viconia dried herself unhurriedly and pulled on her slip, just in case the tiefling was waiting. Drow did not care overmuch about nudity, but she had no wish of relinquishing _anything_ easily to Haer'Dalis.

Padding over the carpet, she pulled open the surprisingly plain wooden door…and blinked in momentary confusion. There was Elatharia, mask and all, dressed in her usual Robe of Vecna and that pale grey cloak…and beside her was an exotic-looking woman dressed in a tunic and leggings which looked strangely like the Transmuter's. Her boots were too large by far and her black jacket, which looked oddly like Edwin's, hung loosely around her thin frame; its tails fell well below the backs of her knees, and the sleeves had been neatly rolled up to the elbow. Her forearms were decorated with intertwining black lines. Viconia blinked.

" _Khal'abbil_ ," she began slowly, squinting against the bright light that was always shining in the garden beyond her room, "Is that _Edwin_?"

The unfamiliar woman twisted her face into an ugly sneer, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and shrinking further into the large jacket.

"Your powers of deduction are incredibly tardy, as always, Viconia," Edwin told her with rather more spite than real meaning, his distinctive accent the same even if his voice was not.

Viconia stared for a moment longer, raising an eyebrow at his tone. As a drow, such fearsome disdain seemed far less jarring to her coming from a female form. She bit back her smile for a moment as she looked to Elatharia – who was looking decidedly _unamused_ – and the thought of this problem, of all of its implications and complications, was simply too much. The drow dissolved into laughter, and only laughed more when the two wizards shared an irritable glance. It looked as if they were as annoyed with each other (and probably themselves) as they were with her.

The door across the garden opened speedily and Haer'Dalis appeared in the gap, his lute in one hand and a decidedly curious expression on his face.

"My Blackbird? Never have I heard such mirth from you!" he cried with some significant dramatic flare. When Viconia only laughed more, sitting back against the cushioned stool a few paces in her room, he approached, "My Raven, who is…oh, my Sparrowhawk," she could hear the smile in his voice as Edwin turned to face him and the tiefling immediately recognised the Red Wizard, "I am not sure if I prefer you in this form."

"Of course you should not! It is not my _natural_ form. Your laughter is childish and almost as demeaning as this current…mistake," Edwin sighed, shuddering, and turned away when Haer'Dalis leaned around Elatharia for a better look at the change.

"Viconia, once you're in control of your diaphragm, I'd like you to have a look at this," Elatharia held out the dark, rolled up paper which the drow recognised as the Nether Scroll. Curiosity started to overcome her amusement, and the Sharan priestess wiped away her tears, breathing deeply to try to control herself.

"I am sure you are aware that I am no wizard, _khal'abbil._ What could I possibly contribute?"

Elatharia sent an uncomfortable glance towards Haer'Dalis, who just smiled mildly back.

"Just come and see us in the library when you're dressed," the Transmuter requested of the drow after a pause.

"(Not a moment too soon,)" Edwin muttered as Elatharia turned to leave; he moved away with relief visible in his stance, overtaking the Transmuter – who followed, but reluctantly.

"It entertains me that you find his plight so amusing," Haer'Dalis noted once the pair had gone and he yet lingered, leaning in her doorway. Viconia eyed him with a rising sense of nervousness. Dressed in her thin shift with her wet hair knotted behind her head and trickling water down the back of her neck…she felt very exposed.

"And you do not?" she kept her tone scornful, casting about for something larger that she might throw on over her slip before she could successfully remove him. Her spare clothes were folded on the chest at the foot of the bed nearby. Her armour hung over the back of a chair. Her towel was too far away, discarded by the basin.

"I find myself too unsurprised," Haer'Dalis admitted with a lazy shrug. He smiled faintly when he stood straight and Viconia shifted back half a step. The mischievous expression that emerged on his face was irritating for how tempting it was, and that faint smile became a smirk as he seemed to _know_ what had crossed her mind, "I should tell you that the avariel made clear her preference last night. For the cleric."

"Are you terribly disappointed?" Viconia froze as he took a few slow steps forward. Careful not to corner her. Always with a clear way out. A less observant person might have called those movements hesitant. But Viconia could read the hungry look in his eyes, and she knew better.

"No," he promised.

"I have told you before that should I require you, I will come to you," she told him softly, willing the shake from her voice and striding swiftly to the door, taking hold of it and waiting there pointedly until he stepped back outside with a faux-wounded look, "I do not currently require you." And she closed the door.

Damn Elatharia and that Nether Scroll.

* * *

Aerie was curled up in an armchair, looking at one of Gaelan Bayle's books but not really seeing the words, when Anomen clanked into view fully armoured in plate that was newly cleaned and polished. His family sword hung ceremonially from his hip, and the colourful cloak of the Radiant Heart was clasped as a half-cloak at his broad shoulders. He looked every inch the knight – in all but name – but for the terrified expression on his face.

For a moment, she considered being terse with him, before she contemplated _why_ he was dressed in this manner. So instead she put down her book, not bothering to keep the page – her concentration had been frayed since their argument, and had struggled to sleep that night. Concentration was hardly something she had in abundance that day. In truth, she did not sleep well alone in her bedroom anymore with its three other bunks now empty – but, regardless, she had felt uncomfortable and miserable ever since her outburst the day before. There was nothing Aerie hated more than upsetting someone else.

"Anomen?" her voice was high to her own ears.

"I…" he ducked his head, "I beg your forgiveness, my lady. The things I said yesterday were not intended out of any selfish jealousies, nor because I deem you incapable of knowing your own mind. They were borne out of concern, and a…perhaps misguided…need to do the honourable thing."

"I know," the avariel agreed softly, standing and attempting a smile, "And I understand, Anomen. What…what you did wasn't quite right, but what you said…th-that was. I mean…I think it was probably true."

"Thank you, my lady," his eyes were bright with his genuine relief and he took up her hand, pressing it to his lips very gently.

Surprised, Aerie giggled and looked up at him with a different kind of nervousness. He smiled back, a little fainter than she would have preferred.

"I must go for my test today – to become a knight," he said as he released her hand, looking away bashfully at the mere thought, "Though I…do not feel ready. All my life I have passed blame, gloried in my successes, and been blind to difficult truths. I…"

He stopped when she placed her hand against his cheek, blinking down at her with his lingering fear and shame, but also something else. He seemed…dazed as he watched her smile at him.

"Your words may be true," she agreed gently, "But you are…are admitting those hard truths now. And that, to me, seems like someone who is _very_ w-worthy."

On an impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble tickled her chin, and she stifled another giggle at the sensation, but there was something exciting about the closeness of him, of his warm skin under her lips. She was blushing when she settled back down to her usual height. His smile was a little more knowing than hers as he stood straighter.

"You are very kind, my lady," he promised, his voice a little rougher than before, "And I will take the memory of your kiss with me, for you have a strength in you that I have seen in no other."

He moved to the front door with no more hesitation, and Aerie felt a flutter of sympathetic nervousness well up in her stomach as he hesitated in the open doorway, the midday sun bright and the clamour of the streets suddenly far more audible. He moved as if to look of his shoulder, paused, and then stepped through.

"Good luck!" she called, just before he shut the door.

"He will do well from this day."

Jaheira's voice, forceful and precise as always, sounded from across the room. Aerie looked to her with surprise to see the druid standing in the doorway leading to the stairs, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. Her sharp, chiselled features were as hard to read as ever, her grey eyes thoughtful and a little too intense as they watched the avariel. There was a faint scar on one cheek, and her lips were set in a thin line; even dressed in a simple cotton tunic and dark trousers, with her blonde hair loose and wavy to her shoulders, she seemed intimidating. She was the leader of a druid grove now, and some day she would have to return there. Aerie was glad that the druid would have another purpose in her life beyond revenge…one day. But it did also make her more intimidating, if that were possible.

"He has l-less faith in himself than you have in him," Aerie sighed, sitting back down upon her chosen armchair and hugging her knees to her chest. The druid shook her head as she stalked into the sitting room, coming up to the window next to the avariel and watching the cleric of Helm's progress along the street.

"I doubt that," Jaheira denied with a deep sigh, "But I think that, even should he fail, whatever he learns today will be a good lesson for him. He will have to face the harsh reality of this life in order to pass…and should he fail, he will be thrust into that harsh reality without mercy. It is always important to see things as they really are," her pale eyes shifted over Aerie for a moment before returning to the window.

"Like…like Haer'Dalis, you mean?" Aerie paused, and decided to rephrase when the awkward twist of embarrassment stabbed through her, "I mean, as I should realise what Haer'Dalis is really like? I…I think you should know that I was fully aware of how obvious I was about m-my…interest in him. And that I decided to overcome it some…some time ago," she titled her head as defiantly as she knew how, and a faint smile curved Jaheira's lips.

"Yes, child," she agreed surprisingly gently, "To all of those points. Unlike Anomen, I knew that you would come to the right conclusion on your own…"

"I am not a child," Aerie insisted, though her heart swelled to hear the druid's confidence in her, "I lived for more than two decades in the mountains of my people. And I have been a prisoner to the ground for almost a decade."

"I know," Jaheira sighed again, her shoulders slumping, "But you are an elf and can expect to live for many times that length. I am a half-elf, and although I have seen few more years than you, my years weigh more heavily on me. Upon my body, upon my heart, and upon my soul."

"I-I'm sorry," Aerie offered, because she did not know what to say to someone who sounded so…cold and whose words were so bleak, "And I'm glad that you believed in me to do the right thing."

"The right thing is not an absolute ideal," Jaheira disagreed, twisting about to sit against the windowsill by Aerie's chair, "And those who believe that it is tread a dangerous path on the road to cruelty. I search for the Balance, always. Because no one life is greater than any other, though some may believe that it is so." There was great bitterness in her voice, but her expression was controlled.

"I'm g-glad to have you with me, though," Aerie smiled, determined to find a gap in the druid's emotional armour and make her know that there were those around her who cared, "You're very wise. Although…revenge is not a path that I can understand, not…"

"Then you never will, and I will not be judged by one who does not 'understand'!" Jaheira snapped suddenly, looking away just as sharply. Aerie flinched, but held her ground.

"You are not the only one who has lost a loved one amongst us, Jaheira," she reminded the druid, "Anomen lost his sister, Minsc lost Dynaheir, Mazzy lost her husband Patrick in battle, and I…" she breathed deeply and continued, "My betrothed was killed by the same men who captured me. I loved him, and I would have married him. He had great, tawny wings smooth as silk and _strong_. I still dream that we soar through the sky together, sometimes. We would have been married for…for nearly a d-decade by now…" her voice faltered, and her eyes stung, but she could see Jaheira's guilty expression. The druid ducked her head and sighed for a third time.

"My anger is a fierce thing. Irenicus did not just kill my husband, Khalid, he…" Jaheira winced and fidgeted, her brows drawing together as if she were struggling with the words, "He had Imoen do it. Slowly. Under geas. She cried, and Khalid promised forgiveness even as her knife flashed. Irenicus just watched. No anger, no regret, no pleasure. He just watched, and waited. And did not care. And though no life is greater than another, Khalid was my love and Irenicus killed him. I cannot rest until that wizard's blood is draining at my feet. No one will understand that. Certainly not you."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. It felt to Aerie that their confessions had pushed them apart, not narrowed the gap between them. The realisation filled her with great, regretful sadness. And it reminded her that the happy times which she had felt when she had her wings would never return. Not as they had been.

"Haer'Dalis is a key problem," Jaheira said quietly, her voice making Aerie jump after the silence that had descended. Confused, she looked to the druid for an explanation, "As are Viconia and Anomen… and you."

"What?" Aerie battled a flood of indignation, "What do you mean?"

"Haer'Dalis and Viconia; you and Anomen – do not deny it. Whatever it is each of you feel for each other, whether it be lust, hate, fascination, tenderness, resentment, _embarrassment_ …they distract you from the goal of getting to Imoen. Of reaching Irenicus. I am as desperate as Elatharia to achieve these things, and our common goal unites us. We have never been close, but we are predictable. The four of you…are not. There will be moments when you will be torn by the desire to help us, and the wish to act upon one of your other emotions."

"I would never do anything to break my promise to help you!" Aerie was aghast.

"But Anomen might. I heard your parting words when you got back last night – it sounds as if he and Haer'Dalis had been close to a violent confrontation before you parted them at the theatre. And the tiefling revels in manipulation more than any of us, more even than the Red Wizard. Who knows how long he will prey on you and the drow? Even if you rebuff him, I doubt that she will. And what happens when they tire of each other? Does someone betray us? Must one of us die for their irrational and selfish actions?" Jaheira rubbed at her face as if in defeat, "But I do not begrudge you and Anomen a chance at something hopeful."

"There's nothing between Anomen and I…" Aerie felt herself blushing at the thought.

"There is, or there will be," Jaheira told her flatly, barely pausing before her next hard comment, "Tell me that yesterday's problems have finally cured you of the tiefling's foolish notion."

"Th-the play?" Aerie asked, confused, and altogether beginning to wish that she had not tried to speak with the druid, "Why would I break my promise just because of my own p-personal awkwardness?"

Jaheira just looked at her, as if the answer ought to be obvious. But Aerie shook her head.

"Everyone is either bored or worried about what's going to happen next. We have days before the Shadow Thieves are ready to take us. Maybe longer. It's the least I can do to give us something to…to do. Even if you won't look forward to it! I…I can't just wait around like you and Minsc. I'm not used to adventure, and I'm here to do some good, not to fight. If I can help it," she forced the tremor from her voice, and tried to look as resolute as an avariel who was hugging her knees and clad in a feather-adorned blue dress could look, "It doesn't matter if you think badly of me for being frivolous. It's important to keep people happy, too. You can't just…glare at them and expect them to do what you want!"

Anger formed on Jaheira's face and her fists clenched – but she ground her teeth and closed her eyes, and the moment passed. When she looked once more to the flustered avariel, she attempted a guilty smile, though it manifested as more of a wince.

"I am…sorry to be so blunt," the druid attempted stiffly, "It is just that…I will not tolerate any more delays than we must already face. It is wearing on my nerves, what little remains of them."

Jaheira chuckled softly without mirth, turning her face away for a few moments. When she looked back at Aerie, her expression was much darker. Leaning forward, she spoke in a low, hushed voice.

"And as for Elatharia, she will be even less tolerant than I of complications in our group. In fact, I fear what she may turn to when pressed," Jaheira paused, and then her next words were spoken in heavily accented elvish, in a dialect which was not Aerie's native form, " _I fear what she has already turned to. Have you noticed the divide amongst our group? You, Minsc, Anomen and I here. Jan at his home. Korgan at his. Mazzy here sometimes, and others at the inn. Yoshimo at the Guild House in the Docks, only present when Elatharia is. Edwin, Elatharia, Viconia and Haer'Dalis are all at the Planar Sphere. And Korgan will always be more amenable to them. Think about it. Edwin, Elatharia, Viconia and Haer'Dalis. They are keeping away from us. They are plotting something. They have already_ done _something."_

Aerie's blood ran cold. The words felt true in her heart.

It was no surprise – and indeed a great relief – that she had not seen Edwin since the Planar Sphere had been won. Or in fact much of Korgan, for that matter. She would have preferred for the both of them to leave for good. She had, however, noticed that Elatharia and Viconia had not returned to the Five Flagons the night before.

" _What should we do_?" the avariel asked in a small voice.

" _I need you to use your arcane magic. We need to use Divination_."

" _It's Edwin's forbidden school_ ," Aerie nodded thoughtfully, but then her brow twisted, " _But it's one of Elatharia's stronger secondaries. I-I'm not as good a mage as either of them. I can't_ …"

" _You_ can. _They will not be expecting you to suspect them. If we do nothing, they could ruin all of us as they have already surely ruined themselves_."

" _A-alright_ ," Aerie nodded at last, " _If you're sure._ "

Jaheira's smile was grim. This was clearly not the first time she had sought to foil Elatharia.


	24. What Thay Will Not Keep

**As ever, big thank yous to those of you who are reading and reviewing this story!**  
 **Warning: Some violence and one brief mention of extreme gore awaits herein.**

* * *

 **Chapter 23: What Thay Will Not Keep**

* * *

A day had passed in this wretched state, and nothing had changed. The drow had been useless in doing anything other than accepting that yes, it was a curse. Elatharia was increasingly adamant that they needed to speak to the avariel, but both the drow and the tiefling had suggested that was an unwise course. Edwin did not care for sense, but he did care about his dignity. It was bad enough that the three of them knew about his problem. He would not show this weakness to those who would revel in it. True, those who currently knew _also_ revelled in it - but the others hated him and everything he stood for almost as much as he hated them. Even Edwin, not known for his calm manner or his preference for pausing for thought, knew better than to let Aerie, Jaheira or Anomen see him like this.

There were so many things wrong with his predicament that he hardly knew where one ended and the next began.

One: he was now a woman. Obviously. Female Red Wizards were thought of as highly as male ones in Thay _in spite_ of their gender because of the great status of their position and the power that they had proven themselves capable of wielding. But that did not change the fact that this was not his natural state, and it was confusing. Getting dressed, getting undressed, washing, relieving himself, even simple tasks like walking in a way that seemed most inconspicuous in a crowd…all of them were difficult, confusing and tiring. Not to mention alarming and embarrassing.

Two: his walk with Elatharia to the Adventurers' Mart had been bad enough, but now they were in that place, standing around and waiting for Ribald Barterman's assistant to procure the spell component Elatharia had asked for, Edwin was becoming acquainted with new issues. He would have, ideally, liked to keep a low profile. But many of the men they had passed on the street, or bumped into in the shop, had _stared._ Not at his face particularly, but it was an uncomfortable situation. Demeaning. It was making him angry. His fingers were starting to twitch with the need to burn the place to the ground.

Three: Elatharia. She had seemed as amused as Viconia at first, but as the hours wore on and they had failed to learn more from the scroll – after also failing to find anything of note in the Graveyard – she had become less entertained. It was a relief that they were at least spending their time attempting to fix this problem, but even Edwin could tell she was angry. Increasingly so. Particularly once advised not to ask Aerie about the scroll. Perhaps it was the frustration of being unable to solve a Transmutation problem, of all things, but Edwin had the uncomfortable feeling that, perhaps, he was the object of her anger. He was used to having an influence on her. She was young, and particularly in the past she had been interested in his – initially half-hearted – attempts to seduce her. She had almost given in back at the Friendly Arm.

There would be a lot of ways in which that previous outlook would benefit Edwin. In his current form he did not draw her interest. She treated him almost like a stranger, where just the night before she had been determined to (irritatingly, of course) discuss her suspicions about Bodhi with him. There had been something promising in her eyes then. Now she refused to meet his gaze.

Finally, the assistant returned with the little vial and Elatharia handed a few silver coins over to Ribald Barterman, the grizzled and entirely _uncouth_ patron of the large, bustling shop. The patrons here, shifting amongst the multiple floors of the complex, were not the usual demographic of Amn. Many wore robes under their cloaks and others were dressed in the gleaming armour of foreign knights. Sometimes the place was raided by the Cowled Wizards. After all, it was full of magical ingredients (officially sold under the label 'foreign remedies'), books from as far afield as blessed Thay or tropical Chult and arms and armour with terrifyingly immense enchantments.

The place drew patrons from across the Realms. It was almost gratifying to be seen as a frequenter of the shop – except no one would know Edwin in his current state anyway. Still, it was not unusual for him to recognise a face amongst the few wizards who did come to the spell components section. When he and Elatharia brushed past a tall, olive-skinned man in dark robes, Edwin thought very little of it though recognition sparked. When that man stared a moment too long at each of them, he took it as a further sign of how demeaning the feminine condition really was.

And soon, after the short walk back to the Slums, Edwin found himself distracted by the altogether _unplanned_ route which Elatharia turned down. As they passed the Copper Coronet, heading east towards their former home at Gaelan Bayle's house, Edwin caught the Transmuter by the elbow.

"Incompetent Transmuter, we are _not_ going within half a mile radius of the avariel," Edwin insisted.

When she turned to face him, her glare undoubted though it was hidden by her _ridiculous_ mask, the Conjurer was again momentarily disorientated by the similarity in their heights. He was used to standing a head taller than her at least. Not to being able to look her levelly in the eye.

"'Incompetent Transmuter'?" she hissed, wrenching her arm free of his grip, "It's because of your own incompetence that we've got another thing to hide! But no," she drew herself up, maybe an inch smaller than him, her large eyes very green in the sunlight and her voice clipped with anger, "We are not going to see Aerie. We're running out of money, since the Shadow Thieves' robbed us, and I need to collect my share of the proceeds from Jan's _turnip business_ just to make sure that we can eat tonight."

She was exaggerating, Edwin knew. And her anger was, as ever, strangely becoming. She was flushed and tense, her chest heaving as she attempted to gain control of her rage. Remembering the flare of light in her eyes when he had induced her anger just a few days before, he was momentarily distracted by the altogether strange – and yet unexpectedly similar – sensation of this new body's reaction to his thoughts. Perhaps he could _learn_ something from this predicament.

"I am going to Jan's house, anyway. Feel free to go back to the Sphere on your own," the Transmuter was saying, turning about and heading for the large green building in the distance.

Edwin was momentarily torn between the indignity of the gnome seeing him in this state, and the paranoia that Elatharia was entirely capable of detouring to Gaelan Bayle's house on the way back. After a moment, he hurried after her, almost tripping over the long skirt of the dark green Traveller's Robe he had insisted upon wearing. It had seemed too conspicuous, wearing his own Archmagi jacket; it was ludicrously large, even with the sleeves rolled up. And he was, at the moment in particular, attempting to keep himself inconspicuous. The very thought of an assassin finding him in this embarrassing state made him shudder in horror.

The stench of the cabbages and turnips kept in barrels and carts just within the tall Jansen walls was the first reminder that they were approaching Jan's home. Then they turned a corner, and those tall, mossy walls reared up before them – beyond stood the grass-covered house, its tiered rooves used for a variety of gardens and vegetable allotments. Elatharia did not pause at the low wooden gate, undoing the latch and stepping through without even holding it for Edwin to follow. Once within, both of them coughed and winced against the potent smell of the vegetables hoarded against the wall beside them, but the Transmuter forged on.

"Jan's inside!" a high voice promised, and both wizards looked across the spread of tilled allotments to see a particularly small and withered female gnome grinning at them from ear to ear. Hunched, wrinkled and with white, patchy hair she must have been very old – but she was still holding a rake, overalls tied on over her skirts and bodice, tending to the vast garden.

Elatharia nodded stiffly in some semblance of what would have been expected of her, and they moved at greater speed for the ill-fitting house. It was a collection of many shapes; cubes, cuboids, spheres and pyramids, all mortared together and covered in moss and grass. A few flowers bloomed around the door and the paving between the building and the garden was cracked and buckled with the paths of questing roots. Edwin had never seen a place more in need of knocking down.

"It's worse inside, trust me," Elatharia muttered as they reached the low front door and she knocked firmly. Its lintel came no higher than her shoulder.

The sound of several latches clicking was followed by the creaking of the door, and then they were faced with another female gnome. Though tiny and hunched like the one who had been raking something in the garden, this one was slightly less wrinkled, her eyes larger and rounder and irritatingly _curious_. Strands of moss and green thread had been woven into her thick white hair and she was dressed in a bright yellow dress which looked like it had been made out of a fluffy material more commonly favoured by makers of carpets.

"You must be Elatharia."

She stepped aside to let them duck within.

The smell of fermenting turnips hit them like a wall and Edwin began to doubt the sense in following. It was dark inside; lit only by a few dirty skylights, several floor-level windows and a single oil lamp that hung from the blessedly high ceiling. Potted plants lined the multiple windowsills and the ground was covered in patchwork rugs, none of which matched.

"He's in his room," the gnome added as they passed her, both attempting not to gag on the smell emanating from the steps across the chamber which no doubt led into some dreadful basement.

Evidently relieved that they would not be going down there, Elatharia headed quickly across the room to the spiral stairs leading up through the ceiling. The twist of the steps was tight and they had to pull themselves up by the railing rather than use each step as a gnome might. The gap in the ceiling was narrow and Edwin watched in more than mild fascination as the Transmuter negotiated her way nimbly through above him. He realised he would not have been able to follow had he been in his true, male form.

Following, the Red Wizard had hoped they would be stepping out onto a landing, but instead they continued up another flight of the spiral staircase. It was particularly difficult to navigate in this borrowed robe, not to mention his unfamiliar female form. But after a little more uncomfortable climbing, the Transmuter did step off onto the landing of the next floor. She watched him intently, her expression unreadable thanks to that wretched quarter-mask, as he squirmed his way unhappily to join her.

They had to stoop here thanks to the low, slanting rafters, but Elatharia seemed familiar with the layout of the abominably cramped interior of this otherwise sprawling house. She turned as he gained his footing, heading for a small doorway in the corner of this narrow corridor. The sound of cogs cranking and clattering metal was already audible. There was no doubt about whose room this was.

The Transmuter did not pause to knock on the open door, ducking through the low frame without hesitation. Once Edwin followed, he could understand; the sloping roof was higher here, at least at this end of the wedge-shaped room, and they could straighten their backs.

"What is it that brings you to the Jansen Residence, oh noble, valiant, gracious and extravagant leader?" Jan inquired jovially.

The part-time Illusionist was seated at the far end of the room, just below the low slope of the large window which took up most of the roof. He was surrounded by a pile of various mechanical items and tools, the light shining off his bald head. He eyed them knowingly from the complicated row of lenses perched on his nose. Edwin blanched when the gnome's small, beady eyes found him.

Elatharia smiled grimly at those words, as if they did anything other than amuse her. Reaching into her bag of holding, she closed the small door behind Edwin and made a slight gesture with her hand. The Conjurer heard the lock click, and his heart sank. Dread filled him. He could not cast that particular Transmutation spell faster than this particular Transmuter. She had just locked them in here, and he was starting to realise why.

"I've got something I need you to look at, Jan," she explained, stepping quickly past Edwin when he hissed at her to stop and grabbed at her arm. When she pulled her hand free from the bag, there was the dark Nether Scroll.

"Elatharia! What are you doing? (The gnome is more likely to laugh and refuse aid than offer anything useful – as if he could do anything other than worsen the situation academically, anyway)," Edwin snarled, failing to catch her wrist for a second time as she dodged out of the way with a highly inflammatory sneer.

"Jan, have a look," she insisted, bending to pass the scroll to the gnome before Edwin could reach her again. She caught his arm when he made to lunge for Jan; for a moment they grappled, and it was long enough for the gnome to unfurl the parchment.

"Oh, well. This is a little peculiar," the gnome admitted.

He eyed Edwin with a suspicious and faintly amused sidelong glance as he stood and ambled to the right corner of the room, where a cluttered table stood covered in cogs, tubes, wrenches and parchment. A twist of a little wheel at the top of one leg raised the only clear section of the table by a few degrees, metal grinding all the while. Muttering to himself, he clipped the unfurled scroll onto the stand, clicking a few of his lenses into place. Another glance Edwin's way. A little more peering at the scroll. Then he snorted with amusement, chuckling to himself.

"Well, I think this is the best thing that has ever happened to you, Edwin," he suggested with a snigger, "I once knew an old wizard who turned himself into the form of a young woman. Didn't let him die any slower, mind you."

"Your mockery is hardly conducive to you surviving my inevitable return to my true form, imbecile," Edwin spat, unsettled as ever by the high pitch of his current voice. But Jan just continued as if the threat had never been spoken.

"These Transmutation mistakes are all…oh…Elatharia, oh queen of wonder, I am a little confused as to how you haven't… _oh_ …well. Why didn't you tell me?"

He sent a glare the Transmuter's way which was obviously supposed to be genuine – yet another sign of the gnome's ridiculous sense of humour. Elatharia just put her hands on her hips and waited, angling herself in such a way as to dissuade Edwin from lunging for the scroll. Meanwhile Jan stood, scratching at his head thoughtfully and crossing the room to the sagging bookcase. Pulling out one particularly ancient and dog-eared tome, her sent Elatharia a long look.

"This is going to take me some time. You might want to sit down and have a glass of turnip juice."

* * *

Though the expression on Edwin's face was furious, the Red Wizard had been surprisingly quiet while they waited for Jan to consider the scroll. The Conjurer seemed startled by his own voice and was far less comfortable in public – perhaps understandably, because every movement seemed to feel wrong to him. It might have been a sad sight, if Elatharia had not been so angry with him for getting himself into this situation so close to getting to Spellhold. And she would not believe that they had much longer left to wait before they acquired passage from Bodhi. If the vampire mistress also had unfinished business with Irenicus then surely she would not want to delay any more than did Elatharia and her group?

The two wizards both vehemently declined the turnip juice that Jan offered them, and instead sat in uncomfortable silence upon the narrow bench at the end of his untidy bed. The light was very bright at this time of day through the sloping window and they could make out the high roof of Gaelan Bayle's house behind a row of smaller buildings. The glinting far off in the distance must have come from the sparkling spires and rooves of the Temple District.

At last Jan sat back with a sigh, tapping his stubby fingers on the table top for a thoughtful moment before pulling off his elaborate glasses and looking around at the two rather sullen wizards sitting at the end of his bed.

"Impressive, really," the Illusionist noted, "I suppose you already know it's a Transmutation _and_ a curse? To really understand the extent that these enemies of yours have gone to in order to dupe you, Eddie, I would really find a proper palaeographer. I take it you haven't cast the other two spells beneath it? Because, really, they're not the Abjurations that they look…"

"Wait, wait. Gnome! What in all the Hells are you babbling about?" Edwin demanded, flinching dramatically at the gnome's utterance of his 'nickname'. Jan blinked at him, and then burst out laughing.

"Oh, of course! Genius, just genius. I assume you heard some whispers amongst your 'sources' in the Cowled Wizards? Of a Nether Scroll hidden away in the Graveyard? I heard those stories, too, but that place was raided years ago in an attack that left the lich there quite mad, and very weak."

"You're saying the reports Edwin heard were false?" Elatharia asked while the Red Wizard spluttered, "That he was…set up?"

"Impossible! (I had not thought they could have found me so quickly here. The Shadow Thieves' arrangement gave me protection from being detected…)," Edwin paused in his muttering, and then sat up straight, "Degardan!" he hissed, paling significantly. Elatharia looked in confusion from him to Jan.

"Can someone explain, please?"

"Oh of course, oh glorious leader," Jan smiled innocently when Elatharia shot him a hard look for his continued mockery, "Whoever wrote this scroll clearly knew our Eddie well…"

"Shut _up,_ monkey! My name is Edwin Odesseiron, and if you are going to use it you should say it in full, and properly. Failing that (and I do not doubt that you would) you should address me only as 'sir'."

"Of course, Eddie," Jan waved the Red Wizard's words aside, eyes full of mischief, and continued his previous explanation as if never interrupted, "…And they also had an excellent scribing knowledge of Netherese – although not so good that I can't see the Thayvian flourishes. You never can quite make it out of the Infernal script when that's what you learned first. Something about the insidious power of the devils' alphabet. So – whoever wrote the handy notes at the side was Thayvian. And whoever scribed those spells was also Thayvian – it's in the same hand, and it's a reasonable imitation of Netherese spell scribing. Not all that close, mind you. So I take it you saw the Transmutation and the curse in this first spell. And now, looking at Eddie's lovely shade of green, I'm going to guess our cursed friend here has also cast the other two spells. And well, that's the best thing about this scroll. Because hidden in the 'Netherese' Abjuration forms…there are some Thayvian Divinations. When Eddie cast these Abjurations they actually activated the Divinations beneath. Of course Eddie would not notice these, having never studied Divination, and there's no reason why our illustrious be-masked leader would know anything about Thayvian Divination styles. Likely, she could be put off rather effectively by the Abjurations drawn on top of them – although I suspect whoever made this did not know Eddie travels with a Transmuter. In fact, I'm sure you both focused on the first spell anyway, since that's what's got you in your current state. By casting the Transmutation, you activated the curse – and the casting of the Abjurations actually activated the Divinations which you would not have been able to cast."

"Oh, gods," Edwin sounded horrified. Elatharia did not remember seeing him so afraid. Personally, she found herself rather impressed by the Thayvian who had set this trap.

"So, whoever set Edwin up managed to hide this fake scroll with the mad lich," she considered the sky thoughtfully as everything came together, "And that would explain how the first assassin got into the crypts; because he was following the tracking spell already laid there by the Red Wizards who are hunting you. And then you went ahead and cast all the spells, so now they're tracking your every movement whether you have the scroll or not…"

Edwin's thin female fingers closed tightly around Elatharia's wrist and he looked at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"Degardan!" he hissed, "I saw him in the Adventurer's Mart earlier. I thought I recognised his face, but he was wearing black robes and had used some kind of…face paint…"

"Make up?" Jan supplied.

"…to conceal his tattoos."

Elatharia did not know whether to glare, laugh or put her head in her hands.

"So we have only a matter of time before he decides to come for you. Am I to expect your death or your capture?"

"I will not be killed or captured! " Edwin did not hear the mockery in her voice, his grip tightening on her arm, dragging her up with him as he stood.

Moments before it happened, Jan leapt to his feet too, his eyes blinking wide as a bright white sigil painted itself on the wall – some kind of warning ward. Then a mighty crash erupted downstairs, and they knew Degardan had found them.

* * *

Degardan had not come unprepared. As Elatharia, Edwin and Jan hurried down to the front room of the gnome's house – which was a difficult feat for the two larger wizards, narrow as the staircase was – the Red Wizard was standing in all his splendour at the centre of the room. The door had been blasted outwards off its hinges and lay burning upon the garden path. Jan's family were clustered amongst the turnip allotment, hugging each other and peering anxiously in at their home.

Not a small man – topping six feet – the Red Wizard must have had to duck rather inelegantly to enter the house, but he was a worrying sight all the same. He stood there dressed in the bright red robes of his order, the hood of his black, red-lined cloak pushed back to reveal a maze of pale tattoos, some of them currently glowing a strange white, arcing up his neck and over his bald head. His eyes were a striking pale blue, his face pinched and mottled with scars on one cheek. The patch of uneven white skin that rose from his shoulder to join the puckered remains of that cheek was unmistakably a healed burn. Numerous spell protections crackled and flickered around him; all of the Abjurations that Elatharia could not cast, and probably several of the Transmutations that she could.

"Edwin! I almost failed to recognise you in your current…state," the Red Wizard Diviner noted as Jan hopped onto the sitting room floor and Edwin squeezed his way out of the spiral staircase after him.

"Degardan, you will die for what you have done to me! (I would have killed him anyway, but still…)" Edwin jumped anew at the shrillness of his own voice.

"And this is my house, I'll have you know, mister Red Wizard 'I'm a Diviner, I'm so good at Divination that I'm on my way to being divine'!" Jan interjected at the same time as his hands wove through the appropriate gestures for a succession of Illusion spells. As he spoke, three duplicates of him appeared – all of them gesturing – and proceeded to mill about each other until it was impossible to tell which one was the real Jan.

Degardan just sneered at the gnome in a manner that was unsettlingly similar to Edwin.

Elatharia chose to stay in the spiral staircase for a moment, her eyes trained on the Diviner who was waiting for them at the centre of the room, and the cursed Conjurer who was stalking forward to face him. Even as they continued to spit fighting words, her hands moved through the gestures of her spells. _Haste_ and _Strength_ ; only then did she move forward before her _Fireshield_ ignited, lest she burn the building down.

"I see you still talk to yourself like a simpleton, Edwin," Degardan sighed. Edwin's angry cry was followed by a barrage of magic missiles which fizzled harmlessly off the Diviner's protections, "And I must say, it is very satisfying to see you so humbled by your own idiocy. It is a shame that I must return you to your natural form as part of the agreement." Edwin grew very still at that comment, hands raised for his next spell, which had probably been a protective one. "But I'm afraid the Cowled Wizards and the Zulkirs will be fighting over my head if I don't follow the appropriate identification procedures _before_ I kill you."

Elatharia watched in nervous fascination as Degardan called upon his next spell, power forming and crackling between his hands. It occurred to her that Edwin would not know if this incantation were a ruse to kill him unprepared, or the real thing. Luckily for him, she could tell that it was indeed the real thing. Meanwhile, Jan seemed to have vanished out of sight entirely. Neither Red Wizard seemed particularly aware of the loss of the gnome.

The moment after Degardan's spell hit him, in a flash of bright light, Edwin threw up his first layer of spell protections. For a moment the luminescence of the two spells clashed, leaving spots in Elatharia's vision, and when they cleared Edwin was once more himself, tall and male. But dressed in her now ill-fitting green Traveller's Robe. The cloth had stretched across his chest and the sleeves slipped a little off his shoulders, revealing a particularly intricate tattoo beneath his collarbone from which spiralled the lines that Elatharia had previously made out on his arms and neck. It was not the manner in which she had ever envisaged first seeing them. The skirt, which had been too long before, now showed his (previously overlarge) polished boots and flared outwards around him in a peculiar way. It was, altogether, not very becoming anymore.

"You…will…die! At last! You were supposed to die before! Damn Thrul and Flass and Araman for picking _you!_ " Edwin fairly shrieked, the tattoos visible on his arms and chest flaring up with red light, much like the white shine of Degardan's, as the Conjurer reached for some aggressive spell.

When Degardan's lip curled and he moved to cast a spell also, Elatharia started her own, too, reaching into the pouch on her belt for the collection of pebbles she would need. Hasted as she was, she finished first. The moment the pebbles swelled and flared with fire, she started to throw. _Melf's Minute Meteors_ would not harm Degardan in his current protected state, but they did stagger him with their explosive force, causing him to lose his spell and stumble back with angry eyes, gradually testing and breaking through some of the layers of his Abjurations. It forced him to turn his attention to her and gave Edwin a moment or two to throw up some of his own protections. Wherever Jan had gone, he wasn't adding much to the spellbattle.

"Oh, you must be a very stupid _thing_ to follow him, whore," Degardan spat when one of the _Meteors_ fizzed past his protections, a hit with force enough to leave a bruise.

"Actually, he follows me," Elatharia corrected curtly, flinging her last _Meteor_. And though he dodged it, it still caught him on his shoulder and momentarily set his robes alight.

Degardan just laughed, and while Edwin was still calling up his protections, the Diviner sent a barrage of magic missiles her way. Though she attempted to run from them, several hit her with bruising force, knocking the breath from her and forcing her to double up, wheezing – in spite of the protective magics of the Robe of Vecna. In the meantime, she could heard the crackle and crash of rather more destructive spells being slung between the Red Wizards.

When she pulled herself back up by the wood support nearest to her, Elatharia saw Edwin just staggering back form a tirade of Evocations. Degardan saw her movement before she could right herself properly, even through the smoke rising through the room from smouldering chairs and timbers. She gasped out her next spell just as he managed his; neither did anything to stop the other, and even as the ground buckled from just ahead of her all the way to Degardan, forcing him to stumble into the shallow trench she had intended to overbalance him, his spell seethed into the air around her. It filled her with dizziness first, then a pervasive ache. Her breath rattled, her limbs weakened and she stumbled more successfully to the ground than Degardan.

Though Elatharia had been rendered temporarily incapable, Degardan had been forced to lose his balance and his concentration; Edwin's next spell was a Conjuration that Elatharia had only seen mentioned in books before. From the side of the small rumple in the ground that she had created there rose a wall of stone; it curled cunningly just in front of the Diviner and over his foot, forcing him to trip properly and land heavily on his knees. It sounded like he had broken a bone, in truth. On cue, he howled in pain.

Edwin grinned wickedly, and Elatharia might have worn the same expression had she not been coughing wretchedly on her hands and knees thanks to the Diviner's use of a spell she normally preferred to _use_ : _Great Malison_.

In spite of his pained position, Degardan did manage to raise a _Wall of Force_ between himself and Edwin. The Conjurer's magic missiles and Evocations poured forth a little too wildly after that, crashing pointlessly off the _Wall of Force_ and pinging across the room. Several windows smashed, a potted plant ignited, and smoke was darkening chokingly all around them.

Through the thick smog, Elatharia at last noticed Jan, popping into visibility right by Degardan and apparently not worried about Edwin's wild spells. The gnome shrugged almost apologetically and spoke a command phrase, backing up quickly as he did so. A rune appeared beneath the Diviner's feet, and Degardan spat some Thayvian curse when he realised that he would not be getting out of this alive. The explosion that engulfed him set the roof on fire and knocked all three of the living wizards to the floor.

* * *

"Anomen! I didn't realise you'd returned!" Aerie's high voice cut through Anomen's daydream and he sat up abruptly…a little guiltily. He had been thinking of her.

She must have returned to the house through the kitchen door and spoken to Jaheira, who was using the table in there to prepare dried provisions for the road and to sort through her herbs. The druid had been demanding those who shared the house with her to give her any clothing that might need fixing, too. She must have told Aerie that he had returned.

The avariel was hurrying through the door into the sitting room to greet him, her hair windblown from her morning walk and some pollen and petals clinging to her long white and blue dress from the collection of flowers she must have picked along the path she had taken. She was looking at him with those large, hopeful blue eyes, her smile expectant.

"Well? What happened at the test? Jaheira says…Jaheira says you haven't told her anything," Aerie's beautiful, delicate face fell into a worried frown, her voice falling back to its oft-present tremulousness. Her small hands curled in the fabric of her dress, suddenly tense.

"I have no news to tell," Anomen admitted swiftly before she assumed too much, attempting to smooth his hair back from the tangle he had ruffled it into, "Sir Trawl has assessed me but he must now meet with the council of the Order to determine if I am worthy. It may be days before they come to a decision."

"That's very…cruel!" Aerie exclaimed. When she felt something was unjust her expression reminded Anomen of a pout, and it was very endearing. Her strength of feeling was immense, "They must know that they are making you unhappy by making you wait!"

"Indeed, my lady – I do not doubt that this is part of their test," Anomen found himself a little amused by her indignation – he was, in truth, more than terrified that he had failed, and her rage on his behalf was very gratifying.

Aerie did not look mollified, but seeing his amusement her easy blush flushed her cheeks and she blinked, her eyes dropping to the floor between them. She adjusted the shoulders of her dress as if afraid that it suited her ill. It suited her very well.

"I…I feel that I also owe an apology to you," she admitted softly after a moment, and Anomen sat forward in surprise.

"My lady, that is not necessary…"

"It is," Aerie shook her head, her voice suddenly strong, "Because I knew that you were just trying to protect me, and that the opinion that drove you to confront Haer'Dalis is an opinion that I share. I just didn't want your…your actions to break up the group any more than it has started to fracture already. We need to be able to work together to help Imoen and bring Irenicus to justice."

"I am glad," Anomen nodded, standing and approaching her. She looked so vulnerable and nervous standing there in the centre of the large room, fiddling with the feathers on her dress. For someone so good and kind, she worried about her own moments of wildness too strongly. He wanted to reach out to her. His hands ached with the need.

"But I wanted to say that I am sorry as well," Aerie said at last, looking up at him with those deep, deep blue eyes. In them Anomen could imagine the open sky, or the endless glittering blue sea. His breath caught as he watched her, "And I am. For my angry words."

"There is no need, but I will accept your words if you need me to," Anomen smiled.

Aerie nodded, starting to smile…and then something caught her eye in the window and her eyebrows rose in shock. She grasped his arm, pointing down the street.

"Th-there's smoke coming from Jan's house!" she exclaimed in horror, "And flames! We…we need to help them! Jaheira!"

The druid had obviously heard Aerie's words, and ran into the room holding her spear. She took one look at the pillar of smoke rising up above the green mound of the highest Jansen roof and rushed for the door, barking orders for Aerie and Anomen to follow.

* * *

Elatharia was dragging herself back to her knees when the smoke started to clear a little, in time to see Jan hurrying outside to check on his relatives. Edwin was standing over the twitching and twisted form of Degardan, his hands visibly shaking as he glared down at his enemy, his grin wide and manic. He stood there in silence and watched his enemy die. Her Traveller's Robe was still stretched over his body very unflatteringly now, but he seemed oblivious to it for the time being.

When shouting sounded in the garden outside, Edwin looked down at his state of dress and swore to himself, spitting out the words to a _Dimension Door_ , slipping through the silvery portal and no doubt returning to the Planar Sphere to change into his own clothes.

As Jan scurried back into the room, calling up protective wards to put out the fires left behind by the spellbattle, Elatharia found herself dazed and drained by the sudden and fearsome battle. Her body ached terribly, and her side convulsed in agony when she attempted to raise one arm. Feeling this pain, though it was nothing compared to what she had once suffered, and tasting blood in her mouth, she could not take her eyes away from the corpse before her.

It brought back flashes of memories she fought to subdue. Of the ruin that Irenicus's barbed devil had made of her, a thing of bones and blood and shuddering shreds that had once been living and ought no longer to have been. Her stomach clenched, and she stumbled quickly from the house, tripping down the steps and landing heavily on the grass, gagging.

"Elatharia!"

"My…my lady!"

Running footsteps sounded closer, heading up the path towards her. Suddenly several voices were chattering all around her. Small hands fluttered at her waist and she waved them away, groaning at the pain. She recognised Aerie's voice, and Jaheira's. Anomen's as well, a little further away. Several of the Jansens were asking her if she needed anything, calling for reassurance from Jan that everything was alright. None of them seemed bothered about the hole that had been blasted through the roof of their sitting room, and two of them went straight to work dragging Degardan's body into the basement. At the sight, Elatharia hauled herself up to her knees, a hoarse laugh turning into a cough. She tasted blood more strongly then, pain shooting through her whole chest, and she swayed. Strong hands closed around her shoulders. She recognised the smell of Jaheira's herbs.

"It's alright, Elatharia," Aerie's voice was reassuring, but the Transmuter's cheeks felt stiff and she had to squint to see the avariel's worried face looming before her own. Anomen was hovering behind the part-time cleric, dressed in typical noblemen's velvet and not his armour.

"I don't believe you," Elatharia denied blearily, and the hands at her shoulders tightened. She felt something trickling from the corner of her mouth, and knew vaguely that it was blood. She caught a glimpse of Jaheira's face set into a grim frown as she swayed backwards this time, and confusion flooded her, "Why are you…? You don't care…" a cough that felt torn from her stopped her un-thought words, even as Aerie's soothing healing magic started to spread through her ribs, "You wouldn't…if you knew…"

Blankness. Darkness.

A ringing in her ears.

Water pouring. The rustling of sheets. Someone's voice, gentle and high.

As consciousness came, so did the memory of Degardan's corpse. Half-seen flashes of blood and gore burst behind her eyes, and they twisted into something more familiar, more personal. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped sharply.

Aerie, who had been ringing out a cloth into a metal basin at the end of the bed, turned around with a concerned look. For a moment the room span, and then Elatharia realised she was in the only single room permitted to the group by the Shadow Thieves'. This was the double bed in which Jaheira usually slept. She was in Gaelan Bayle's house.

She had killed a Shadow Thief two nights before. Willingly. Without remorse.

She had to get out.

"Wait, you should rest!" Aerie hurried to her side as the Transmuter attempted to sit up.

The pain in her chest had gone, as had the taste of blood. The avariel put a small hand on her shoulder and attempted to push her back down into a lying position. Elatharia resisted, glaring resentfully, and sat back against the headboard to give herself time to assess how much she really had healed. Apart from a faint ache around her ribs which suggested bruising, she felt healthy again.

"What…what happened?" there was the tremor in Aerie's voice. The one that either meant she was afraid, or she was afraid of how her companion in the conversation might respond.

"A mad mage attacked the Jansen residence when I was there with Edwin and Jan. I didn't know him," she shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. She had not told a lie with that answer, anyway.

"Really? Did he not give any indication about why?" Aerie searched her face, and the Transmuter automatically cast about for her mask. There it was, lying on the table in the corner. And there was the Robe of Vecna, on the back of a chair.

"Not that I understood." That was true, too. She did not know why Degardan had attempted to kill Edwin.

Aerie frowned faintly, but nodded. She seemed mollified, and turned around – crossing the room, she picked up a cup and brought it over to the convalescent Transmuter.

"Here, you should drink this," she proffered the drink. It smelled faintly of herbs, and Elatharia took it gingerly. It was cool, and tasted almost of nothing.

"Whose clothes am I wearing?" Elatharia dared to ask after a moment, gesturing with her free hand at the white nightgown currently adorning her thin frame, "And who changed me into it?"

Aerie giggled, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out of the window at the sky.

"Just Jaheira and I. Anomen carried you into the washroom – and left – and then we had to remove your clothes to see how much damage we were dealing with," she winced, "It was quite bad. The spell the mage cast had worn off, but it had done a lot of damage. You were coughing up blood, and a few ribs were broken from one of his other attacks. So we had to heal you, and clean you – and clean your clothes," she shrugged, and smiled more brightly, patting Elatharia's knee, "That's why you're wearing one of my spare nightgowns."

"I can't believe I never woke up," Elatharia felt more than a little unnerved about that. Aerie sent her an uncomfortable glance, but offered no explanation, "I think it's given me a better perspective on what I'm doing to my enemies when I cast _Greater Malison_."

Another flinch. The avariel hated violence. Which reminded the Transmuter – she had killed a Shadow Thief recently, and was currently sitting in a Shadow Thief-owned bed in the house of a patron who she had (secretly) double-crossed.

"I need to go," she insisted, downing her drink and placing the cup resolutely on the nightstand.

Aerie put up no further resistance, though her expression suggested worry. She turned away when the Transmuter moved to pull on her own clothes.

"We should all meet up more often," the avariel said faintly, "I think it's wise to make sure we're united for the trip to Spellhold."

"Yes," Elatharia winced a little, pulling off the nightgown and observing her colourfully bruised ribs before reaching for her newly cleaned underwear. Gods, how much had she bled? "I suppose that's probably true. Though none of us really get along all that well unless we _have_ to." _Oh, if only the avariel knew_.

"I know," Aerie sounded a little exasperated, "A-and sometimes I do wonder why you keep some of them around…"

"That's a conversation I'm not having," Elatharia rebuffed the comment as she reached for the Robe of Vecna, slipping her arms through the holes and wrapping it around herself, fastening its three buttons at her waist. As ever, the item moulded to her shape comfortably, leaving one leg mostly bare. Aerie turned around when she heard the Transmuter pulling on her boots.

"I wish you would," the avariel complained as fiercely as she dared, folding her arms and watching Elatharia fastening the buttons up her inner calves, "But anyway, we do need to at least stick together. So that's why I'm still going to do the play with Haer'Dalis…"

"Still?" Elatharia was utterly ignorant of this, tying on her mask as well now.

Aerie blushed, and explained about the problems with Haer'Dalis and Anomen. Elatharia listened with a detached curiosity; the avariel's infatuations and fascinations seemed eternally youthful. The Transmuter was aware of the part-time cleric's former betrothal when she still had her wings; both of those concepts felt alien to her.

"…and Haer'Dalis has been showing a lot of interest in Viconia as well," Aerie's expression darkened at the thought as she finished her explanation. Elatharia hid her smile by turning away to fasten on her belt.

"They understand each other," she realised more than explained, "Even though he seems determined to tease her and she seems determined to be furious with him. Some people are just like that for a while with each other, I suppose."

"I don't understand it," Aerie sighed, her shoulders slumping. She followed at Elatharia's heels as the Transmuter made for the door, heading straight for the stairs, "Relationships are all about caring, understanding and trust."

Elatharia bit back her next comment, remembering the altercation between her and Edwin in the Planar Sphere and of how frustrated she had been with him for getting himself into that predicament with the Nether Scroll.

"Jan said to tell you that his family are safe," Aerie added quickly as Elatharia reached the front door. The sun was falling. Her stomach rumbled hungrily. She barely listened to the avariel's words.

"We'll meet up for the play. Thank you…for your help," the Transmuter offered distractedly, nodding briefly towards Aerie before opening the door and heading back to the Planar Sphere.

* * *

Neither Elatharia nor any of those who resided in Lavok's former home could cook. Between them the only kitchen skills they possessed were shared between Elatharia and Edwin – and none of them could subsist upon herbal tea for any length of time, so it was an unspoken agreement that they head to the Copper Coronet at around six hours after noon. As it turned out, both drow and tiefling were waiting expectantly in the octagonal room. The tiefling was sitting on the edge of the table, needling Viconia with some witticism, but he leapt to his feet when Elatharia entered.

"Our Sparrowhawk is cured! Wherefore art thou so late, my Raven of Doom?"

Elatharia paused a moment, blinking at him to emphasise that this turn of phrase was dramatic even for him. It had not occurred to her to be angry that the Red Wizard had abandoned her to her ailments – he had hardly been dressed for the occasion after his abrupt change in shape. She was already too angry with him for being _stupid_ and decided that she ought to draw the line at that.

"My injuries were significant, but are now healed," the Transmuter shrugged. Haer'Dalis's eyes widened.

"And the Sparrowhawk left you to your wounds?"

"The tiefling has been like this all day, _khal'abbil_. I am beginning to consider various forms of artful – and artless – murder," Viconia sighed, eyeing the tiefling with a look that was probably supposed to be disdainful, "However, I am perhaps more inclined to eat something. Can we leave?"

"I'm not keeping you," Elatharia shrugged, suddenly impatient, "I need to speak to Edwin."

"Fare thee well then, my Raven," Haer'Dalis grinned, bowing low and passing her in the doorway.

Viconia waited only long enough to be transmuted into her moon elf form and then followed with a long-suffering look to Elatharia.

' _If you do not join us by the time we have finished, we will bring you something,_ ' the drow signed as she passed, and smirked slyly when the Transmuter sent her a puzzled look.

Once Viconia and Haer'Dalis had gone, Elatharia made her way into the western globe of the Sphere, assuming that Edwin would be in his chambers rather than the library. It was in this section of the building that she and several of the others had fought the crazed halflings; its lower levels held rune-inscribed circles and structures which could, possibly, one day be utilised again for summoning. Down there also stood the inactive golems which had so effectively cleaned up the mess that the battle for this area had made.

Edwin's room was one of the four around the pond, its door half-shrouded by trees and tall, very verdant grass. The crystal dome above sent sunlight streaming down at all times of the day. It was either a very good Conjuration spell, an Illusion…or a lingering relic of the Sphere's previous ability to link itself to the Planes.

She knocked.

No answer was immediately forthcoming.

Another knock, and then the doorway was pulled open with typical irritable force. Edwin stood before her, and his usual shape was momentarily as confusing as his cursed one had been. He was glaring at her, his deep red tunic loose and a little askew as if he had just pulled it on. He had not retained his beard after the change, and its absence emphasised his sharp, Mulan features. Elatharia finally realised why he had grown it in the first place – to hide his identity further.

"I need some answers," she told him by way of greeting, "And I just got back from several hours of coughing up my own blood after a particularly vicious _Greater Malison_ from your Red Wizard pal. Thanks for asking."

Edwin's lip curled, but he stepped aside to let her enter.

His chamber was typically very neat – there was the row of books lined up on the bookshelf above the table, just as they had been in his room at the Docks Guild House. There was a large white bed against the adjacent wall and opposite it a pair of armchairs in front of a crackling fireplace. Unlike Viconia's room, this was a more traditional cuboid shape, with a step down into a separate washing area across the room. The walls were plain white, and the floor carpeted to match.

"You hardly seem unhealthy now," Edwin pointed out, herding her over to the armchairs.

He adjusted his tunic as she sat down in her allocated space, and for a moment she saw the whorls of dark tattoos knotted at his shoulder. He was quite thin and thus the muscles were defined in spite of his disdain for athleticism. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he moved to take a seat rather than acknowledge her expression, which was not all that clear behind her mask.

"That's not a hard concept for you to grasp, so I'm not going to bother," Elatharia told him, pulling off her boots and curling up in the chair. His eyes followed the path of her bared left leg, and it sent a stab of something distracting through her, "I need to know what happened today."

"That is a courtesy I may or may not choose to give to you. Not a right," Edwin disagreed, his accent the same but his voice back to its familiar deeper tones.

"I _need_ to know," Elatharia disagreed, "Who was Degardan? You already knew his name, and he certainly knew you. Why was he after you – was it him who set up that ruse with the 'Nether Scroll' or was he just an assassin? How many people want you dead? When might they come after you? Why? _Will this hinder me in getting back my sister?_ "

Edwin scoffed, eyeing her almost warily from beneath his brows as he rested his chin in his hand. The firelight flickered distractingly in his red-brown eyes.

"(Must I really explain everything in so much detail?)" he sighed, "Degardan was a fellow of mine during my time as a student at Thaymount. He was a Diviner (an idiotic choice that killed him in the end) so I would imagine it was he who scribed the fake scroll. He was not working alone; I suspect the Cowled Wizard, Gethras, was a hired pawn of his. He is part of a particularly wealthy dynasty who own Eltabbar (gods damn them). It is just like him to pay for an assassin first. But no, the problem does not end with him. He was likely sent by those higher in the echelons of Thayvian society."

"Those names you listed – Flass, Thrul and…Araman. You said they 'chose' him."

"Yes," Edwin nodded slowly, as if she were stupid and missing something obvious. He did not seem particularly forthcoming on the details, but Elatharia was determined to learn more eventually. Even if he would not let her talk about it all at once, as she would have wished.

"Fine," the Transmuter rolled her eyes, "But why? Why are the Red Wizards so determined to kill you?"

Edwin sat back, bracing his hands against the arms of his chair as if bracing himself as well.

"Let us just say that I have angered those in high places. (With my dangerous skill and willingness to use it, of course.) I was sent to learn more about the problems in the region between Nashkell and Baldur's Gate largely because we knew that Rashemen had sent representatives. Also because my father had bargained for…another chance for me. If the witch, Dynaheir, crossed my path…I was to kill her. She crossed my path. I failed to kill her."

"It was your _last_ chance, wasn't it?" Elatharia sighed. Edwin rubbed at his forehead as if the comment pained him.

"In a manner of speaking," he admitted, "Though that is hardly relevant." It seemed relevant, but she let him off. For the time being.

"Why did you fail to kill her?" the Transmuter asked at last, and the look he gave her made her voice falter a little on the last few words.

"Because I am a Red Wizard, and I understand when and from where greater power can be gained."

"But…you abandoned your homeland."

"No," he shook his head, frowning at her now as if it were obvious, "My father had negotiated my 'last chance' but I am no foreign fool unused to the ways of Thay. Those who want me dead will kill me the moment I return. He merely gave me a chance to flee until I have the strength to destroy my enemies."

He was trying to affect bluster, but Elatharia could see the uncertainty in him.

"And you think you can find greater power by following me? You didn't know you'd see me again when you left us at the Friendly Arm."

Edwin grimaced, but did not explain himself. He just watched her, frowning slightly, and then stood with a sigh.

Crossing the room, he plucked up the 'Nether Scroll'. Wordlessly, he returned – and threw it into the fire. They watched it burn in silence, its dyed parchment curling, splitting and igniting just like an ordinary scroll might. Once it had been utterly destroyed, and no ill effects ensued, Edwin's posture relaxed significantly. He looked tired.

"You are a child of a god," the Conjurer uttered softly as the scroll crumbled fully into cinders, "Power follows you. I follow power. It is the only way by which I might defeat my foes and return home in glory." He did not meet her eyes.

"Hardly a vote of loyalty," Elatharia snorted, watching the flames again. From the corner of her eye she saw him turn to look at her, "And I don't need one. I suppose."

"Oh, your magnanimity is something for which I live," Edwin drawled, but there was something…half-hearted in his mockery. He sounded relieved, "I simply could not have gone on, believing that you expected me to be your loyal puppy. (Or would it be 'puppet'?)"

"You know, Red Wizard – I'm a Transmuter," she waggled her fingers at him, smiling wickedly when his eyes widened in horrified understanding, "If you irritate me too much, I might just turn you back into a woman."

"No!" his face twisted, "You would not dare!" Edwin looked set to leap to his feet at the mere thought.

"Is it such an outrage to be a woman?" Elatharia baited him, "Is it so demeaning?"

"Yes!" he spat. She raised her eyebrows at him, forgetting that the expression would be less clear behind her mask, "Agh! You mock me and torment me as if I have not suffered enough already!"

"Suffered?" Elatharia's hint of anger was not entirely faked, "I think you'll find that you suffered less than I did for your poor judgement, Red Wizard. It wasn't you who choked on your own blood once Degardan died."

Edwin's eyes flashed, and he just sneered at her.

"You hardly seem out of sorts now," he shrugged, standing again and gesturing to the door, "So now that you are done whining and drowning me in your melodrama, I recommend that we follow the tiefling and the drow to the Copper Coronet before they plan my untimely – and your entirely satisfying – demise."

Elatharia snorted, kicking at his booted foot as he passed, but more than a little relieved that things were starting to get back to the way they were before. An ill-tempered Red Wizard was better than a fraught one, after all.

* * *

 **Super bonus points to whoever recognises all of Edwin's Red Wizard superiors' names. (I claim no credit for their creation).**


	25. When the Good Deceive

**So...this chapter and the next were originally supposed to be one chapter, but it just got too long. Therefore: here is the first installment! :D  
With thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing. I really appreciate your comments!  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 24: When the Good Deceive...**

* * *

"You're…you're sure this is necessary?" Aerie asked, her voice even higher and more nervous than usual.

"Yes," Jaheira promised, nodding stiffly.

There were few times in her life when the druid had made a decision on impulse or without certainty. And now, watching the avariel setting out the spell components they had collected the previous day across the kitchen table, a metal dish standing in for a scrying bowl, Jaheira was as certain as she had ever been about anything.

Elatharia had not always been this wayward; she had struggled with the discovery that she was a child of Bhaal, and it seemed that something in her blood called to the wrongness of her more recent behaviour in Athkatla. She had been particularly difficult since Sarevok died, but problems had been stirring within her since the day she permitted Edwin to join their group in Nashkel, against Dynaheir's advice.

"Alright," Aerie nodded after a few more uncertain moments, settling her hands to either side of the dish and closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. She hardly looked like an imposing wizard, wearing a nightdress and dressing gown with her thick blonde hair pulled back behind her head. She looked young.

Jaheira felt a lot more prepared for this. She rose before the sun often anyway, seeking solace with the chorus of awakening birds. They had chosen to do this rather clandestine series of Divination spells so early in the morning because Jaheira would prefer not to alert the Shadow Thieves to their true intent. There was no way of being sure that they were not under some kind of surveillance all the same, so they were conversing resolutely in their rather divergent dialects of elvish.

The blonde hairs that Aerie dropped now into the basin held a rather distinctive golden sheen. They flared brighter before catching fire in the water when the avariel began to chant, and Jaheira watched from where she stood opposite Aerie's seat. There was some satisfaction to be found in persuading the avariel that their 'leader' was most definitely nefarious. It was a shame that they had to keep her with them, because her Bhaalspawn influence could not have been good for Imoen, but the latter would be unhappy to learn that Elatharia had been left behind if Jaheira arrived without her.

"How long will this take?" the druid asked once Aerie's spellwords had been spoken, the water in the bowl taking on a faint blue luminescence. The avariel looked up at her slowly, as if struggling through the fog of sleep.

"Not long."

"And if we find nothing now?"

"Then…I'll at least know it works, and it won't take as long next time," Aerie responded, her faint frown proving that she was less than comfortable with this kind of clandestine activity.

Jaheira just nodded, and waited to be proven right.

* * *

Haer'Dalis had only been gone moments, on the quest for their breakfasts from a nearby stall. He returned, however, with Korgan fuming at his back. Even without his armour, the dwarf seemed dangerous. The tiefling looked faintly amused, but he moved well away from the library table as soon as he entered with Korgan in tow.

"I'm here fer me red dragon scale, spellslingers," the dwarf intoned, "And don't ye doubt that I'll be ready wi' me axe if ye dinnae give me what I'm due."

Elatharia found herself grimly amused, and turned to see Edwin attempting to rearrange his outraged expression into one of haughty control. He failed, but he still steepled his fingers before him on the table and leaned towards the dwarf with a sneer.

"You failed on nearly every count during our jaunt through the crypts, dwarf," the Red Wizard told him, and Korgan gave an angry grunt, pulling his axe from his back, "What right do you have to ask for payment when your job was so poorly done?"

Elatharia wished Viconia had been up, because the drow would have loved to see this confrontation.

Edwin stood slowly, pushing himself back from the table and attempting to look menacing. Korgan's nostrils flared and he hefted his axe. Only the table stood between the Red Wizard and that gleaming blade. There was no certainty of whether he would manage to cast in the time that it would take the dwarf to spring that distance.

Elatharia kept her seat, looking up at the Red Wizard and back across the book-cluttered table to Korgan. Haer'Dalis lingered at the far end, arms folded and dark eyes intent upon the scene.

"I'm not one fer jokin' when it comes to me pay," Korgan warned, brows so low that Elatharia could barely make out the twinkle of his eyes.

"And I am not happy giving over my hard won possessions to fools who would wear them into battle to become broken and bloodied when they inevitably fail! (Why did she have to make this bargain with him? Why?!)" Edwin made as if to back up, almost tripped on the steps up to the bedroom alcove which served as Elatharia's chambers, and righted himself with a flush of what might have been embarrassment rather than rage.

Korgan barked a laugh.

"Oh, ye'll give me that pay, wizard," he promised in a low growl, "Just decide whether or not ye'd like to lose a limb or two first."

"You did promise, Edwin," Elatharia reminded the Red Wizard.

Edwin was still considering ascending those steps backwards, his hands balled at his sides and his frame trembling as if with the effort of relinquishing something so precious to him. He looked to her as if she had betrayed him in the most terrible way.

"How can you side with an axe-swinging beast? Surely you believe that such treasures as dragon scales would be better kept for magical research?" Edwin exclaimed, "(Although knowing her, Transmuter that she is, she may just chose to turn it into a pretty bouquet tied neatly with a ribbon, useless and pointless…ugh!)"

"I have heard tales of your mistakes and failures, and seen the outcomes for myself," Haer'Dalis offered, throwing Elatharia a wink when she looked over at him, "Some might argue that you are not fit to keep such precious items. At least good Korgan there will take it and use it for a purpose more reliable and more akin to its natural…use."

"Your words are worth nothing, bard!" Edwin spat, even as his expression twitched with the remembered shame of being caught out by his fellow Thayvians. Elatharia covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile as he looked towards Korgan's glowering visage, warring with himself for a few more moments before straightening up and glaring at all of them, "But I am not a man who fails to keep his word. I promised the (idiotic, barbarian, slovenly) dwarf the dragon scale, and thus I will give it to him as his agreed payment. (No matter how little he deserves it, for I am a generous and magnanimous leader)."

Edwin nodded to Korgan, a gesture which the dwarf seemed to understand as a cue to follow the Red Wizard from the room. Not for the first time, Elatharia wondered where the Conjurer kept his most treasured items. Once they had gone, Haer'Dalis approached Elatharia, perching himself on the edge of the table by her elbow. When she looked up at him curiously, he smiled.

"What next, my Raven? I must admit to being a little disappointed that you have not included me in any of your clandestine ventures," he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Elatharia sat back in order to see him properly, and when he reached out to her face she caught his wrist sharply. There was no threat in his manner, and no hint of the rather overt flirtatiousness which he used with Aerie and Viconia.

"Your mask," he told her, his tone an inquiry, "I would converse with you whilst I can see your face, if I may."

She did not refuse him, so he hooked a thumb under the fabric and pushed it over the top of her head. When she opened her eyes, patting at her hair but not really bothering to do anything to tidy it, she saw that Haer'Dalis was inspecting the mask, turning it over in his hands.

"I used to wear one which had been enchanted," she offered without thinking, "Viconia tells me that I should do the same with this one, since I insist on wearing it."

"Viconia is very wise," Haer'Dalis nodded, his voice a thoughtful murmur as he thought of the drow, "Perhaps you should find someone who can do it for you, while the War Dog has his armour made. Unless your own wizarding skill tends in that direction of talent?"

"Enchantment never has been my forte," Elatharia sighed, taking the mask back from him but acceding his words, "I think I will find someone to do that. There ought to be someone in the Adventurers' Mart who can do that sort of thing."

"Indeed," his black eyes searched her face for a moment, and his brows drew together as if something saddened him, "Tis a great shame that you wear a mask, my Raven. You are not alone amongst our flock in bearing markings upon your face. Myself, and the Mourning Dove," he gestured to the black lines that curved over his chin, and it was true that a few delicate blue lines curved over Aerie's cheeks, "The Ptarmigan has a scar upon her face which she does not hide, though I think her hard visage is more offensive than any birthmarks." By which he referred to Jaheira.

Elatharia sighed.

"Those who see my markings know that they are neither simple birthmarks nor scars. You are a tiefling, Aerie an avariel and Jaheira a warrior. There is no obvious explanation for how I look, except to assume that my heritage is far from the norm and far from trustworthy. As it turns out, it's not."

"I think they are quite fascinating," Haer'Dalis disagreed, and she flinched away from him when his thumb ghosted over the pattern beneath one eye, "We are not all beautiful. And those who are often rue it. Nor are we all fascinating, as you are, and those who are can only profit."

"Try telling that to some of the monks at Candlekeep," Elatharia shook her head, uncomfortable with this conversation, "But it doesn't matter. I don't need pity, or sympathy."

Haer'Dalis's eyebrows rose as if her words entertained him.

"I believe I understand why you and the Blackbird have endured each other so long, my Raven," he told her with mock-seriousness, "You are, in many ways, much alike. She once said very similar words to me, and I will tell you what I told her: I do not offer pity or sympathy. Just understanding. And perhaps a desire to see you fully fledged and free from your cage." He took the mask from her, and folded it in half laterally, "Won't you start to break free, just a little? Will you not show more of your face at least? I find myself bewitched by your reproachful green eyes."

Elatharia snorted, standing and starting to pile up some of the books on the table just to put a little distance between them. Eyeing the folded mask in his hands, she found that she wanted to agree with him. Perhaps it was weak of her to hide so much behind that mask. Though she did not see how she could ever walk the streets as an equal to the rest of humanity when her markings were visible.

"Tell me you aren't seeking to practice your flirtations with me. I'm sure you have far more beautiful prey to catch."

"Flirtations? Beauty? Prey?" Haer'Dalis put a hand over his heart as if wounded, but his eyes were laughing, "I know when I am not wanted, my Raven. Else I might have pursued you, too."

"Like you pursued Aerie and almost drove Anomen to murder?" _Murder, murder and death._

"Murder is a dramatic word for it," the tiefling denied a little more seriously, "I promised him a duel if she could not choose. As it happened, she chose him in her heart some time ago."

"I heard he took a swing at you before she even arrived."

"True," Haer'Dalis smiled genuinely then, eyes flashing, "'Twould have been a scene of merry chaos, the Peacock stumbling after me like a stranded seal."

"Have you ever seen a seal?" Elatharia pointed out doubtfully.

"Not of this world," Haer'Dalis admitted.

"Is that the only reason why you do anything? For the chaos? Because it amuses you?"

"Mostly," he shrugged, suddenly less forthcoming. Elatharia watched him for a curious moment, and then sighed wearily.

"Alright," she told him, "I'm going to be friendly about this because I don't want our group tearing itself apart. It's just…I've never known Viconia to give much away, emotionally especially. She's particularly unforthcoming to males. If you're looking to bed her then it's going to be more successful for you if you go for a greater combination of eagerness and deference."

"You think I am so shallow?" he sounded faintly hurt, and she could not tell if he was serious.

"I don't know," the Transmuter shrugged, "She's my ally, and I'll take her side if she takes a dislike to you. Unless you have a spectacularly useful contribution to make to getting to Imoen faster."

"You are strangely loyal for such a wounded creature," the tiefling noted softly, catching her wrist when she started to move away fully, turning it over to contemplate the scars there, "I see your stubbornness, and you play a good act of being heartless. Oft times I know it is no act. But love is something that drives you to your sister, and that I find curious."

Elatharia was eyeing him distrustfully and about to respond when Edwin and Korgan returned, the dwarf carrying the heavy, folded red mass of dragon scales across his shoulders triumphantly. The Red Wizard paused briefly when he saw Haer'Dalis leaning towards the Transmuter, and his expression darkened. Elatharia did not see the tiefling's smirk before she turned away.

* * *

Aerie sat back from the bowl, blinking to clear the haziness that breaking with the spell induced.

"Well?" Jaheira sounded typically stern, with just an added hint of extra tension. She was still standing at the other side of the table, arms folded.

"Th-there's not much to go on. They mentioned something about 'clandestine ventures', but…" Aerie blushed, and Jaheira sighed impatiently, "Mostly they were just talking about themselves. Nothing too…too bad. Not really. I mean…it was Haer'Dalis who mentioned something about their plans being 'clandestine'. Can't it just be…that they're planning a birthday party or something?" she raised her eyebrows expectantly, and Jaheira gaped at her momentarily.

"No," the druid told her with firm derision, "No, that is not so. We need to watch them further, but we should relocate to my room before Minsc returns or Anomen rises."

Aerie tugged at her braids unhappily, less than enamoured by this.

"I…I really don't like all this deception. I wish we could just ask them. How do you know it's something so terrible?"

"I _don't_ know, but she is living in quarters with Viconia and the Red Wizard. Not to mention the tiefling whom you do in your heart still wish to defend. I do not need to be a wise gambler to know that something is definitely terribly wrong there."

* * *

Once at the Adventurers' Mart, having acquired a hungry Viconia on the way out of the Sphere, Korgan and his red dragon scale had been redirected to a dwarf named Cromwell, whose shop stood in the docks – not far from Yoshimo's Guild House. Elated at the promise that he would indeed be getting his armour soon, Korgan had stomped off in that direction, but the others had stayed at the Adventurers' Mart for a while longer. Elatharia seemed to have taken Haer'Dalis's advice to heart and was discussing the enchantments she intended to add to her new mask with an unofficial stall owner in the complex. It sounded like the new item would use up the stores of money she had kept for herself, and Haer'Dalis had offered some of his share to help. He had little interest in Prime money. He did not intend to linger _that_ long. She had agreed without much argument, though her green eyes had watched him with a look that must have been distrustful under that half-mask.

All the same, it sounded like they would need to stop off at Jan's rather…altered…residence for her share in his business and to Yoshimo's Guild House for some of the money he had made there. Otherwise Elatharia would have no money at all and she seemed unhappy enough to be Bodhi's mindless assassin without having to beg for coppers from Jaheira.

As the discussion on magic and the creation of this new mask continued, Haer'Dalis removed himself from the clamorous bustle of the Adventurers' Mart and stepped out into the slightly more diluted madness of Waukeen's Promenade. At a stall just outside the door he bought a mug of Amnish coffee, newly imported from Maztica, and settled himself down upon the wall of this tier of the mighty Promenade to enjoy the view.

The wind was a little cooler than it had been when they sojourned at the De'Arnise Hold. The clouds had started to roll in from the north, fluffy and white with only the occasional hint of grey or bruise-blue to hint at rainfall. To look at the citizens of this place one would think that winter had come, however. Before, the ladies had been ambling about in their best, brightest colours, fanning themselves and – where youth was brash and desperate – fairly swooning into the arms of guardsmen and well-groomed young lords. Also before, when the skies had been bright blue and the sun a wheel of fire high in the sky (which it still was, though a little better covered), those lords had worn bright doublets daringly unbuttoned low on their stomachs to reveal thin white shirts and little else.

Now, ladies and lords, young and old, street sellers and town criers, craftsmen, servants, couriers, travellers…all of them but for the very poorest swaddled themselves in cloaks. The throngs lining up at the stalls, haggling for food and spices or cloth and books, waiting their turn at the circus or heading off on some errand or meeting of great importance, all of them wore shades of dark. Grey, black, deep red, midnight blue, forest green. Not many hints of brightness anymore. They seemed determined to believe that it was cold, not just a little less warm.

Haer'Dalis had to admit that this was hardly his area of expertise; there he sat, kicking his heels against the dusty orange bricks of the wall, dressed in thin trousers and an open short-sleeved doublet over a white shirt whose expansive sleeves more than made up for the doublet's lack. He needed no cloak, and indeed hardly felt the change in temperature. It would take far greater extremes of hot and cold to unsettle him. But then again, the Blood Wars could do that to a person – even if that person were not a tiefling with the blood of a marilith general in his veins.

Sighing to himself, Haer'Dalis sipped at his coffee curiously and decided that he preferred it greatly to the tea which Edwin and Elatharia drank in such vast teapots-full. He sipped again, and watched the view. Waiting, in truth.

Waukeen's Promenade was, in spite of its loud and confusing bustle and clutter, a very beautiful masterpiece. There were few places like it, and something about its sweeping curve called to Haer'Dalis's sense of beauty. Shaped like a traditional, tiered theatre, where its shops lined the rows in several great red-brick arcs – upon the wall of one such he sat – they rose up over the 'orchestra', that open market floor tiled with soft pink granite. The tents of the circus punctuated the sea of stalls and milling people who half-obscured that lovely ground, and beyond that, upon the 'stage' stood the mighty Aqueduct of Athkatla, its huge arches striding across the rose floor on its mission to supply the city with water. It stood at least half as high again as the highest tier of the menagerie of shops, a towering feat of human engineering made of pale stone and still graven with intricate patterns in spite of its functionality. Beyond that stood the walls of the district, and the rest of Athkatla.

"And just what are you plotting now, tiefling?"

Edwin's voice had been expected, its heavily accented drawl sounding from fairly close behind Haer'Dalis's shoulder. The tiefling twisted about upon his stretch of wall, raising his cup of coffee in greeting to the glaring Red Wizard – who dressed in only subtle red and preferred black in this arcane-phobic city.

"Only plans to one day stage a huge play upon this might theatre, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis promised, gesturing out at Waukeen's Promenade, "Tis a waste to peddle such transient wares upon such a beautiful structure."

"Then you have no concept of how important wealth and possessions are in the civilised world. There is no better use for such an extravagant show of power than to use it to display one's success and good standing. (Unless of course it can be taken and used to display real, arcane strength.)"

Edwin's transformation and subsequent return to his original male form had somehow left him bereft of his beard. He seemed more disdainful than ever without it, where one could make out his oft smug and superior expressions more clearly. Haer'Dalis watched him until he sneered and shifted, posture straining to one of greater hauteur, hands clasped behind his back.

"I wonder, my Sparrowhawk – when your beard vanished – along with your…masculine traits – did the beads you had so carefully woven into it scatter at your feet? Or did they simple disappear? I simply must know, in order to better write the farce which I will inevitably dedicate in your honour."

Haer'Dalis spoke in a manner which probably seemed foolish and inflammatory to the Red Wizard – who muttered something hateful, his eyes taking on an angry flare that hinted at danger – but they were in fact just inflammatory. The tiefling _did_ enjoy goading those who were easily goaded. There was no one easier to goad than this bristling Conjurer.

"I did not come out here to be mocked by you, tiefling. If I were you I would recall that this wizard," he gestured to himself proudly, "Does hold a licence. I could blow you apart with a flick of my wrist. (And how satisfying that would be. Hmmm…)"

Haer'Dalis laughed, swinging his legs around on the wall to face the Red Wizard fully.

"Ah, my Sparrowhawk. Perhaps I ought to term you 'my Robin' for you are full of fearsome bluster, and not always so well placed to deal the slaughter you promise," he held his smile while Edwin opened his mouth to spit some more vitriol, "I may not be a native of this Plane, let alone this fascinatingly maddening city. But as I understand it, you acquired your licence from the Shadow Thieves."

The silent explanation was enough. Bodhi had seen Edwin. He was officially a part of Elatharia's betrayal of the Shadow Thieves, along with Viconia and Yoshimo, in a way that Haer'Dalis was not. The tiefling held his smile while the Red Wizard huffed, folding his arms across his chest now. Defensive. Not offensive. Haer'Dalis took it as a victory, and held his smile.

"Your limp threats mean nothing to me," the Conjurer denied stiffly, refusing to move out of the way for a pair of old women and momentarily causing a hold up in the path behind him where the patrons of the Adventurers' Mart filtered in and out of the huge shop, "I did not come out here for those, either."

Haer'Dalis noted that Edwin did not wear a cloak, just like himself. That seemed a little peculiar, given that the Red Wizard heralded from desert-hot Thay. Even if he was wearing that usual long black Archmagi jacket with its golden brocade and gleaming golden buttons. His shirt was at least red – a very dark shade – but his trousers and polished boots were black.

"Oh, do tell this humble Sparrow why it was that you abandoned the Blackbird and the Raven to the wiles of Ribald Barterman in favour of…me." His twin blades, Chaos and Entropy, were close against his deceptively relaxed wrists. He wondered who might be the quicker; he with his blades, or the wizard with his spells. Then he picked up his cup from where he had rested it on the wall beside him, and took another sip.

"I have seen your cunning at work for tendays, slithering demon _thing_ ," Edwin promised darkly, pouring the full weight of his accent into the words, "And you should know that you will not succeed."

"Succeed in what, pray tell?"

"Your…your…" Edwin's words caught in his throat for a moment, his face flushing with frustration, and then he threw up his hands, "Your attempts to seduce those around you into following your whims! I saw you this morning, and you should know that I will be ready for your insidious workings against my own designs!"

"I was merely persuading the Raven to show a little more of her face," Haer'Dalis paused, perhaps enjoying this a little more than he should – not that he had ever put much stock in duty and expectation, "Tis an _interesting_ face. And it seems that she has agreed with me, for that is her current goal. I have noticed your own disapprovals have not been so successful."

The Red Wizard's fists clenched at his sides, and he seemed caught in that same impotent rage which had overcome him when faced with Korgan earlier.

"I have already gained a level of influence with the Bhaalspawn of which you will never achieve. It is only by my own superior…control and personal…virtue that I have not entirely sought to place her fully under my spell," the Conjurer disagreed in a vehement hiss, "Should…should I so wish it I would leave her gasping under my erotic onslaught nightly, tiefling! Your feeble attempts at seduction and manipulation are nothing compared to the skills of a Red Wizard of Thay!"

Haer'Dalis almost choked on his coffee. He barely managed to set the cup down again without spilling it all over the sidewalk and the wizard's boots, so much did he laugh. Edwin was still fuming, looking fairly proud of his comments. When the tiefling continued to laugh, the Conjurer watched him with annoyed confusion.

"Oh, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis coughed out, "I find myself ill equipped to answer your _ferocious_ words but to suggest that I recognise your untruths and know your pain," another fit of laughter, wherein Edwin's expression cleared a little as if he might be starting to understand. It looked like angry embarrassment was fast replacing angry bluster, "I have no interest in your Raven. But sometimes a little acting is needed to bring out the jealousies we hold ready in ourselves."

And the bard wondered what kind of realisations came with such uncommonly brazen words as Edwin's.

"I…I will not be deceived by your idiotic games, tiefling!" the Red Wizard spat at last, flushing more and backing up – almost colliding with the same pair of old women as before, this time on their return journey ,"I will not. I am a Red Wizard of Thay, and your feeble attempts to derail my better standing will fail. (And if not then a fireball would do nicely.)"

Muttering to himself, Edwin departed. Haer'Dalis sighed and shook his head. It seemed that selfish paranoia would win out here, not jealousy of a more interesting sort. Well, the bard had tried. Perhaps the chant would change in this regard. Eventually.

* * *

As she slipped off the old mask and tied on the new one, Elatharia's grin widened. Immediately the darker parts of the room brightened, and the woman who had enchanted this band of velvet cloth – which now covered only the markings beneath her eyes – had promised that the item was now imbued with _Darkvision_ , _Mirrored Eyes_ and an augmentation of _True Seeing_ which could be awoken with a command word.

Once she had handed over the last of the money, pleased with her choice – even if she had needed to borrow from Haer'Dalis – Elatharia felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to look at Viconia. Holding up a hand for the drow to wait, she spoke the command word…and instantly she could see past the Transmutation veiling the priestess. A quick inspection of the rest of the room showed that the Adventurers' Mart chose to hide its illegal spellcasters and magical components in plain sight.

"It will be a blessing to have the new enchantments, _khal'abbil_ – and I am surprised to say that I am glad you listened to the tiefling. It was wise of him to suggest that you do this. Although…it may prove more difficult to keep your secrets without your old mask. You have always been remarkably easy to read."

"Easy to read?" Elatharia frowned automatically, and then winced when Viconia smirked at her. With this new strip of velvet just covering her markings, her expression was clear to the world.

"Just a fair warning, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia promised as they turned about for the door. The drow paused, frowning, "I do believe we have lost our familiars."

"Familiars?" Elatharia could not avoid her incredulous tone, though the comment scratched at a memory that she had long since compartmentalised. _A flutter of wings, the shine of iridescent scales. A puff of glitterdust. The screaming pain of a bond forever severed._ She gritted her teeth, and held onto the present. "Viconia, did you just make a joke that is based on arcane knowledge?"

"How better would you explain the endless shadowing of the tiefling and the Red Wizard? As pets? The former would have to be kept on a permanent leash, the latter would likely have been put down long ago."

Elatharia laughed loudly at the thought, startling a pair of old ladies who were just moving past them towards the enchanter's stall in the vast vaulted hall that was the Adventurers' Mart. There was so much noise, so many smells and sights, so much _space_ in here, and yet from the outside this place looked no different from anywhere else in Waukeen's Promenade; just a series of unmarked doors in the second tier of the red-brick shop complex surrounding the marketplace.

"I get the feeling you'd probably _prefer_ Haer'Dalis to be on a permanent leash," the Transmuter quipped, and Viconia – true drow that she was – did not even raise an eyebrow at the thought.

They passed a stall piled high with scrolls, and there Elatharia's eyes alighted on Edwin. He was frowning, elbowing away another poorly disguised wizard as he flicked through a few of the items on show. The shop keeper was watching intently, but the Red Wizard seemed wise to the ruse. If he picked one up, even for a moment, he would have to pay for it. It had happened to him before, and he hated being embarrassed.

"Ah, and there is your faithful hound," Viconia's tone dripped with sarcasm, and Elatharia elbowed her in the mithral-clad ribs all the same.

"Edwin? Edwin!" Elatharia had to lean over the stall, rattling the piles of scroll impressively, before the Red Wizard in question looked up at her, "Coming? Staying? Transmuting yourself into something new today?"

"Staying," he fairly snarled, waving her away even as his eyes lingered in poorly disguised surprise, taking in her change in appearance. When she frowned fearsomely at his tone, he seemed momentarily taken aback. Perhaps Viconia had been right about the mask. "I am not your mindless lackey, to follow you at every moment of the day. Begone, and come back when you have something interesting to say to me."

Her good mood spoiled, Elatharia stood up straight and stared him down while Viconia pushed past a few patrons to reach her side.

"Remember I'm the one with the right to be angry with you, Red Wizard," she told him, "And that you still have my Traveller's Robe. I'd like it back."

"Fine, fine," he waved her away, finally looking back down at his scrolls, "Just stop pestering me!"

When Edwin was in a mood like that there really was no good reason to counter his demand, and Elatharia moved on for the exit, sharing a confused look with Viconia. She would have expected him to be pleased about his return to masculinity, but instead he just seemed…angry. At least since Korgan had demanded the red dragon skin from him.

As the pair reached one of the exits, squeezing past a band of young adventurers ogling shining sets of armour that they would never be able to afford, they were accosted by the cheerful tones of Haer'Dalis.

"My Raven! My Blackbird! I have discovered the most wonderful thing on this Plane!"

They cast about for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the comparatively bright light of midday – in spite of the clouds – and it was Elatharia who spotted the tiefling's blue-haired visage. He was leaning against a wooden support for the shop's awning, the jewelled pommels of his blades shining at his hips and his doublet undone to show off a very nonchalant shirt-and-trousers style. Unlike nearly everyone else in sight – including Elatharia and Viconia – he wore no cloak and seemed altogether unfazed by the light drizzle that had started on the street beyond. Grinning at them, he approached, holding out two clay mugs – one for each of them.

"Here, I bought some for each of you. I simply could not live on without knowing that you had tried it," he winked at Elatharia conspiratorially while Viconia peered over the rim of her cup, still not touching it, "Tis far better than the tea you drink day and night, my Raven."

" _Jaluk_ , you do not expect me to drink something which you proffer before me without a clear source and without good reason, do you?" Viconia sounded long-suffering. And perhaps just a little playful.

Stepping back to see what happened next, Elatharia took her cup from Haer'Dalis as he looked to the drow. He was smiling at Viconia in a knowing, wicked kind of way that might have made a less determined quarry of his more than willing to take what he offered.

"My Blackbird," he admonished without any genuine feeling of annoyance, taking her wrist and placing her limp hand upon the cup before covering it with his own. His eyes were dancing with mirth as he leaned closer, and Viconia's moon elf visage did register a blush at that. She leaned back a little, as if not sure what to expect, "Dost thou not recall our first conversation, over wine outside the Five Flagons Inn? I have heard it is customary to drink from the cup one offers to a drow. And you ought to know by now that I have no good reason to poison you."

Viconia attempted to frown at him, but her eyes were very intent on him as he took a sip from the drink, her hand still trapped between his and the cup. She swallowed reflexively as he did, and did not tear her eyes from his face as he stood straight again.

"Now it is customary for you to drink," he urged softly, and Elatharia almost felt guilty for watching. Until she remembered that this was a public place, and seeing Viconia off balance was highly entertaining.

Grimacing as if under duress, the drow did as the tiefling suggested, and winced as she swallowed.

" _Rul'selozan!_ " the drow told him, looking anew at the steaming dark liquid in the cup, "What is this?"

"Coffee, from…Maztica?" Haer'Dalis just laughed when she grimaced again, sniffing at it distrustfully, and tried another sip. 

* * *

**Author's note:  
 _Rul'selozan - 'Disgusting' (from the website 'Chosen of Eilistraee')_**


	26. And the Bad Are Truthful

**Chapter 25: ...And the Bad Are Truthful**

* * *

Elatharia lingered a few steps behind Viconia and Haer'Dalis as the trio eventually began to make their way to the Docks, bound for Yoshimo's Guild. She sipped on the coffee that the bard had pressed upon her for a little while but eventually disposed of it. She had never had a taste for it. Edwin's herbal tea was far less insistent upon her senses.

Viconia, on the other hand, seemed to acquire a taste for the drink without really realising it. After a few more sips, she took to finishing it entirely. And by her side walked Haer'Dalis, talking all the time about the things they passed and the things he had seen. Elatharia only caught a few snippets of their conversation, but it seemed rather noteworthy that Viconia's irritable comments and automatic rebuttals were few in number and infrequent. She had never seen the drow be so tolerant of a male. And as they walked, they drew closer together. Haer'Dalis was far from oblivious to this – it all seemed rather planned, really – but it was curious to see how Viconia did not object. By the time they left Waukeen's Promenade their arms were brushing as they walked, and by the time they had entered the Docks District Haer'Dalis's hand had touched the drow's lower back more than once as they paused to let a wagon pass or dodged around a slow Athaktlan walking the streets ahead of them.

A sudden memory of Coran, the rakish elf who had travelled with her, Imoen and the others, flashed through Elatharia's thoughts as they paused outside the Guild House doors, awaiting an answer to Haer'Dalis's knock. Coran had been rather brazen and wild for an elf who would expect to live for centuries, determined to charm the pretty women he met in life. And he had charmed Imoen by the time that they escaped Cloakwood, and he had dwelled a while with them in Baldur's Gate. He had not expected the aasimar to charm him _more_ in return.

The memory of them laughing and whispering together by the stables of the Elfsong Tavern cut through Elatharia's thoughts more clearly as the door opened and Haer'Dalis and Viconia stepped inside. For a moment it staggered her with its clarity, remembering the elf leaning down to chuckle something into her sister's ear, brushing aside Imoen's rain-soaked mop of pink hair, both dressed in combat leathers with bows on their backs. And there Elatharia had been, passing them to get out of the rain on a return journey from the nearby alchemical shop. Imoen had caught her eye and grinned broadly, waving a giddy greeting.

"My Raven?" Haer'Dalis inquired curiously, and Elatharia's thoughts wheeled back to the present.

She realised she had been standing gaping into space, just steps away from the shelter of the house even as the rain had started to patter more heavily around her. She would have given anything to see her sister grinning at her from the stables, and even twisted about to remind herself that she was being foolish, seeing just an empty stall or two at the far end of the Guild House.

"Elatharia?" Haer'Dalis tried her name this time, his deep voice concerned, "Is something the matter, my Raven?"

"Nothing," Elatharia shook her head as much to clear it as in denial, stepping past him into the false shop beyond, where Viconia was waiting halfway to the next room, "I just thought I saw…" She paused when both of them watched her with looks that suggested they would know she was lying, so she started again with a weary sigh. Perhaps it would do her some good to be honest for once, "I was just thinking about Imoen," she met Viconia's eyes pointedly now, "And Coran."

The drow's expression changed in immediate understanding, but she turned away too quickly for Elatharia to consider it. Haer'Dalis looked between them curiously, but did not ask for a clarification.

* * *

"I…I can't do this!" Aerie insisted, pulling back from the scrying pool and almost emptying its contents upon Jaheira's bed where she had been sitting, cross-legged. The druid had been watching her intently from the chair by the door and now sat forward sharply at the avariel's words.

"Where are they?"

"They haven't said anything! They're just…they don't even have enough money now that Elatharia's changed her mask. No one's done anything bad! Everyone's…just so…vulnerable," Aerie shook her finger angrily at the druid, but Jaheira seemed utterly unoffended.

"Where are they?" she repeated, "You said they do not have enough money, by which I assume you mean that Elatharia has squandered hers. Where are they?"

"The…the Guild House? I mean…I know that the money they're going to…to get there isn't honest…"

"Keep watching them," Jaheira snapped by way of interrupting, gesturing sharply to the scrying pool, "If you learn nothing from this meeting then we…shall postpone our surveillance. But this could be the moment we have been waiting for. Keep looking!"

That seemed plausible, if odious. Aerie paused a moment before nodding miserably and taking hold of the scrying bowl once more.

* * *

Yoshimo's guild had a store of some of that strangely palatable coffee. Viconia would never have asked for it, but Haer'Dalis had already developed a fascination with it and requested some. He took one look at her face…and asked for a pot. He got what he wanted from a frightened looking newcomer to the guild. Viconia wondered if the boy would have been able to look any more frightened if he had known that those he was currently serving were in fact traitors to his employers.

It seemed rather audacious, but Yoshimo had insisted that they were safe to talk about anything they wished in his private office on the first floor of the Guild House. It was an expansive room, with a broad window at each end and walls lined with untouched books. There was a costly painting on the wall by the door to his bedroom and the curtains were brocaded in gold and silver thread. The table at the centre of the room was covered in fruit arranged around a covered carafe of wine. It was onto this cluttered surface that Haer'Dalis placed their pot of coffee, and around it that they and Elatharia sat to wait while Yoshimo went to collect the Transmuter's share of the Guild profits.

When he returned, Elatharia immediately dropped the heavy coin purse which he handed over into her bag of holding before sitting back and gesturing at the room in general.

"You're certain it's safe to talk?" she asked quietly, and Yoshimo nodded forcefully.

"We can hardly take your word for it, _jaluk_ ," Viconia sighed, resting her elbows on the table and raising her eyebrows at him expectantly, "What proof have you to show us of your honesty? How do we not know that you are intending to sell us to our foes?" She chose her words carefully. It would be foolish to sound so cautious and then give oneself away in the same breath.

A faint smile flickered onto – and off – Yoshimo's face. It was not _his_ voice which answered.

"Bodhi has been careful to add her…influence to each of the employees of this place. They may appear to be Shadow Thieves, but they are not," a slightly rough voice purred, and the red-garbed vampire who had met them in the crypts slinked out through the open door behind Yoshimo. She was careful not to step into the open sunlight, "We are dedicated to making this betrayal of yours as smooth as possible. It is in all of our interests."

Viconia felt Haer'Dalis grow very still at her side. His hand crept from the back of her chair – and since when had she permitted him to put it there, anyway? – and to the pommel of one of his twin short swords. His black eyes were trained upon the vampire's face and all emotion had fled his own visage.

"Fine," Elatharia snapped at the sight of the vampire, evidently distrustful but with no real concept of how to deal with this rather unexpected guest to their party, "I take it you're his minder then?" she asked the vampire. Yoshimo did not even flinch at the jibe.

"Of a sort," the vampire smirked, showing off her sharp canines, and then made a show of hesitating, "Oh, do for forgive me. I have never introduced myself. I am Valen, first sireling of Bodhi," she paused again, as if for effect, and then waved the words away, "And, since you are here – I should inform you that Bodhi had me meet with your lackey," she gestured to Yoshimo, "So early in the day because your next kill has been decided. The timing must be perfect, so she would meet with you at the third hour past midnight in the crypts to impart the information in person. It would be wise to arrive on time."

* * *

The vampires were an unhappy necessity after the choices Elatharia had made. And they were at least a little more forthcoming with _things to do_ than the Shadow Thieves. Viconia had dealt with worse. She fully intended to deal with worse again. Thus the drow was more distracted by Haer'Dalis's discomfort over the matter than she was about the matter. And as they made their exit of the Guild House, Elatharia urged to part with Yoshimo for the day by none other than the tiefling, Viconia found her thoughts straying to the comment Elatharia had made earlier.

Coran. That had been the womanising fool who attempted to seduce Imoen and found himself seduced in return, only for the aasimar to turn from him because she was young and inexperienced and frightened by his ardour. Viconia did not need to have an analytical mind on a par with Elatharia's in order to decipher the Transmuter's meaning. It left her feeling…unsettled. Jumpy, even. Frustrated, maybe.

The rain was pouring when they arrived outside Cromwell's smithy to check on Korgan, mostly because all of them seemed to need something to do other than linger another day in the Planar Sphere's confines, however extensive they were. Hearing Korgan's loud tones even over the rain rushing around them and the clanging of the hammer audible through the open door, Elatharia moved straight through the entrance to make her greetings. She did not seem to have noticed – or to want to notice – the rather peculiar manner of Edwin's anger earlier, and instead had been thinking about anything else, as far as Viconia could tell. Including Coran, of all people.

"My Blackbird," Haer'Dalis brought Viconia up short before she could follow, his hand curling around her arm as he guided her to the platform outside Cromwell's shop.

The building was really an apartment above an abandoned warehouse, reachable only by a tall wooden stairway. The platform at the top of these steps gave them a view of the stormy grey sea, and they were provided no shelter from the endless and increasingly fearsome rain. Viconia could feel water running down the back of her neck, through her raised hood. But she found herself curious to know what had Haer'Dalis so unsettled.

"You evidently do not approve of the alliance with the vampires," she noted softly, leaning back against the railing as Haer'Dalis let go of her arm. He stood before her, and shrugged.

"Not especially, my Blackbird, although I am hardly offended by it. They may well prove a more interesting benefactor than the rather unhelpful Shadow Thieves. 'Tis rather the Cuckoo who unsettles me."

"Yoshimo is a snake, but he has shown no sign of disloyalty. If anything the presence of that vampire lackey showed that he is to be trusted in this. She obviously has him at her whim as we do."

"He is a human man dealing with vampires," Haer'Dalis disagreed, evidently, taking a step closer when he lowered his voice still further, "Where none of the other human men in their service are under anything less than duress. I would wager that he has been aligned with them this whole time. 'Twould explain neatly how the vampires knew where to stumble upon Elatharia in the Slums that first time. And how they knew about her at all."

Viconia blinked at him in surprise. It felt true. It had to be true.

"I do not see how this is so bad, _jaluk_ ," she sighed at last, her eyes distractedly following the path of a raindrop from his hair, down his neck, and to the thin shirt he wore beneath his open doublet. How he was not shivering drenched like that was a mystery, and she found herself smiling at the audacity of him, "Perhaps we should tell Elatharia when we have a chance. I suspect it will make no difference in the course we take, however. She is stubborn, and has fallen too far to turn back now."

"Very well, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis agreed, "I am but a sojourner amongst this flock and upon this Plane, after all."

That reminded her of something that had been on her mind since they had encountered the Viewing Room in the Planar Sphere. Wiping the rain from her face and rather uselessly huddling deeper into her yellow cloak, Viconia gestured at the world in general.

"You have said that you travel because you must, escaping those who were your former masters. But you have also said you are safe from them in Sigil. Why then do you risk yourself like this?"

Haer'Dalis smiled at her words, taking another step towards her.

"My Blackbird…is that concern I detect in your tone?"

Embarrassment rushed through Viconia but she tilted her head defiantly.

"Of course not," she denied, "I simply cannot understand your foolish behaviour."

His crooked smile suggested that he did not believe her. He considered her for a thoughtful moment, pushing a few soaking strands of rain-blackened blue hair out of his face. He blinked away water, and it trickled over his cheeks like tears. He held her stare, smiling like that, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch him.

"I knew the risks, but it was worth it. What life would I and my fellow sparrows have had, cooped up like sickly pigeons in Sigil only? What use is it, living in the City of Doors, when you cannot travel the Planes?"

"But you will always be hunted by your former masters," Viconia pointed out slowly, baffled by his serene expression, "Surely if you do not return to Sigil they will inevitably find you?"

He took another step forward and she had to look up further to keep eye contact. Most drow males were smaller than drow females. Haer'Dalis was _much_ taller than Viconia.

He touched his fingertips along her cheek and she shivered. Without thinking, she hooked a hand in his belt and pulled him closer. Something hungry flared in his eyes when she did so, and he _growled,_ a reminder that he was not akin to anyone else she had known. He had the blood of demons in his veins, and the thought sent a thrill of excitement through her. His hand pressed against the small of her back and the feel of him so close to her made her want to groan. But she was a drow, and domination was a part of her culture. No more would she permit him to attempt to rule her. So she chose to pull him closer, dragging him against her until their lips brushed.

"Tell me, male," she insisted in her best seductive purr, "Why it is that you choose to risk yourself in such a foolish fashion?"

He stole he breath, and her voice, with another kiss. He lingered against her, his skin hot against hers in spite of the cold rain. When she moved forward to take control, he pulled back just enough to stop her. She snarled at him, and he just smiled. His black eyes were lit with faint points of red light. She knew what that must mean, and watched him with dazed need.

"Yes. And perhaps it is foolish," Haer'Dalis finally answered, his voice barely a whisper, "But I am part of the Blood War. One day I will return, whether they find a way of extracting me from Sigil or they drag me from this decking now. Whether that happens, or I flee, my time on this Prime Material Plane is more finite than most. Unless sweet Oblivion takes this humble Sparrow before that; and what is to say that my dead spirit will not manifest its afterlife in the Abyss?"

Something like fear sparked in her then, and he must have felt her hold tighten on him. His previously playful expression became more serious, full of intensity and hunger. Viconia did not snarl angry words at him as she might have done when his hand shifted from her face, his fingers tracing lightly over her jaw and then her neck as if in inquiry. His touch sent an excited thrill over her skin, a determined warmth answering in her.

Haer'Dalis met her halfway when her hand twisted in his shirt, his hands sliding to her waist, holding her just distant enough to keep the kiss gentle. Every brush of his lips against hers only added to her frustration. This was not the way the drow did things! But Viconia felt herself giving into it and his hold changed as she fought against it, allowing her to move closer against him. He lifted her up to sit on the railing and she – or he? – or maybe both of them moaned as their bodies fitted closer together and the kiss deepened. She bit at his lip and he hissed at her in a feral language she did not know. Trembling, she dragged him closer, and as his lips settled over hers again, parting them with slow but passionate movements, he gave a low, contented sound which hummed interestingly through her. She responded with greater passion and he matched her easily.

Every shift of his body, every touch, the stroke of his tongue against hers – all of it promised what would follow.

"I have not…wanted like this," Haer'Dalis murmured hazily against her lips. He gave no further qualification, though she had expected one.

"No," she agreed, easing her way into another kiss that was welcomed, and returned.

* * *

When next Aerie pulled back from the scrying bowl, her face was a fearsome shade of red, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and intense guilt. She met Jaheira's expectant eyes, and her mouth worked for a moment or two without sound.

"I…" she managed at last, eyes wide, "I…" she coughed, as if that might help, "I couldn't see anything of th-their time in the Guild House. But…but," she cleared her throat again, her cheeks reddening further, "They were talking about…a betrayal. And vampires."

Jaheira's lip curled, the swell of victory hardly a good thing in this situation.

"So Viconia and Haer'Dalis are definitely involved in this…"

"And Yoshimo, and Elatharia," Aerie finished.

"Edwin will have a hand in this also," Jaheira promised, "Keep watching. We need to know what their next move is going to be."

"A-alright," Aerie sighed tremulously, though her hands were steady as they gripped the scrying bowl, a faint frown crossing her face, "B-but I'm not watching Viconia and Haer'Dalis."

* * *

Korgan had been very pleased with the progress Cromwell was making with his new armour. The two dwarves were communing over some smithing techniques when Elatharia entered the shop, and still talking as if she had never arrived when she decided to leave. It was as dark as late evening outside with the rain pouring down so heavily, and as she stepped out with her hood pulled low she almost thought nothing of the dark shapes huddled against the railing. Until she realised how close they were, and how much they resembled Viconia and Haer'Dalis. It seemed the drow had listened to her comment about Coran after all. Curious. Did Viconia actually have feelings for the tiefling, and not just lust after him? Or was this an act of defiance, to prove that lust was all that she felt?

Laughing to herself at the half-seen sight of her companions through the rain, Elatharia decided to leave them to it. She for one would much rather be indoors, and it was a fairly long walk back to the Planar Sphere. Unlike Edwin, she did not have some handy device which allowed her to _Teleport,_ and she had not thought to memorise _Dimension Door_ the previous night. Regardless, the Cowled Wizard would drag her away to 'New Spellhold' if she tried without a licence.

The streets were still busy in spite of the wretched weather, and the cold, endless rain made travel an aggressive affair. People were jostling more impatiently in queues to move between districts, a few curses slung about, and everyone was drenched and shivering. Gorion's cloak could protect Elatharia against outside cold but it did nothing special to stop the rain seeping through. She was shivering and ill-tempered by the time she scaled the steps to the great rain-darkened bulk of the Planar Sphere. She pulled off her boots in the atrium and a gush of water poured out from each.

With Gorion's cloak slung, cold and soaking, over one arm she padded her way to the library, intending to change. Her hair was dripping cold water down the back of her neck and making her shudder, and this in itself was a fair incentive to send her half-running down the glass corridor of the Viewing Room. She did not even need to consider the bad memories that had initially made her uncomfortable about the place, even now that it had lost its enchantments.

Elatharia was surprised to find Edwin sitting at the library table. As was so often his habit, he had slung his Archmagi jacket over the chair beside him, and had a cup of tea at his elbow. A pile of scrolls lay before him, and he was perusing one. He had taken the place opposite his favoured position, however; this new seat gave him a view of the doorway and he looked up immediately when Elatharia stepped through onto the cold black marble floor.

"I see you have finally given up on any modicum of common sense or decency," the Red Wizard noted as the Transmuter advance, boots in one hand and cloak in the other. His gaze lingered on her new 'mask', his eyes searching hers for a moment as if unused to reading her expression.

"Make your own assumptions," she told him rather tersely, passing him by and heading straight to her room, drawing the curtain shut behind her.

Once there, she lit the fire with a cantrip and set her boots before it. Rummaging around in her wardrobe, she found a drying frame and set that up in front of the flames too. There she hung Gorion's cloak and her other soaked clothes. Looking about for something else to wear, she noticed the dark green Travellers' Robe that Edwin had borrowed was lying folded on her bed. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment or two and then, since she was about to deal with her soaked clothes anyway, she cast a Transmuter's cantrip upon the item to clean it before pulling it on. It wrapped around her simply, tied at the waist with a black band.

Thoughtfully, she ran her hands over the fabric of the dress, remembering the day she had bought it. She recalled distinctly believing that it would not be long until they would have saved Imoen. How wrong that hope had been. The thought only served to darken her mood, and it reminded her that she had a point to make with the Red Wizard who had been so dismissive of her that day.

Flinging the curtain of her room open once more, she glared down the steps at Edwin. His dark hair showed no sign that he had been out in the rain, and he was atypically wearing a deep red doublet over his shirt. Its sleeves were fastened neatly at the wrists by little golden cufflinks.

"You said there would be items with the Nether Scroll that could help the quest for Imoen," she accused, too irritated by…something…to think about how petty this might sound, given the chaos that had followed that imposter scroll.

Edwin twisted about slowly in his chair, slinging one arm over its back in order to hold him in position long enough to send her a disbelieving look.

"In case you were too busy digging through the mists of your own stupidity yesterday and did not hear, the gnome told us that the tomb had been ransacked some time ago. (You could have at least thought to ask him beforehand and saved us all the trouble.)"

"Don't blame it on me. It was your plan," Elatharia snapped, descending the steps and leaning on the chair beside him to fully emphasise how ill-tempered she was feeling about their current situation. Edwin just looked at her as if he had no idea of what she was talking.

"(She has the audacity to speak to me as if I am an idiot, when I saw her earlier so engrossed in the tiefling's wiles.)" Edwin had moved back around to face his pile of scrolls, but there was no hint that he was focusing on them.

Elatharia's eyes narrowed and she leaned towards him as if she could not possibly have heard him properly. A stab of something stronger than rage cut through her chest at his words.

"What?" she hissed, "What are you talking about?"

His face fell for a moment, as if he had only just realised what he had said and what that might imply. Then his expression twisted into a sneer of disgust.

"Surely you cannot think that I did not notice? That tiefling, as all demons, is seeking to seduce every susceptible female in our band of fools," Edwin gestured at her, looking away just as quickly.

His blatant scorn for something that was so _incorrect_ shattered Elatharia's rage. She laughed, genuinely and loudly, sitting back on the table and picking up a random scroll from the pile before Edwin. The Red Wizard eyed her in confusion, his eyebrows coming together, now that her unorthodox seat forced them to all but face each other.

"Haer'Dalis explicitly stated that he isn't seducing me, Edwin," the Transmuter chuckled, plucking at the edge of the scroll she held when his behaviour started to make sense and it was suddenly difficult to meet his eyes, "If I thought you were less self-centred than you are, I'd think you were jealous." She had intended to maintain the amusement in her tone, but her voice came out a little weaker than planned.

A glance up at his eyes showed that his expression had not changed significantly, but he was watching her closely. Was there a hint of something other than anger in his eyes? It was hard to tell. She distinctly remembered that first night of their reunion in Athkatla, outside the Five Flagons Inn. _I am not as I was. It will take more time_. That was what she had told him. How much time? Before what, exactly? She had never denied to herself that she desired him when his power flared and his pride ebbed – she had seen a similar response in him at the sight of her own power. But was not Edwin a Red Wizard, however exiled? Why was he so coy about this?

"Forgive me if I would prefer to be the guidance at your foolish right hand, oh incompetent leader," Edwin drawled at last, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, expression set into something a little more controlled, a little more wry, than it had been before.

His eyebrow raised when Elatharia's face twisted in annoyance. At him, and at herself. She stared down at the coiled scroll in her hands instead of addressing the issue that hung heavy between them. _Why do we linger like this?_ A change of subject might even improve her rain-drenched mood.

"Plenty scrolls you bought today," she remarked, turning the coiled parchment over in her hands, thinking of Edwin and his spells.

"Indeed," he agreed stiffly, as if sensing her train of thought, "And I would much prefer to learn them without you sitting on the table like a tavern slut and without your bare foot taking up space upon my chair."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly when she just looked up at him disbelievingly. She did not move her foot from his armrest, nor stand from her seat on the edge of the table.

"You remember I said I'd work out what's going on with you and magic, don't you?" Elatharia inquired softly. She had given this some thought when time allowed. A smirk curved her lips when Edwin's shoulders stiffened.

"(As if there is anything that you ought to 'work out' beyond the realisation that I am a far superior mage and should be emulated in all ways)," Edwin sneered under his breath, but Elatharia watched him.

"You memorise spells far faster than any mage I've ever known," she started to count off the issues on her fingers, "You have an unusual affinity for Invocations like _Fireball_ in spite of being a Conjurer. You fling around more spells than one would expect from a wizard of your age and experience, and you do it all in a far shorter time," she held his eyes for a moment, triumphant, "I know what's wrong with you and magic, Edwin Odesseiron."

"Oh, do you?" he fairly snarled, leaning forward in his chair and staring up at her from beneath his brows, a cornered creature. He was resting his elbows on his knees, but his fingertips were touching. He would start to cast the moment he felt threatened. It almost hurt to see him so distrustful.

"I do," the Transmuter promised with a grin. He looked back at her with evident uncertainty. Toying with his often fraught nerves like this really was doing wonders for her mood. Maybe it was even making her a little bold.

So Elatharia slipped onto her feet, moving from the table and kneeling in front of him to make a show of whispering in his ear, enjoying this moment of taunting him far more than she should have. It was a little distracting, having him so close; he smelled of soap and herbal tea, his stubble prickling against her cheek. She might have imagined it, but it felt like he turned a little towards her as she came this close. Her hand bumped his knee. Her breath caught; his tickled her neck.

"You are undoubtedly a wizard, a specialist Conjurer who has joined the order of the Red Wizards of Thay," she promised him the description of himself which he gave to the world, and he started to speak, probably to point out how obvious that truth was, but she continued quickly, "But you exhibit traits of someone who was born with natural, untaught magical skill," she drew back a little to see his face and found his expression guarded, but for the worry in his eyes, "You might be a wizard now, Edwin, but you were born a sorcerer."

His face twisted into a new sneer, fairly a snarl, and he caught her shoulders in a tight grip, shaking her.

"You will not tell anyone of this! Incompetent, ungrateful _Bhaalspawn_! (Oh, she must think herself very clever. Indeed. As if she can have any true concept of the truth)," he eyed her as he muttered, and when she laughed at his ferocious reaction he stared at her with furious incomprehension, "What?!"

"That's why you hated Degardan. You said to him Flass, Thrul and Araman chose him and not you," she tapped her chin in a show of thoughtfulness, "And I'd bet in a country as descent-conscious as Thay, you being born a sorcerer – however much you became a wizard – set a few rumours going about your real heritage. So Degardan, an undoubted full-blooded Mulan, was chosen over you…"

"I am as Mulan as any of them, fool! _Both_ of my parents are Red Wizards! I will not be slandered by some inbred barbarian of uncivilised western lands! Degardan and I were rivals for a position of greater authority in Thaymount; it came to a spell battle…which I won, but which failed to kill him. His family own Eltabbar, as I told you, and with him disgraced and disfigured – but alive – they wanted revenge. They still want revenge. Hence my father's attempt to buy me more time, sending me on that chase after Dynaheir," his voice had quietened, something…almost sad in his eyes, but when his thoughts returned to the present, he frowned once more, "But I am Mulan. If you think you can use such information as my natural talent for magic against me then you will regret it."

He shook her again, hard enough that she had to brace herself against his knees. There was no real violence in this. He seemed…frightened. And she laughed off her anger, until he seemed to grow more confused than afraid of any hold she might have over him with this information (which, as far as Elatharia could tell, was no hold at all).

"By all means, laugh at my expense," he complained, even as his grip eased on her shoulders a little, "And, when you are done mocking me, perhaps you can tell me what has you so amused."

"You…you thought I was going to threaten you with something like that?" Elatharia spluttered at last, rolling her eyes when Edwin just nodded at her as if it were obvious, "I wouldn't know where to start. I was just…making us even. After what you showed me about Bhaal's priestesses," she paused, "And maybe taking a bit of revenge for your ridiculous display with that 'Nether Scroll'."

"You would waste your time in this manner? Don't you have something better to do with your time? (Perhaps not – she is a Transmuter, after all)," Edwin's expression had relaxed into a more long-suffering grimace, though his fingers were still curved around her upper arms. Her hands were still braced on his knees.

Suddenly self-conscious, Elatharia looked from her hands back up to his face, and saw his dark eyes searching her expression. She swallowed nervously as his hands slid down her arms and his eyes wandered across her for a moment. She recalled the memories of the press of his body against hers in the Friendly Arm those months ago, of his eyes black with lust as he stared into the golden light flickering within her pupils much more recently.

Memories of the devil Irenicus had summoned scratched at those thoughts. Spiked manacles. Knives. Serrated skin. The pain. She winced, biting her lip and trying to force some sense into herself.

The Transmuter pulled back then, and he let go of her almost immediately. Hiding her embarrassed grimace by turning away to twist back about onto the table, she thought of her own warning to Viconia. She thought of the sight of the tiefling and the drow entirely wrapped up in each other in the pouring rain, two figures half seen through the sheets of water.

"And are we any closer to reaching your revenge?" Edwin asked into the silence, his voice slightly strained.

The gulf between them seemed suddenly vast. Wincing again and looking down to where one of her hands held onto the table edge, she nudged Edwin's knee with her foot…just to bridge the gap a little. He caught it, staring at the offending limb as if it were a terrible crime that she had just committed. He did not, however, push it away. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers, some unnameable emotion boiling therein.

"We're seeing Bodhi tonight in graveyard, a three hours after midnight. For our next assignment," Elatharia told him, and then winced, remembering, "And afterwards…tomorrow…at least some of us need to go to Haer'Dalis's play. I wouldn't want the others to suspect us any more than they already do."

"Suspect us? I doubt their bleeding hearts would suspect even _Irenicus_ of further wrong doing (especially the simpering avariel.)"

Aerie could be very naïve. The Transmuter was counting on it. But…

"Jaheira will suspect us," she reminded him, and the Red Wizard rolled his eyes, "Jaheira suspects me even when I haven't done anything. She definitely suspects me now."

"Perhaps we should kill her and have done with it?" Edwin suggested mildly, "(And the rangers…and the Helmite and avariel. All together, one fireball: 'boom'…the end of our problems.)"

"Tempting," Elatharia laughed at his audacity, "But I'd really like to save Imoen first, thank you."

* * *

"Baervan," Aerie gasped, jolting back from the scrying bowl as if burned, meeting Jaheira's gaze with a worried one of her own. The avariel could feel the sting of frightened tears prickling in her eyes, not to mention the heat of embarrassment over what she had been forced to witness, "Oh no. _No_. I…I think I know what's going to happen. And I've got a name: Bodhi."


	27. The Trouble with Blackmail

**With thanks to those who are following this story, and to those who have reviewed. :D  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 26: The Trouble with Blackmail**

* * *

Yoshimo had been waiting for almost an hour in the Copper Coronet before he saw familiar faces approaching. It was late, and he had been forced to bluff about his connections with the Shadow Thieves in order to get this table when the building was so busy. Lehtinan was a wretched, oily man but he could be swayed to do the most beneficial corrupt thing, if his strings were pulled correctly. It was that way with everyone, if you knew how to play them. Yoshimo knew this better than most.

They had agreed to meet here for their evening meal, not too late that it would look suspicious but late enough that they could linger long into the night before heading out to meet Bodhi. Yoshimo had been the one to set up the meeting, venturing into the Planar Sphere to organise it. Elatharia and Edwin had been sitting at that big table in their library at the Planar Sphere, drinking herbal tea and poring over a pile of scrolls in that endless, fascinated way that only wizards could. They had set up two different pass phrases; one for the front opening of the Sphere, and one for the door to the library. Yoshimo suspected that there were other wards which Elatharia had not deigned to tell him about. But it was good enough that he had access to these rooms. At least, it was enough.

Both wizards had agreed to his suggestion that those who were seeing Bodhi that night for instruction should meet in the Copper Coronet. They had agreed a little too quickly; one sharply and one distantly, in the manner of those who do not wish to be disturbed. He had offered a mocking bow and left, his small smile dropping from his face the moment he turned his back on them. He had not been able to locate Haer'Dalis and Viconia, perhaps because they were elsewhere in the Sphere or because they had not yet returned. He had assumed Elatharia would tell them of the plan, though it hardly mattered if they attended. In truth, it would be better if the tiefling were absent.

Korgan had been just trudging his way back to his hovel of a room above the Copper Coronet when Yoshimo came upon him. The new red dragon armour gleamed proudly on his broad, squat form. Yoshimo had been careful to compliment him, and offered to buy the dwarf a round of ales in celebration. Korgan had agreed readily to come to the Copper Coronet then.

It was ten hours after highsun and Yoshimo was waiting at this small six-person table by the back door of the Coronet, where the pipe smoke filtered out into the dining area in the back garden. Fewer people were out there tonight; the Amnish were exceptionally susceptible to the change in the weather, in the manner of those who live in a climate that distinguishes its seasons sharply and thus gives them a sense of what they are lucky to have during summer. He had noticed that Elatharia, a native of a more northern land, was still prone to complaining about heat, and Edwin never remarked on temperature at all, cold or otherwise.

"Ah, my good wizards!" Yoshimo greeted, affecting a jaunty salute as Elatharia and Edwin squeezed past the crowd around the bar to reach him.

The Transmuter was once more clad in her lilac-and-green Robe of Vecna, the grey cloak she favoured pushed back off her shoulders. It was too understated to be a noble woman's dress, too daring in colour and cut to be an adventurer's off-duty garb and far too proper to be a prostitute's outfit. She was lucky no one called for the Cowled Wizards just at the sight of her. Although she did not carry the expected spell components at her belt that many journeyman wizards favoured, and thus perhaps would have escaped a conviction.

Edwin's black Archmagi jacket, with its golden brocade and matching buttons, was perhaps a little showy but could pass for noble garb, something not out of place in this establishment. Especially when he wore it open over that deep red doublet, just a hint of his matching shirt at the collar. His beard had gone for some reason; it made him look younger, but no less sour. The hint of tattoos at his neck were the only reminder that he was a Thayvian…until he opened his mouth and the consideration became moot.

"Could you not have chosen a better seat, fool?" Edwin complained, looking back at the press of drunken patrons and shouting above the clamour, his expression twisted into a harsh grimace as he no doubt attempted to forget the feel of their common bodies against his person. He spared a special sneer for Yoshimo before taking the seat opposite the waiting bounty hunter, his back to the crowd.

"My apologies, friend," Yoshimo smiled, feeling the cool calm of disinterest pervading his mind even as he faked his smile and gestured to the carafe of wine that sat waiting at the middle of the table, "It was all I could wangle from our serpentine proprietor. But it is out of sight of any unwelcome friends of ours who may pay a visit to this establishment, and comfortably close to the pleasant outdoors," he looked up to Elatharia with an expectant tilt of his eyebrows as she slid into the seat beside him, "Do you not agree, leader?"

She spared him a brief glance, the band of cloth that now covered her markings instead of her mask permitting him to read her expression more clearly. She frowned to Edwin first, imperiously holding out her glass for him to pour for her when he served himself. He ignored her, so she glanced at Yoshimo. Her green eyes registered disinterest. Good. Yoshimo poured the wine for her, and her lips twisted into a tight smile. She never had been very forthcoming around him, but it was a sight better than the open dislike that she exuded towards the druid.

Yoshimo poured for himself, too, but only pretended to sip at it. The wizards were quite capable of finishing that carafe on their own – and would, sadly, not leave the table much worse for wear. Elatharia was particularly resilient, but then one only needed to glance at her to remember that she was not entirely ordinary. That band of cloth was as much of a sign as the marks she concealed, and Yoshimo was not so naïve as the avariel. The bright golden streak on the left side of her hair had doubled in width after she killed her brother in the Umar Hills. That hair was different, too. Less tangled and frizzy. She was like a snake shedding its old, ill-fitting skin to reveal the bright reality beneath.

Shame about the orders, really. It might have been interesting to see how she would save her sister and escape Spellhold, assuming she could manage it. The regret passed him by, and was replaced by calm once more as Korgan burst forth from the clamorous crowd.

"I have your ale, good dwarf!" Yoshimo greeted even before Korgan could demand it, pushing the flagon in front of the chair by Edwin. The dwarf grinned broadly, displaying a row of chipped and blackened teeth, before turning to face the Red Wizard.

"Now behold, wretched spellslinger! I've found a proper use fer yer red dragon scales!" and he flung back his tattered canvas cloak, revealing the sculpted, rigid breastplate of sinuous, overlapping scales beneath, each marbled with delicate red-and-black patterns that shone and flickered even in the dull orange light of the tavern.

Edwin was appalled, gaping at the dwarf for a long, hateful moment before turning back to his wine and taking a long, fortifying draught.

"If you take that chair beside me dressed in that abomination, that profanity against the magical arts, I shall light up this tavern in flames and leave all of you screaming in my wake," Edwin commented, attempting to sound calm and collected but really just spitting out the words in a tone that reeked of spite and jealousy.

By Yoshimo's side, Elatharia spluttered at the comment but Korgan smiled most broadly of all, his small dark eyes glinting with the victory he had over the wizard.

"Do the fire-slingin' all ye like, Red Wizard," the dwarf agreed slowly, sitting in the very chair Edwin had insisted he avoid and grasping his flagon with some fervour, "I be dressed in red dragon scales, an' no fire ye ever sling again can do me harm."

"Wretched dwarf! (As if I only have fireballs under my expansive command!)"

Edwin's muttering often worsened when he was flapping, but it was not exclusive to that state. Not for the first time, Yoshimo wondered if the Red Wizard knew he did it. Elatharia and Viconia openly referenced the peculiar affectation to him, and he never asked about it or denied it. But, come to think of it, he never acknowledged it either. Curious.

"And where are our tiefling and drow this night?" Yoshimo asked smoothly. It would not do for the Red Wizard to leave the table yet.

Edwin and Elatharia shared a grimace, but the Red Wizard was taken up with plotting Korgan's murder and sat back in his chair, sipping on his wine and muttering to himself. The Transmuter fought off her smile for a second or so, however.

"I don't think they will want to be disturbed," she answered delicately, eyes sweeping over the bustling tavern floor as she rested her pale arms upon the table. The manacle scars glistened silvery-white at her wrist as she twirled her wine glass. Edwin watched them, even as he muttered to himself and she continued. "I haven't seen them since we visited Cromwell's smithy." She inclined her head to Korgan, who grunted and took to gulping on his ale, uninterested.

"Ah," Yoshimo smirked, even as his inner thoughts twisted uncomfortably. Not good. Not good. The closer this band was knit, the harder it would be. They would fight more fiercely. He may yet not see the hot sands of Kozakura. "Well, perhaps it is just as well," he suggested after a moment, and she eyed him with something worryingly close to distrust, so he raised his glass for a toast to share with her and held his smile innocently, "That bard has no love for me."

"Indeed. You are shiftier than me (and I don't trust myself)," Edwin commented dryly, leaning forward to listen but avoiding tapping his glass with Yoshimo's.

"I think you credit yourself too highly, Edwin," Elatharia told him archly and he sent a dead-eyed glare her way which did nothing to deter her, "With shiftiness. All that muttering and scheming, promises of fireballs and such…well. Maybe Thay has a different definition of shiftiness."

Edwin did not deign to answer – or at least, that was the front he put on. Yoshimo, a practiced observer of the proud, the weak and the secretive, understood this to be a front. The Red Wizard wore a brittle façade, and beneath it he was as frightened and wrong-footed as Yoshimo had been when first he woke in Irenicus's dungeon, to the rules and the incantations and the magical bonds like real hooks sinking into his flesh.

"I take it you have ordered for us and performed one useful activity today, snake?" Edwin inquired haughtily, and Yoshimo had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Of course, friend," he promised instead, and the Red Wizard sat back again, smug in his lordly superiority.

It was too easy. Just a matter of making the right friends, pulling the right strings, telling the right people and sitting still. And waiting – quietly, patiently. It would be much the same when he was required to finish the deed in Spellhold.

They spoke in hushed tones of their impending trip to visit Bodhi, and Yoshimo just listened, nodding when expected. Then their food arrived, and they ate. Korgan offended Edwin in everything he did, in his opinions about Bodhi and in his table etiquette. The two wizards prodded each other with jibes and quips, but never came close to representing the layers of confusion and tension that showed in their behaviour towards each other. Elatharia was patient with Korgan, and utterly unfazed by the promise she had made to Bodhi.

Viconia and Haer'Dalis never made an appearance. Eventually, Edwin stood to go and relieve himself, and his companions continued their deliberately inflammatory discussion about red dragon scales until he had left. They were, in their own way, just as oblivious as Edwin.

The toilets of the Copper Coronet, connected to Athkatla's rudimentary sewer network, were just across the back garden. No doubt the Red Wizard believed he was giving himself some time away from his lowly companions. Yoshimo just wished he could have been there to seen the plan played out.

* * *

Athkatla was such a slovenly, uncivilised city. The wooden toilet cubicles owned by the Copper Coronet were at least adjoined directly to the city sewers, which was significantly better than the set up in the towns along the Coast Way around Baldur's Gate. But the cubicles here still leaked in all the ways that one could imagine and Edwin was careful to cast a cleaning cantrip upon his hands and clothes as soon as he stepped out from the booth. It was degrading, enduring these places. But it was a necessary charade, if one he played unwillingly. At least the Planar Sphere had some modicum of modernity. And he was no longer trapped in that _mortifying_ transmuted form.

Wincing at the very thought, Edwin stepped away from the cluster of cubicles, pulling his cloak around him – black, to blend in with the folk of this part of the world. At least no one was staggering past him or loitering outside to get in. Normally at this time of night one might expect to trip over a fallen drunk at the very least, with the tavern and brothel both fairly overflowing with people and dizzyingly loud. But no one was there. In fact, the yard was very quiet…and empty. The Coronet was thrumming with chatter, laughter and shouting – as raucous as ever. From here, Edwin could just about make out the backs of Elatharia and Yoshimo's heads where they sat with the slovenly dwarf at the table closest to the back door.

It was raining, yes, though not all that hard – especially not to the sensibilities of one who had been raised in Surthay. Hardly an excuse for the fools of this city to stay indoors so unanimously. It _was_ surprisingly cold and _very_ dark; though there was little wind, the lanterns hanging from the two end cubicles had both been snuffed out.

Edwin had only had a chance to cast his cleaning cantrip, pull his cloak around himself and take two steps towards the tavern before he realised what was wrong. He remembered this intense cold, this too-deep darkness. His shoulders slumped a little with understanding and he tensed his hands, ready to cast.

"Bodhi," he greeted with all the soft, Red Wizard calm that he could muster, drawling her name into the shadows with more confidence than he truly possessed.

He had only just started to turn around when a hand grasped his shoulder and wrenched him _off his feet_ , and around the corner, where his back slammed hard against the side wall of one end cubicle. Magical energy fizzled out at his fingertips as his sputtered spellwords were cut off by the hard, icy hand that closed around his throat. He squirmed, kicking out when his feet once more found the ground.

"Edwin Odesseiron," Bodhi's low voice greeted him sweetly from somewhere not too far away in the gloom.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but he recognised the one who held him – the pale, almost skeletal form of the vampire woman who had given them Bodhi's message in the Graveyard. Elatharia had said she called herself…Valen. She smiled now, wide and hungry, displaying her long canines behind her blood red lips – black in the gloom. Her eyes were too reflective, the feeble light glancing back at him almost blindingly as she tilted her head, revealing a white, scarred throat patterned with black veins.

"You will have to forgive our manner of greeting. It is wholly necessary…sadly. And it is rather amusing to see you, a Red Wizard, pinned so helplessly like that."

It took an effort to hold back his reflexive attempts to shout for help past the hand squeezing his throat – as it was, it was an effort just to breath without wheezing. It took even more effort to tear his gaze from Valen's grinning visage, to pull his thoughts at least partially from the unsettling feeling of her cold body hard and bony against his own. But he managed it, and past her tangle of black hair he saw two figures standing only a few paces away under one of the awnings by a set of chairs.

One was unmistakeably Bodhi, grey eyes and white skin standing out starkly against the black swathe of a long cloak. She was smiling broadly, teeth glinting in the dim light. And by her side stood another woman, much taller – perhaps taller than Edwin himself – and also wrapped up in a dark cloak, her hood low over her face. He caught a flash of brilliant green eyes as she dipped her head to hide them, a single visible lock of curling red hair. She was smiling too, but only faintly, and her skin was not so deathly pale as the two vampires. She even had a few freckles spattered across her cheeks. She turned to face Bodhi as the vampire mistress began to speak once more and Edwin had no more time to observe this unfamiliar figure.

"Oh, do let him down now Valen. He's starting to turn redder than his robes ought to be."

Valen looked around sharply at her mistress and earned an impatient wave of one delicate white hand, long black nails flashing sharply. With a snarl of warning Edwin was released. He stumbled, coughing and rubbing at his throat as Valen retreated to her mistress's side. He straightened up quickly enough, breathing hard but trying to keep his shock and outrage from his face. Not to mention the fear that was thinking about worming into his arms and legs. It would not do to quake before a vampire mistress.

"You would assault a Red Wizard and then set him loose before you?" he poured incredulity into his tone even as he wheezed, and Bodhi smiled wider, "You must be a fool."

"No," Bodhi denied with a faint laugh, stepping towards him. He retreated sharply, and felt the wall of the cubicle against his back again. Her lips curled in something more like disdain than amusement, "I have nothing to fear from you, exile."

The word lashed him, but he had been brought up in Thay and could at least tell when he was moments from an early grave. He eyed her warily, casting only a cursory glance at Valen's grinning form and the unfamiliar black-robed woman with the red hair and strangely familiar green eyes.

"What do you want?" he gritted out.

Bodhi inclined her head, tapping at her lip thoughtfully with one black nail as if she did not know where to begin. Her irises were too large and too pale as she looked back to meet his eyes.

"Oh, do not mistake me," she affected pity, dark brows drawing together, "I do know how it feels. You need not hide your shame, exile."

"Are you saying that you have pounced upon my person out here in the rain…because you wish to compare notes on our exiles?" he could not disguise his irritation. Bodhi smiled, looking up at him with those too-pale eyes.

"Of course not, Red Wizard," she promised, and he froze when one of her long, sharp black nails shot out and traced a light line across his throat. No blood was drawn, and the touch was faint, but the threat was there, "Do not doubt that I could slay you here if I so wished – and frame it in the style of the Shadow Thieves."

She pouted at him unconvincingly when his lip curled. The tall woman behind her shifted and Edwin caught sight of a peculiar feathered gauntlet and a matching pendant. Seven feathers. Did that mean something?

"Come now, Edwin," Bodhi was saying, just a hint of harshness in her low voice now. Her nail tapped against his jugular, "You're in no position to start arguing. Or bargaining, for that matter." She stepped closer, gripping his collar when he attempted to recoil, and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. Her breath was cold and she smelled of…nothing, "I need you to do something for me. And if you fail, you can be certain that the Cowled Wizards will find you and drag you to their New Spellhold, 'licence' or not. Or…my friend tells me there is a sacrificial altar in Scornubel that has been empty for a decade or so. And of course, there are always your Red Wizard friends. I spent a little time there myself, in my…mmm…in my youth. I hear Aznar Thrul of the Invokers and Master Araman of the Shapers and Binders are not overly fond of you."

That sent a flash of fear through him too hot and bright to ignore. He swallowed, his mouth dry. His voice scraped free hoarse with newly flowered (and wretchedly impotent) resentment.

"What is it that you require of me?"

Bodhi released him and he staggered to the side a little, wincing and rubbing at his neck again. Vampires definitely had an unhealthy fascination with that area of the body.

"I require, Red Wizard, that you tell me everything about your mistress when the time comes."

"I have no 'mistress'," he spat reflexively, and Bodhi just put her hands on her hips, smirking at him.

"Of course not," she pretended to humour him, "Regardless. Should it ever become necessary, I will require details about any threat she could pose to me or my organisation. If you fail to inform me of such, you will be carted back off to Thay. Or that altar I mentioned in Scornubel," she gestured over her shoulder at the tall woman with the green eyes, who inclined her head slightly in recognition, "Alternatively, you can do what I wish…and I will ensure that you are protected from those who hunt you."

"That is an awfully paranoid notion from a benefactor who has no reason to doubt her servants," Edwin noted as the chill of acceptance settled through him. He should have expected something like this from Bodhi.

"I am realistic," she corrected him coolly, "And now I am bored. Run along back inside, little boy," she mocked, "Before I change my mind. I hope you're good at telling lies."

* * *

There were few things more satisfying than lying on the sheets and staring up at the illusory skylight in the ceiling, listening to her trying to catch her breath even as his own chest heaved. Other than looking around to see her on the bed beside him, free of armour and cloth. She did make for a delightful sight, sprawled there halfway down the bed beside him, her long white hair a wild spray around her head, ebon skin glistening with the faint sheen that told of their exertions.

Viconia turned her head to meet Haer'Dalis's eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow beside her. Her eyelids fluttered as he traced her mouth with his thumb. There was something cautious in her blue eyes in spite of her apparent lack of awkwardness.

"No triumphant words to laud over me, tiefling?" she inquired casually as he continued to watch her.

He just shook his head wordlessly, grinning at her when she stretched languidly, preferring to enjoy the sight and the moment and the _new memories_. She sat up slowly, wearing her best knowing smile. But Haer'Dalis found her movement towards him – and the wide-eyed vulnerability she was unaware of showing – far more interesting. He allowed her to push him onto his back, his hands smoothing over her thighs and hips as she leaned forward to kiss him slowly.

"I assume you have heard of the prowess of the drow, yes?" she asked him softly, raising an eyebrow when Haer'Dalis laughed.

Oh, she had clearly not considered this.

He sat up suddenly, holding her firmly against himself as he did so. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, and her eyes widened further as she read the smugness in his expression.

"Oh, my Blackbird," he growled, "What of the arts of the succubi?"

He demanded another kiss from her, and she fought him because it was in her culture to rule _him._ But Haer'Dalis had been ruled for too long – and besides, the moans and gasps he could coax from her when she gave in to him were all the more enjoyable for the success he knew he had achieved. And he was in the process of achieving that anew.

"You will have to prove that to me, male," she murmured against his lips, shifting above him until he thought that she might just get her wish…

A thunderous knocking on the door interrupted them.

"I've been warned ye're in there, n' don't be fooled – this dwarf willnae cower from the prospect o' knockin' yer door down. We've work t' do, n' I've ale to be drinkin' after. So hurry up, lest yer doubted dignity be tested!"

Muffled laughter that sounded like it might be Elatharia's accompanied Korgan's roared threats, and Haer'Dalis dropped his forehead to Viconia's tantalisingly bare shoulder, disappointed but also highly amused. She clutched at the back of his head as his lips detoured to her neck, trembling against him enchantingly.

"Male," she almost made it sound like a complaint, even as she tilted her head to help his attentions, " _Male._ "

When Haer'Dalis did not stop, and Korgan hammered on his door again, Viconia pulled away abruptly, hopping onto her feet with artful dexterity and forcing him to catch himself lest he overbalance.

"Get dressed," she ordered, throwing his breeches at him from the pile on the floor and casting him a rather unconvincingly derisive look over her shoulder as she pulled on her own leggings, "I am not enduring the indignity of that dwarf following through on his threats."

Her mithral shirt slid down her raised arms and fitted smoothly over her body, and Haer'Dalis preferred to watch a moment longer before starting to dress also. She was buttoning up her Shadow Dragon Scale by the time he was reaching for his shirt.

"I hear voices in there!" Korgan's voice boomed to the chorus of more of Elatharia's laughter, "Ye'd best be reachin' fer that door handle!"

"Anon, anon, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis chuckled, throwing on his sleeveless jerkin where Viconia had discarded it upon the chair by the door, and stepping neatly into his boots as he did indeed reach for the door handle.

A glance to Viconia, fastening her own boots, fully dressed and swathed once more in her yellow cloak with the Flail of the Ages at her hip, proved that she would suffer none of the indignity she had feared now. Her long hair was unbound, falling over her shoulder in a thick cascade as she completed the knot on her laces. Haer'Dalis paused a moment longer, in spite of Korgan's threats, to fasten on his own sword belt and admire the sight of Viconia and the tangle of sheets they had created together there in his room in the Planar Sphere.

He grinned when she waved irritably at the door.

Korgan almost fell inside when Haer'Dalis flung that door open at speed, and the tiefling laughed heartily at the overbalanced dwarf. Elatharia was waiting amongst the trees of the indoor garden beyond, fully ready for this night's adventure in her robe and cloak, that new mask allowing him to see her amusement more plainly.

"I've no idea what ye see in each other, schemers," Korgan complained as Viconia slipped past Haer'Dalis, ignoring the dwarf and almost instantly taking up a speedy conversation with Elatharia in the sign language of the drow, "Neither o' ye sport a beard."

"A terrible failing I fear I cannot remedy, my War Dog," Haer'Dalis pretended to lament, fastening his cloak about his shoulders before pretending to stroke his chin thoughtfully, "Tis a defect of my heritage, you might say."

"Ha! An' that's just the half of it!" Korgan chortled, turning to head after Elatharia and Viconia.

Sighing to himself, Haer'Dalis sent one last wistful look at the rumpled bed before pulling the door closed and following through the indoor garden.

* * *

"Ugh. They arrive tousled and only newly decent," Edwin spat the words with sincere distaste from his seat at the table in the central octagonal room of the Planar Sphere as Elatharia and Korgan returned with Haer'Dalis and Viconia in tow, "Tell me you at least bathed? (Why am I asking. Of course they did not. The tiefling probably avoids such things for as long as possible as a barbaric mark of prowess.)"

"My Sparrowhawk! Do you take me for the son of a succubus?" Haer'Dalis cried, jovial as ever.

Edwin just looked at him disgustedly, standing as Yoshimo did beside him. He had been in a particularly bad mood since he returned from his toilet break in the Copper Coronet. Elatharia was too used to his hatred of the Western Heartlands plumbing to even bother asking why. Instead she just rolled her eyes at his bantering with Haer'Dalis and gestured for all of them to follow her speedily from the Planar Sphere.

"As fascinating as it is to consider just how much Haer'Dalis and Viconia hate us right now for interrupting them, I'd like to point out that we have Bodhi to see very soon, and I'd rather know what she plans for us," the Transmuter pointed out, crossing the heavily decorated room and skirting its large central table, sending Viconia an over-exaggerated wink to go with her words.

The drow just glared and pulled up her hood in expectation of the outside world. Viconia was clearly attempting to look annoyed, and perhaps she was a little embarrassed – in spite of all her claims that drow knew no such emotion. In truth, she seemed rather pleased with herself, smirking up at Haer'Dalis as he passed her, the tiefling briefly placing a hand on the small of her back and whispering something in her ear that made her eyebrow rise.

"Well?" Korgan exclaimed, waving Haer'Dalis past him through the open door before following, "Let's get a bloody move on!"

Viconia followed him, and Yoshimo went next, studiously silent in this situation – though he sent a wry smile Elatharia's way as he went past her into what had once been the Viewing Room. She watched them until they had opened the doorway at the end into the front atrium.

"Though you suspect it was an Illusion we saw in there, you are still uncomfortable to pass through that room," Edwin's voice sounded from just behind her and she gave a start that probably was not merited the surprise she felt.

"We should follow the others. We've not got much time before Bodhi expects us, and I would very much like to get this over with."

She ducked her head and moved to go through the doorway, but his hand closed on her shoulder and held her in place. Confused, she twisted about to look up into his face.

"It does make one curious. The wards on the walls must have been sensitive to strong fears and yours were the strongest of all," his eyes flared with intrigue and she grimaced, "Now why might that be?" he smiled a smile that was anything but thoughtful, releasing her and gesturing imperiously for her to hurry after the others, "You will not tell me. And therefore I shall have to think on it. (More fool you)."

Thrown by his sudden interest, Elatharia watched his face for a moment longer. She had known him long enough to recognise when he was actively trying to make her feel uncomfortable, and that tended to mean that he was bothered by something. But now was hardly the time to contemplate such things, so she just rolled her eyes at him and they followed the others.

Outside it was still too dark for human eyes, the streets empty of all but the most desperate or drunken. The taverns were closing and expelling their patrons out of the bright orange glow of their doorways onto the damp streets, but no one was observant enough in their inebriation to care much about the group of six dodging around them. It was still raining too – though not heavily enough to drench them as they made their way to the Graveyard, misting the air and lending the world a blurred, grey tinge.

The Graveyard gates gave a skin-prickling screech as Yoshimo pushed them open enough for the group to pass through single file, and screeched again a little less wretchedly when closed. A glance down the street showed that they had not drawn any obvious unwanted attention.

"Well the aura of this place is far from ordinary," Haer'Dalis remarked softly, eyes searching the blackness beyond Edwin's conjured light though the perpetual fog ought to have made that endeavour pointless.

"Have ye ever known a Graveyard not t' be teemin' wi' death, tiefling?" Korgan grunted dismissively as they moved through the gloom.

The many tombs and headstones that filled this place in a cold, silent mirroring of the living city were innumerable and only half-seen in such obfuscatory darkness. There was just the thud of their footsteps, Korgan's clanking mail and the ceaseless, low howl of the wind to accompany them as they took the same path into the older, overgrown section of the Graveyard, through the broken tomb and down into the dusty depths.

Valen was waiting for them at the crossroads at the foot of the stairs, bony and pale as always, her red dress askew across her shoulders. She greeted them with a tooth-revealing smile and gestured wordlessly for them to follow. Haer'Dalis hesitated, a low and animalistic growl rumbling far back in his throat, his hands closing around his sword hilts. Korgan ploughed on after Yoshimo, but Elatharia paused long enough to see Viconia sharing a hard look with the tiefling before tugging impatiently at his arm.

Edwin lingered in silence at her elbow as well, something wary in his eyes. More than anything, it was that look which set Elatharia on edge even as they moved through the crumbling corridors deeper into the thick darkness. The essences of the wandering undead in these halls tugged at her consciousness.

Valen led them through a cobwebbed room hidden behind a mouldering tapestry before they came to a more recent looking door, polished and painted, its handle round and of polished brass. The vampire lackey wrapped only twice on that door with skeletal knuckles as the group formed up in the fusty room. She paused only long enough to bow to them, smiling widely, before flitting off back the way they had come.

A tense silence descended. Yoshimo seemed calm enough, if not relaxed, leaning against the frame of the new door and twirling his bow beside him. Korgan stamped his feet for a little bit before glowering at the crumbling masonry, leaning on his axe. Viconia was watchful as always in this underground world; it was ingrained in her nature to keep all her sense about her in the darkness. Beside her, Haer'Dalis seemed coiled to spring, black eyes moving constantly as if expecting some new threat to leap from the very walls, his hands tight around his sword hilts as he endlessly shifted his weight with smooth, silent movements. Edwin was silent. A bad sign.

Elatharia started to wonder if all of her comrades were having second thoughts.

At last the door opened, although it was not Bodhi who stepped through.

A mighty wave of power rippled through the air, washing over Elatharia's senses and prickling over her skin. She had to bite down on her lip to hold back her gasp. She staggered back a step, and fingers closed tightly around her wrist.

Her vision was almost too clouded by the golden light of her father for her to make out the tall woman who stepped through the opened doorway. Swathed in a long black cloak, her hood was pulled down too low for Elatharia to make out any more than the hint of a smile upon shapely lips, the curl of red hair. This stranger did not acknowledge them, but her passing set the Bhaalspawn's skin to crawling, like there was something writhing inside her that _had to get out. Murder_ it whispered, _murder and death._

It took a moment for her to blink away the bright lights, and for the roaring in her ears to die down. When she did, she realised that Edwin had been gripping her wrist tightly…and that the woman had gone. The Conjurer was staring down at her with a tense expression, and he looked a little pale.

"Did you feel it?" the Transmuter asked her companions, swaying a little and suddenly overcome with a sense of strong nausea.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, and watched the array of confused and suspicious expressions upon her friends' faces. All of them shook their heads, except for Edwin. He just watched her, braced to stop himself from toppling if she leaned against him too heavily. His lips were pressed in a hard line, brows drawn together.

"Feel what, my Raven?" even Haer'Dalis sounded clueless, and _he_ had always shown a keen sense for strangeness.

Yoshimo looked fairly blank, smiling at her almost pityingly and unmoved from his place leaning against the doorframe. Haer'Dalis was looking from her to Edwin, his curious smile dropping, and Viconia had narrowed her eyes in confusion. Korgan was stamping his feet impatiently, cracking the ancient tiles beneath his feet even more thoroughly.

"At least tell me you saw her," Elatharia all but begged, gesturing at the newly opened door and the path the stranger had taken across the room.

"…Yes," Haer'Dalis took the initiative, frowning at Edwin now, "Another vampire perhaps?"

"No," Viconia denied softly, putting a hand on his arm and pulling him around to look at her instead. They shared a long look that seemed altogether too synchronised. Elatharia straightened warily, "I would have sensed the undeath in her."

"What did you feel, leader?" Yoshimo prompted, earning a sharp look from Haer'Dalis and a grunt of derision from Korgan. Edwin tensed again at Elatharia's side.

"I…" she paused, suddenly knowing that regaling her companions with this in what appeared to be Bodhi's waiting room would hardly be wise. And probably impossible to do successfully, to boot. "I…"

"Welcome, friends," Bodhi's voice interrupted the group's quiet conversation as she materialised from the darkness beyond the opened door, smiling broadly. She gestured lazily for them to come in, "Do enter. I'll have to recommend you avoid any of the refreshments. Not good for your stomachs, I'd imagine."

Edwin's lip curled at the humour and he extricated himself from Elatharia before pressing his freed hand lightly against her back, pushing her in front of him as the others moved to enter Bodhi's meeting room. Passing through with the others into the dingy room beyond, furnished with a lone table, an empty easel and a shocking number of books, Elatharia thought of the tall woman again. Why did she find that the strongest sense that lingered after her passing was _nostalgia_?

* * *

Aerie's Divinations had taken a toll on the avariel. She had fallen asleep on Jaheira's bed in the time it took the druid to go downstairs, collect some leftover broth and return. They had enough information to suggest that Elatharia and the others were plotting something terrible, and that they were going to meet with a 'Bodhi' in these early hours before dawn to acquire some instructions.

Assassins, most likely. Jaheira would hardly be surprised, though that title hardly fitted well upon the shoulders of the likes of Elatharia, Edwin and Haer'Dalis. The druid did not doubt that they saw themselves well above such practices.

Something had to be done. That was the important thing. And taking one look at Aerie, curled up laterally on her side across the broad double bed, small and fragile and very much worn out, Jaheira knew that 'something' could not wait. So with a sigh she left the two bowls of cold broth on the bedside table, quietly plucking the Divination dish from the avariel's limp hands and placing it alongside them. Before she blew the candle out in the room she paused, sparing a moment to consider the elf. A faint smile came to Jaheira's lips and she pulled up the extra blanket from the foot of the bed, settling it gently over Aerie's sleeping form. The avariel mumbled something, but did not wake.

The corridor outside was reverberating to the cacophony of Minsc's snoring, and Anomen's door was closed. All was dark, and full of the tell-tale sounds of sleep. As ever there was a strong sense that the Shadow Thief owners of this house were all around them, but she never saw a single one of them. Even Gaelan Bayle had been staying out of their way since they returned from their time at the Druid Grove.

With just her half elven infravision to guide her, Jaheira made her way down the dark stairs and left through the back door. It was the quickest route, though somehow it felt a little pointless to try to evade the notice of those who kept them in that house. Perhaps it would have been wiser to stay elsewhere, but they had needed almost every penny of their wretched earnings to pay for Imoen's rescue. A rescue that was beginning to feel very far off now.

The Graveyard was not a habitual haunt of Jaheira's. A wry smile came to her lips when it occurred to her that Khalid might have chuckled a little at that quip. But like always, that happy thought came with the twist of grief, of guilt, of loss. Her love. Forever gone. Not for the sake of Elatharia, she could not believe that. Not anymore. That way lay too much hate, resentment so vast that it would have been even harder to follow Gorion's ward. And whatever else the Transmuter was, she was also Gorion's daughter. Jaheira owed her old friend, and Khalid, more than wrath-fuelled betrayal.

She had never seen the streets of Athkatla so deserted. The Coronet was quiet and dark, the shutters being pulled closed with a ripple of soft rattling. The usual number of beggars slept wrapped in what they could find, curled up in alleyways. They slept too lightly to snore. There seemed a palpable sense of…wrongness. Even more so than usual in this huge and sprawling mass of unnatural stone and human order. The air was too cold and too still. The usual contingent of Shadow Thieves did not flit in the deep darkness. Who and what was this Bodhi who demanded Elatharia and her cronies meet her in the Graveyard?

Jaheira had not come unprotected, still dressed in her enchanted leathers with her spear resting back against her shoulder, and as she approached the dark gate of the Graveyard she cast a few cautious protection spells upon herself. Not too many that Elatharia would notice upon first sight. Enough that she might make a retreat if this came to battle, preposterous as that might once have sounded. Who knew what a child of Bhaal might do when pushed?

The druid knew better than to enter the Graveyard, especially at this dark and ominous hour. Instead she leaned back against the cool stone wall of the undertaker's home which bordered the district…and waited. This would have to be the way Elatharia and the others returned – Aerie's Divinations had failed as soon as they entered, but it seemed reasonable to assume they would not want to skirt around the huge Graveyard without good reason. And they did not seem to expect that their own allies would think to spy upon them.

It was not a long wait.

Jaheira heard them first before she saw them, although the delay was momentary. It was Korgan's heavy footfalls which gave them away, stomping boots trampling upon weeds and flowers alike no doubt, as well as his gruff, accented rumble. Someone hissed for him to be quiet just as the unmistakable radiance of a conjured light came bobbing into view. It was a dull yellow, carefully not too bright. Personally, Jaheira might have opted to make it as bright as possible, to reduce its broad sphere to a tiny dot and to raise it high above the group's heads. That way it might pass for a star to a distant observer. Evidently Edwin Odesseiron was not so canny at travelling unseen. Perhaps the group did not feel that it needed to go entirely unnoticed.

When the tall form of Haer'Dalis stopped short of the gate by several feet, the tiefling recognisable for his more muscular shape and feline movements, Jaheira knew she had been spotted. His eyes, deepest black, did not reflect light as one would expect – but she did not need such a cue to realise that they were trained upon her.

"We have a Ptarmigan watching us, my fellow ne'er do wells," he proclaimed, no longer bothering to hush his voice at all.

Edwin spat something vitriolic in Mulhorandi, his dark-cloaked form only just visible as he stopped walking directly beneath his own conjured light. Beneath that black cloth he wore his garish red robes. Jaheira's lip curled at his audacity.

"Well, best excuse I've ever had to kill her yet!" Korgan sounded amused, but the threat was not unlikely. He even hefted his axe, and Jaheira stood straight, holding her spear in both hands now as she approached the fence.

Elatharia remained silent, a dark silhouette beside Viconia. The drow's eyes were twin dots of deepest red, almost unnoticeable through the Graveyard fog. She had reversed her yellow cloak to its darker side and her hood was up, the better to veil her in the blackness.

A tense moment drew out between them, during which Jaheira watched Yoshimo materialising out of the gloom behind the form of Elatharia. He whispered loudly, loud enough for the druid to make out his gist: perhaps we should see what she wants first, he seemed to suggest. Jaheira had never realised that she might one day be grateful to the bounty hunter. She saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled.

"I would have words with you, Elatharia," the druid offered at last, and the Transmuter's narrow shoulders slumped. Jaheira lowered her spear point to the ground to emphasise her offer, "Nothing more."

Elatharia still did not address her, instead waving the others on. Korgan grunted in disappointment but was the first to tromp past, his stocky form now armoured by the unmistakeable and slightly gaudy Red Dragon scale. Jaheira did not want to know what bargain he must have made with Edwin to prize that material from the Red Wizard's jealous grasp.

The dwarf did not so much as acknowledge Jaheira's presence, pushing his way through the screeching gate and marching off straight down the road. Yoshimo came next, offering an almost apologetic half-bow to the druid before passing. He only smiled wryly when she eyed him coolly. Haer'Dalis followed, the remaining three approaching a little closer as he reached Jaheira's side.

"Well met as ever, Ptarmigan," he greeted with no sincerity, saluting her. His black eyes held her gaze with the force of a looming whirlpool, and filled her with all the foreboding of one, too. As ever, his unnatural aura permeated the area around him, crawling over Jaheira's skin. She had no understanding of how Aerie could have been so taken with him. "How fares our Mourning Dove?"

"All the better for your absence at our home, thankfully," Jaheira told him firmly, but his smile spread in spite of her tone.

"Perhaps you forget that she and I have been rehearsing for tomorrow's play regularly?"

He leaned back to his full height when Viconia came through the gate behind him, some of the suggestion draining from his tone.

"Regardless, I should hope to see you with all the rest tomorrow. Fare thee well!" and he took his leave with another salute, apparently unbothered by her unrelenting glare. It was not hard to pour all of her distrust into her expression when she watched his carefree act and endured his mocking tones.

Viconia sent her a stiff nod, rolling her eyes when Jaheira answered with a frown. The drow dawdled only long enough to look back at Elatharia and Edwin's lingering forms before she followed the tiefling down the alley and out of sight.

Only once the others had gone did the two wizards pass through onto the road, Elatharia turning her back on the druid pointedly to close the gate. Edwin kept to her side, his grimace evident beneath the yellow luminescence of his _Light_ spell.

"I would speak with you alone," Jaheira suggested stiffly, which drew a predictable sneer from the Red Wizard. Did the Transmuter really think that he would protect her if it came to a serious fight?

Elatharia turned about at that, her expression registering incredulity, and Jaheira saw that she had changed her mask. Now she wore just a strip of black cloth across her markings, a band only an inch or so wide. Much had changed since they had last spoken, evidently.

"Why should I risk that?" Elatharia asked now, throwing the corner of her cloak over her opposite shoulder.

Gorion used to do that when it was cold. Now she seemed to do it when she was nervous. But one could not cast easily when wrapped up so. Good. Perhaps this would not end in violence.

"You and I both know that deception is your trade, not mine. It is to that end that I have come to speak with you," Jaheira switched quickly to the elvish tongue to add her next comment, " _I know of your betrayal_."

From Edwin's blank expression, this was a language he did not know.

Elatharia's brow twisted momentarily as she adjusted to the unexpected language. Her lips pressed together in a tight line and her body tensed. A moment passed before she looked to Edwin and jerked her chin sharply in the direction of the road ahead, back into the Slums. He complained about taking orders, but hardly seemed motivated to linger overlong with Elatharia and Jaheira in the mist of rain. After a moment, he complied.

Jaheira breathed a little easier when only the two of them remained.

" _And you are here to tell me that I must hand myself into the Shadow Thieves? That righteous and glorious organisation of freedom and peace around Amn?_ " Elatharia spat in return. She spoke the elvish language with the hint of an accent, but the words poured from her with fluency.

Her green eyes flashed in the retreating yellow light…and an answering pang of sadness clutched at Jaheira heart's as she recalled one of Gorion's letters to her and Khalid over the years. _My daughter is beautiful. She has the brightest, greenest eyes. I hope you someday decide to have your own children, my friends. It is the greatest joy to hold such hopeful, innocent life in your arms and to love without condition._ He had never mentioned her markings, but even as a toddler she had apparently manifested them.

" _We are relying upon the Shadow Thieves for Imoen's life!_ " Jaheira reminded against Elatharia's flippant tone. The girl's fists clenched at that remark. Something feral flitted over her features. " _Without their aid we will never get her back! And yet there you creep, doing the bidding of their enemies in Athkatla._ "

" _They betrayed us,_ " Elatharia denied, tossing her gold-and-brown hair. Bhaalspawn. _Bhaalspawn_. Jaheira shuddered.

" _Not so well as you have betrayed us,"_ Jaheira denied, " _They seem yet unaware of your idiocy. There have been no suggestions that they will fail to honour our deal._ "

" _And there have been no affirmations either,_ " Elatharia pointed out icily. She drew herself up then – at her full height she was almost as tall as Jaheira. " _Besides, our current employers have promised to get us to Spellhold. And soon._ "

" _What kind of price have you paid for this promise that has you stalking the Graveyards at night?_ " Jaheira already knew, but she wanted to know if the girl would have the nerve to admit it.

"Death," Elatharia said it with a snarl, leaving the elvish language to emphasise it in her native tongue. The words crawled from her mouth like her lips had been made just for that collection of sounds alone. Jaheira tensed, her hands gripping the shaft of her spear more tightly upon reflex. The Transmuter smiled mercilessly as she witnessed the druid's response, "But you already knew that. Didn't you? Which means Aerie must know."

It was curious that she would care about that last detail.

"I did know," Jaheira agreed, "Though I could never have imagined the extent of your malevolence. Does it never upset you, to think that Gorion would weep to see you as you are now? Cavorting with drow and tieflings and a _Red Wizard_? Working as assassins? What would Imoen think?"

"What _will_ Imoen think," Elatharia corrected sharply, Jaheira's words apparently sliding past her with little effect.

It was hopeless. The girl was hopeless. Jaheira had _hoped_ that this could be salvaged, this thing which had once been stilted tolerance between them. But it was hopeless. She shook her head, and Elatharia's frown deepened. It was peculiar seeing her expressions so clearly thanks to her new mask. It felt too…personal, somehow.

"Then you leave me no choice but to turn from you," Jaheira told her, her throat tight with anger, "We will continue our alliance with the Shadow Thieves. And should it come to it, we will fight you. And we will rescue Imoen without you."

The druid turned and started to move away, but Elatharia's hand clamped down tightly on her shoulder. She whirled about and the girl only just dodged the warning arc of her spear. Her hands came up to cast only for her to pause and sneer, realising that she could not risk such a thing out here in the streets of Athkatla.

" _You can't do that,_ " she told Jaheira fiercely in elvish as the druid lowered her spear, " _They won't believe you. They'll kill you as surely as they will try to kill us, no matter what you say to them. They assume we care more for each other than we do. They would take from you what favours they wished, and at the last they would deem you too untrustworthy to keep alive. They would fear you would change your mind._ "

"I think I will take the risk, Elatharia," Jaheira denied, "You have made your choice. You do not get to make mine."

The girl went rigid at those words. Was it panic that smoothed out her frown, half-seen in the thin tendrils of lantern light filtering from the main road?

" _No. You can't_ ," the words were quieter. Sadder. " _She's a Bhaalspawn. Like me. Imoen._ "

Impossible!

" _You lie!_ " Jaheira snarled her words, anger rising in her with a massive tide of grief to swell it.

Elatharia flinched when the druid raised her spear again. She just shook her head.

" _She wrote some entries in my journal while we were captives. It's irrefutable._ "

Dread filled the druid. Those words rang true. Elatharia did not lie about her sister.

" _I would see this journal,_ " Jaheira's voice sounded hollow to her own ears. Almost as hollow as her heart felt.

Elatharia nodded, reaching into her bag of holding and rummaging around for a few moments. She drew out the appropriate leather volume and held it out to Jaheira, who eyed her warily for a moment before taking it. Several long moments of silence passed as the druid opened the book and turned the pages until she found Imoen's handwriting.

She read the words within with burgeoning horror. A tide of sorrow too great for words rose within her with every recorded curve of ink. It _was_ irrefutable. Imoen was a child of Bhaal. And how she had _suffered_ for it. Jaheira read on unwillingly, blinking away tears that would not relent. She read on until the words were too blurred and her stomach was churning and her heart ached. Then she flung the book back at Elatharia, who caught it wordlessly as if she understood.

 _Khalid came next. I can't speak of that._

A sobbed gasp escaped Jaheira and she pressed her hand to her mouth, turning away. She shook with the effort to control herself, but a deep breath was enough to reach for her inner emptiness and she wiped her tears away with her cloak. When she turned back to face Elatharia, she saw the streaks of tears tracked along the Transmuter's cheeks too. The rain was not heavy enough to be responsible.

" _She is a child of Bhaal,_ " Elatharia admitted again, her voice a sorrowful monotone, " _And that means Irenicus will want her for the same reasons he wanted me…whatever they are. We can't risk destroying ourselves before we save her. And the Shadow Thieves aren't going to get us there fast enough. I've already made the promises. I've already gone too far. We have no choice. Either you side with me, or you turn a blind eye. But if you get in my way…I'll see your blood run._ "

The despicable words settled with the weight of resignation and shame upon Jaheira's soul, her skin crawling with the knowledge of what she must do. She had hated few people more than Elatharia in that moment but, luckily, Irenicus was one of them. And luckily for the Transmuter, there was only one person living upon Toril for whom Jaheira had any wish to kill. Imoen.

" _We will need to remove the Shadow Thieves before they turn against us_ ," the druid gritted out at last, and Elatharia nodded – she registered no surprise regarding Jaheira's unspoken compliance, " _And we will have to do it without Aerie suspecting the worst of us_. _If Anomen or Mazzy find out about this, and turn against you for it, I will not stop them from taking your head._ "

" _We will discuss it once I have carried out my next kill for Bodhi_ ," Elatharia told her with chilling calm as she returned her journal at last to the bag of holding on her hip, " _After the play, most likely_."

" _And who is it that you must kill? Some innocent stranger?_ "

Elatharia's expression flickered, but she stood firm.

" _It doesn't matter_ ," she gritted out, eyes hard.

Jaheira wanted to spit at her feet, to run her through with her spear. But the Red Wizard and the bounty hunter were undoubtedly not far away and no doubt Bodhi's servants were listening. It would not do to die before saving Imoen and avenging Khalid. So the druid just gave a hard nod, and left the Transmuter standing there alone by the Graveyard in the darkness and the rain.


	28. The Lure of Darkness

**As ever, thank you to those who are reading and to those who are reviewing!  
Now, with some warnings for violence...**

* * *

 **Chapter 27: The Lure of Darkness**

* * *

"You! What is it that brings _you_ here?"

The words quavered, shrill to her own ears.

"Have you come to see first-hand the…first-hand the… _first-hand_ the misery…"

The paper trembled in her hands, and a wave of panic ran through Aerie. She looked back down at the script, written out in Haer'Dalis's large and angular style. She frowned as she reminded herself of the following words, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced those words out all the same, trying to remember the appropriate anger and despair with which to lace them.

"Have you come to see first-hand the misery you have wrought? My…my 'love'." Aerie winced at this newest and least convincing rendition, snarling (as fiercely as the avariel _could_ snarl) in frustration and batting at the air before her with her script.

Balling her hands and taking perhaps more glee in scrunching up the edge of the parchment than she should have, she looked out over the all but empty theatre, to her one-person audience. Mazzy watched her with a look of vague amusement from her seat a few rows back from the front.

"Oh, Baervan!" Aerie exclaimed, imagining the rows of chairs all filled with onlookers (although Haer'Dalis had promised this play would be for their companions only). She descended the steps at the front of the unadorned stage, slumping in a chair beside the halfling and gesturing back at the closed curtains, "Even with…with the backdrop hidden, in my own clothes, with the script to help me and only you watching, I _s-still_ can't get this right!"

"Perhaps you should channel some of this frustration into the role, Aerie?" Mazzy suggested carefully. Sitting there on that too-big chair, with her legs twisted up beside her, dressed in a simple pale tunic and leggings, the halfling paladin seemed a great deal less intimidating. Now out of the braids she favoured for travel, which tended to bounce around her head in a wild spray, her hair curled neatly to just below her chin level. She seemed a lot more…approachable. If still rather intense.

"I don't understand why…why Haer'Dalis insisted so strongly that I be a part of this," Aerie confided softly, looking down at the script again and shaking her head, "I've never been very good at pretending."

"He sees something in you that he can use," Mazzy told her solemnly, and the double meaning did not escape Aerie. She looked up sharply to see the halfling's large blue eyes watching her calmly, only honesty in her striking face.

Aerie opened her mouth to respond, indignation rising, but quickly quelled whatever it was she had been about to say on impulse. Mazzy only meant well…and besides, she might have been right. So rather than argue, the avariel blew out a long sigh and slumped in her chair, watching the empty stage mournfully.

"I don't understand how he lives with…with the others," Aerie commented at last, and sensed rather than saw Mazzy look back around at her.

"He is not blind to their tendencies, Aerie," the halfling paladin promised, "His is perhaps more based upon…frivolous moral complacence. But he is guilty by association - because he believes more in himself than he does in steering them to the path of justice."

Aerie flinched at that comment for how true it was, and how unwittingly Mazzy had said it. The avariel's thoughts turned to all that she had seen with her Divinations thanks to Jaheira's insistence. She had fallen asleep upon the druid's bed after such persistent casting and Jaheira had still not been back when the avariel woke up to go to her own room. And now, in the broad daylight of the waking world, Aerie could not shake the sadness she felt. Hopefully, the druid had gone to reason with Elatharia – and hopefully she would return with assurances that those who dwelled in the Planar Sphere had been persuaded away from their evil path.

Elatharia had always been an unpredictable and volatile sort, out more for her own mission than anything else – but that mission had always seemed really rather worthy. She was seeking to save her sister. Who would not do anything to save their family? But…there were things which Elatharia was willing to do, that Aerie did not – would not – believe were necessary. And that was hard to understand. It would be very hard to forgive. And those with her, as Mazzy had said, were not without blame for failing to stop the escalations of a desperate, damaged and misguided person.

"…and there I would have expected you to at least put up some kind of fight, Aerie," Mazzy noted astutely into the silence.

Aerie could not bring herself to meet Mazzy's eyes, though she tried. She blushed fiercely and eventually stared determinedly down at her hands, which she had folded tightly upon her lap. Recognising her unease, Mazzy took a gentle hold of the avariel's arm and leaned closer to try to meet Aerie's eyes.

"Aerie? You have been distracted since we met here this morning." Her voice was calm, but her eyes held all of the sharp intensity of her paladinic vocation, "What is it? What do you know?"

The sound of heavy feet pounding upon the stairs down to the theatre from the inn above interrupted the pair. They turned around in their seats in time to see Anomen rushing forth through the door. He caught sight of them, his cheeks flushed and his normally tidy copper hair in disarray, and then remembered to stop and breathe.

"Anomen?" Aerie asked, unable to hide the concern from her voice as she stood immediately, approaching him.

"Is everything alright?" Mazzy sounded more wary, and followed the avariel with a frown.

"The Order have contacted me," he fairly gasped, staring down at Aerie with wide and fearful eyes, "I will be receiving the results of my knighthood test at sunset."

* * *

Seven feathers.

 _Seven feathers_. Why did that feel familiar? Why did that feel so significant? The effect that hooded woman had had upon Elatharia had been more than a little interesting. If only he could remember the significance of the seven feathers! And just what was someone like that, entirely alive (until proven otherwise), doing with Bodhi? And not as a pawn or a slave, either. An equal. A watcher. An…ally?

Edwin might have made more headway with this problem had he not been so distracted. Blackmail did not sit well with him. He was a Red Wizard, the son of a Tharchion of Thay. He was supposed to _do_ the blackmailing, not receive it. It was utterly degrading. But they had threatened him with things that he could not ignore. His own life was at stake. And that made him angry.

Which meant that, for once, Edwin was struggling to concentrate.

It had been bad enough seeing Bodhi again…let alone seeing her in her own home. He had barely been listening to what she was telling Elatharia – he had been too intent upon watching every movement, every change of the light, expecting death to come for them from any shadow.

It was times like that when he truly wished he had a familiar. Still, he had gathered they would be carrying out their first pre-planned kill at a lord's house during the hour at which Haer'Dalis's play was scheduled to occur. At least that meant the tiefling would have to be absent from their group. He would have to weave some pretty and convincing lies to keep suspicions low.

Edwin had struggled to sleep at all during what little night remained to them after their meeting with Bodhi, and that was doing nothing for his concentration. There had been a tightness in his chest, something twisting inside him. Some _emotion_. (Wretched things.) He put it down to his indignation over Bodhi's demeaning blackmail…and filed such thoughts away to be forgotten.

At least it was quiet down here, in the lower levels of the Planar Sphere. The summoning circles and the arcing stone shapes of portal frames were soothingly familiar. Two of the golems, huge clay brutes of roughly humanoid form, stood deactivated against the far wall, the long metal-lined room easily illuminated by the Sphere's system of conjured lights.

Their insides were formed of cogs and bolts, however, and it would only be a matter of careful tinkering to get them back into working order. A shame, then, that Edwin was not better versed in the ways of Alteration. At least Jan had given up his perusal of the door mechanism and the network of peculiar pipes that twisted up the walls and ceiling – all of it a bolted-and-ridged patchwork of metal sheeting.

"Whatever force built this Sphere – and whoever added to it – must have been a mechanical genius. This room…I feel like we've walked straight into Mechanus! Especially now all the blood's been cleared away."

Her voice, strained in spite of her apparent light-heartedness, cut through the peaceful silence. Jan had failed to fix the door in this room, and thus there had been no warning creak of hinges to inform of her presence. Cringing in surprise, Edwin almost dropped the cog he had been inspecting back onto the cluttered table of instruments. Instead, he gripped it tighter and closed his eyes with a grimace.

"Can you not tell when you are intruding upon my private time, incompetent Transmuter?" he gritted out, stubbornly not looking around at her. He heard the soft patter of her – barbarically bare! – feet upon the tiled floor as she wilfully entered the chamber.

"I've been looking for you all over the Sphere," her arm brushed his as she reached his side, one of her small, pale hands reaching casually across him to pluck up one of the cogs from the table. She turned it over in her hands, and when Edwin at last forced himself to look down at her, she was smiling crookedly. Her eyes flashed very green in the bright light when she tilted her head to look up at him, "I can't remember the last time you passed up a few hours of studying time to…well…" she grimaced a little, nodding towards the golem whose clay skin Edwin had (eventually) managed to peel back, "For Alteration."

"The proper construction of a golem requires Conjuration also, fool," he told her automatically, pulling the cog from her hands and ignoring the jolt of – what? – that ran up his arm when their fingertips touched. The white scars on her wrists glinted silver as she relinquished her grip.

"That's true," she shrugged, but her eyes narrowed, "What brought this on now?"

The very thought was ridiculous, and Edwin turned around to lean back against the table, staring across the metal room and its various non-functioning portals.

"Have you forgotten that the drow and the tiefling own rooms which exist within the same Sphere as my own?" he pressed his lips together and gripped the edge of the table at his sides. Elatharia laughed heartily at his words.

"Are they that loud?"

He did not deign to respond, although in truth he had heard nothing from the pair. Gods damn it all, he had come here to think!

"Have you been searching for me purely to idle away your time? If you needed a servant to chatter at, you should…"

He paused, and Elatharia's brows rose at his hesitation. Realisation – or memory, really – flashed through him. He peered down at her with new and sudden curiosity. She had eschewed her mask now that they were in the Sphere for a goodly time…and he watched her face closely.

"Your familiar. When I left you at the Friendly Arm," he could still recall the feel of her body against his…and the rage when she had denied him the simple task of killing Dynaheir, "You had a _familiar_ , incompetent Transmuter."

Elatharia paled at that, her mouth falling open slightly. She fidgeted with the long sleeves of that green dress which he himself had been forced to wear when trapped in that wretched female form. Her eyes widened, her chin trembled…and then she frowned fiercely. Her lip curled, and a golden spark flared for a moment in each pupil. A pinprick of light, of Bhaal's power. Her anger made his heart race for the power it showed in her.

"Sarevok," she told him, "He caught Ingaith in Candlekeep. He only…he only killed him when we met in Baldur's Gate."

In spite of her anger, those words were full of the haunted loss with which all wizards spoke of their fallen familiars. She did not wear that loss in the crippled manner of one who had recently suffered such a severance, or even of one who had endured it at all, however. As if thinking the same thing, she ran her fingers through the thick golden streak in her otherwise dark tangles of hair, green eyes glazed and staring past him at memories he did not share.

Edwin wanted to make some comment about that, but she batted at the air between them, frowning again, and he folded his arms instead, arching a brow at her insolence. It was curious, always so curious, seeing her free of her mask. Her face was pale, oval but for a slightly pointed chin, her expressions changeable but not so various – these days they held the spectrum of anger and horror most commonly. Her eyes were more serious than once they had been, but still held that bright and relieving twinkle of intelligence. A rarity in their group. But for the dark, slightly indented markings branching beneath her eyes – six lines, each with a pair of tributaries – her skin was smooth and unblemished, her lips shapely if a little thin. She looked best when she smiled conspiratorially, knowingly…or hungrily. She looked worst when she cried.

"I came here to talk to you about something," she reminded sternly, not smiling now after the information she had divulged, "It's about Bodhi's task. We will need to leave Haer'Dalis behind, because we'll be absent for the play and he can't very well miss his own show without causing suspicion. I think it won't be all that surprising if you, Korgan and I were to choose to avoid it…and no one will miss Yoshimo. But I've looked at the maps for the houses in our target's part of town, and there just wouldn't be enough space to do it discreetly…"

"So send the bounty hunter and the mercenary out to do it for you. Delegate, like less of an idiot," Edwin suggested. Her eyes flashed, unamused. He fought the urge to smirk at her indignation.

"Maybe I should just send you," she suggested flippantly.

 _Tell me everything about your mistress when the time comes._

Edwin's own anger rose at that.

"You are not my mistress!" he snapped.

Elatharia took a wary step back. Her expression fell further for a moment, and then smoothed out. He fairly shook with the remembered outrage Bodhi had brought upon him…and the indignity of this state. Servant of a vampire. He would not permit this girl before him to control him, too.

"I wasn't serious," she sounded faintly hurt, and paused, her blank expression twisting, "I wouldn't trust you to do it alone any more than I'd trust the bounty hunter," she snarled eventually, affecting her anger rather than really feeling it most likely, "No. I need to be there. I'm taking Yoshimo. I'll take Korgan if you can't deign to come."

Damn Bodhi for making him seem so indecisive!

"As if you could survive without my Abjurations," Edwin scoffed automatically, and the hint of a smile curved Elatharia's lips. Her frown fled.

"I haven't found much evidence that our target has actually got any untoward connections. It's almost like Bodhi chose him at random. But we should prepare cautiously all the same, I suppose."

She shrugged, and Edwin nodded. He started to turn away from her, but she caught his arm.

"Edwin," his name on her lips tugged at something inside him that bore no name, "That woman…who passed us in Bodhi's lair. There was something…strange about her. Something…" she sighed and looked away, still gripping his arm. He just looked down at her, watching her green eyes moving as she chewed on her lip thoughtfully, "Something…familiar. And something powerful. It called to Bhaal's power so brightly that I…" she looked at him then, imploring and fierce in equal measures, "I need to know why. What she is."

Well. The feeling was mutual.

"I do not know the answer to your question," Edwin admitted, "But she did wear a symbol that we might research. Seven feathers – at her wrist and at her throat," it was gratifying to see Elatharia's interest flare at his words, and to prove his insightful powers, "But we will discuss it when we have time. After the dirty work that we must undertake for your sister," he could not quite avoid the resentment in his tone, "Now leave me be a little while I plot to overthrow you."

She grinned at that, her grip tightening on his arm momentarily. When her hand started to slip from him, his fingers tangled with hers and he squeezed briefly in return. An automatic gesture. A response. Nothing more. Her eyes flitted over his face as he smirked back – however much Bodhi had ripped the real humour from his words.

* * *

Sleep had never come. Her thoughts would not stop reeling.

Jaheira's feet had taken her from the gates of the Graveyard to Waukeen's Promenade, where she had watched the sun rising over the tiered arc of its buildings. She had been there as the stalls were raised…and she had lingered once the pink dawn had transcended into a bright if windy morning, until the bustle of the market started to make her dizzy.

They had done little to hide the mess left by Irenicus's destruction of his own dungeon. The huge dent in the furthest arc of the tiers remained, littered with chunks of rubble. A tent had been set up over it with two bored guards to wait by it. It seemed strange to her that the world around her felt so little for what had passed beneath. It seemed utterly callous of this city. It was despicable that they had to beg for favours from the Shadow Thieves while they dodged the Cowled Wizards – who should have been helping them! But none of that excused what Elatharia had done.

She had in turn left Jaheira with no real choice. The Transmuter's threat had been undoubtedly true: the Shadow Thieves would ultimately turn on them if their betrayal was explained. And then the vampires would come for them all, as well.

It still weighed heavily upon her heart, and that was why the druid found herself turning from the chaotic, noisy rush of the open market and treading the steps up to the next tier. As she reached the door she wanted she did not hesitate to knock – any pause would have seen her turning on her heel.

The door swung open abruptly after only a few moments' pause. Valygar's wary expression relaxed when he recognised her. He leaned his sword back against the doorframe with a slightly apologetic look, but any hint of a smile only got so far as a grimace which they shared.

"I had wondered when I would next see you." It was the closest his gruff tones could come to a pleasantry. Jaheira just nodded stiffly and stepped past him through the stout doorway when he gestured for her to enter.

It was a small sitting room with just the one, broad window looking out onto Waukeen's Promenade. There were no decorations of any kind; a plain fireplace empty of fuel, plain black curtains around an unused windowsill and unpainted frame, wooden floorboards and pale plaster walls. A table stood in the far corner of the chamber, flanked by a pair of wooden chairs. A candlestick and a newly laden plate of food where the only items in the room – other than the sword by the door.

"It's a long way from the grandeur I grew up with," Valygar agreed as if reading her mind, pulling back one chair for her to sit upon as he took the other. Out of his armour he still favoured the colours of the forest; brown trousers and a green tunic hung about his fairly muscular frame.

"You seem almost as ill at ease in this city as I feel," Jaheira noted stiffly, taking the chair and gesturing about the room. Other than the entrance there was only one other door, no doubt leading to some kind of makeshift bedroom and kitchen.

Valygar grunted at her words, a huff of air that might have been a laugh. She declined his offer of food. It crossed her mind that he must not have very much to spare – there was no suggestion of wealth about this tiny house. She knew better than to ask.

"You are no stranger to the ways of the noble born yourself, Jaheira," Valygar noted into the awkward silence. That was unexpected – she looked back at him sharply and saw his dark eyes on her face already, just that little bit too astute, "My mother's parents were form Tethyr. They were killed in the civil war, but I recall the accent."

The civil war. The civil war which had claimed her parents and sent her fleeing to live with her mother's family in the nearby elvish settlement in the great forest to the north, the Wealdath.

"I have not come for idle chatter," Jaheira denied him sharply, feeling herself bristling at his clumsy attempt to learn more of her. What did friendship matter, after everything that had been done and which must now be done?

"Of course," Valygar nodded, expression unreadable as he sat back in his chair, folding his arms, "If it is about saving Imoen, I have already told you that I will help. No person deserves to suffer at the hands of anyone, least of all a madman like Irenicus. I understand all too well the horrors that come of magic."

And how she had suffered! Jaheira clenched her fists against the wave of nausea which sought to engulf her.

"I know," she agreed, "And for that I thank you. We are not yet able to leave Athkatla, however," she leaned her elbows on the table and forged on, though her heart pounded with guilt and shame, "It is for…advice that I have come."

"Advice?" Valygar's smile was as sudden as it was brief, "You always seem quite capable of making your own decisions, Jaheira."

 _And everyone else's too_ , Khalid would have said. She frowned against the pain that memory brought.

"Perhaps it is a bad sign that I am here then," she admitted softly, "But…I find myself in an impossible position. Suffice to say that I travel with liars and cowards and fools," she spat out the words, staring down at her white-knuckled hands instead of meeting his eyes, "But I cannot turn from them without destroying all hopes for Imoen's freedom." _And for vengeance._

"I do not understand why you have permitted them to linger," Valygar shook his head, brows pulled together in disbelieving confusion, "The tiefling is selfish and frivolous, the drow untrustworthy and far too loyal to Elatharia. The Red Wizard is a menace, as are all his kind. You should have run him through at the first sight of him."

Jaheira laughed mirthlessly at this.

"Would that I could. He and Elatharia are rarely parted in my company and even should I find him alone, it would be another thing to reach him unawares and unprepared. Edwin is a leech on this company but one I am powerless to remove."

"Alone, perhaps. I am sure we could persuade Anomen and Mazzy to the cause. Minsc would follow you, also."

"He would just as easily follow Elatharia, or Viconia for that matter. He does not see their capacity for…for badness. He does not understand that evil can lurk behind a neutral face."

"You dodge my proposition, though you are not unamenable to it," Valygar noted.

"It is not possible…for the moment."

"What then is it that weighs so heavily upon you that you have come here? Have you already been forced to partake in their evils?"

"No," Jaheira glared at him in open affront, "I would never be as them. It is the…silence I must keep. The lies I must now tell. To keep us all from the grave. To save…to save Imoen, who is as a daughter to me."

Valygar's expression darkened, but he just pressed his lips together and nodded.

"I cannot pass judgement upon such a need," he allowed at last, "There is no such thing as wrong and right when one's children are at stake, I have heard. Though I would ask that you do not tell me what it is that you must hide," he gave her a tight smile, "I will follow you to Spellhold, Jaheira. Do what you have to do."

* * *

"Is this entirely wise, _khal'abbil_?"

Upon the day of the play, Viconia and Haer'Dalis had emerged with the promise of food. Only once the group returned to the Sphere, with Yoshimo newly in tow, had Elatharia explained her plan to the drow. They were gathered around the library table, Viconia dressed already in her black dragon scale. She seemed entirely unfazed by the unspoken knowledge shared among the group about her and Haer'Dalis's absence throughout that day. Instead, her fearsome frown was aimed entirely Elatharia's way.

"I believe our Blackbird would do anything to avoid my play," Haer'Dalis noted as he stood from his seat upon the table. It was hard to tell if this information did truly bother him.

"I would indeed," Viconia agreed vehemently.

Elatharia just shook her head, fighting back her smile when Viconia's eyebrows rose in horror.

"If we're all missing from the play," she gestured to herself, Edwin and Viconia, "People will be far too suspicious. If you're there, they'll think there is no way I would do anything clandestine without you who are my _khal'abbil_."

"If I am there they will think you are hiding something," Viconia denied, "Because I would have to be under a geas to go there."

"Oh, do not tempt us," Edwin drawled, leaning forward with a wicked grin, "I would enjoy the chance to try it."

Elatharia might have found his words more amusing if she had not still felt some significant lingering resentment towards him for bringing back to her the memories of Ingaith, her beautiful faerie dragon lost at the hands of Sarevok. Her beautiful faerie dragon, brought to her by Gorion on her fifteenth birthday, after she had proven that her magical ability went deeper than a few cantrips. The grief had been an agony of such magnitude that only her rage had been greater. She had filled the void with her brother's death. _What would Ingaith think of you now? What would Gorion think?_

Ingaith and Gorion were dead. The subjunctive did not need to apply to them any longer. Their morality no longer held her in chains. Still, she trembled. For a moment.

"They will just as easily think that Haer'Dalis has persuaded you, Viconia," Elatharia disagreed, "They won't miss Yoshimo," she gestured to the bounty hunter at her right, who seemed to take no offence at the comment, "And I think they would be very suspicious if Edwin showed up at all. We need you to go. We need you to go because I need you to watch Jaheira."

Viconia's frown smoothed out at that. She even smiled.

" _Khal'abbil_ , why did you not just say so before? I will truly hate the play, but the chance to make the druid squirm will be more than enough recompense," she stood then, and made to move around the table to join Haer'Dalis's side where he waited a few steps behind Elatharia. But the drow paused halfway, a new and rather mischievous smile spreading across her face, "Although…"

"Although 'what', Viconia?" Elatharia demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as the drow looked from the Transmuter to Edwin…and back again.

"You do realise what they will think, yes? If they believe you are not partaking in the clandestine, they will notice the absence of both you and Edwin. They will, as you said, fail to notice Yoshimo. They will assume that the two of you are engaged in other activit…"

"Viconia!" Elatharia felt her face burn with embarrassment, and her reflexive squeak rather made it worse, for it made her feel like a teenager again, telling Imoen to stop teasing her.

Edwin seemed rather less bothered by this, even while Haer'Dalis laughed heartily at Viconia's suggestion. The Red Wizard just shrugged and stared back at the drow.

"And if they think like you, drow, then they will be easily fooled," he told her. She just sneered back at him.

"Perhaps it would be better to suggest that they are lost in studying some spell or other?" Yoshimo suggested benignly, gesturing at the large table and its piles of books, paperweights and scrolls, "That would hardly be surprising."

Viconia just smiled, obviously enjoying the threat of spreading such a rumour.

"We must away, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis urged at last, "Lest I am late for my own play!"

"Very well," Viconia rolled her eyes as she followed the tiefling's advance across the room, "But at least take Korgan with you as well, _khal'abbil_!"

* * *

"Our Raven and our War Dog cannot make it to today's show, my Dove. A bout of ill health and a better offer of cheaper ale at the Coronet, respectively," Haer'Dalis informed Aerie without preamble.

The avariel jumped in surprise, letting out an involuntary cry to hear a voice so close behind her. She had been sitting on the edge of the stage swinging her legs nervously as she watched the others taking their seats and had been rather lost in thought. Not that she would have heard Haer'Dalis approaching, anyway.

"Haer'Dalis! You gave me such a fright!" Aerie twisted about to see him crouching behind her. As he stood, smirking like always, he offered hand to help her up. She pretended not to notice it, scrambling to her feet unaided, her cheeks reddening at the thought of Anomen…and all the others watching this interaction. Their rehearsals had been reasonably without awkwardness, even after the almost-duel between Anomen and Haer'Dalis. But standing on a stage with all of the others watching was going to be something rather different.

"My apologies, my Dove," he held his smile, looking past her to the others and performing an extravagant bow, "I have at least managed to persuade our Blackbird to attend. You will be pleased to note the wilful absence of the Sparrowhawk."

Aerie nodded, flinching a little as she looked out at their settling companions. Viconia was indeed lurking in the furthest corner, twirling a glass of wine and watching the avariel with a less than friendly stare. Her presence suggested that Haer'Dalis's words held some truth – surely Elatharia would have kept Viconia close at her side for whatever that mysterious horror 'Bodhi' wanted of them? Just thinking such thoughts set the avariel's skin crawling and she looked away quickly from the drow.

Valygar, Mazzy, Minsc and Anomen had all taken seats on the second row in – friendly but not too keen. She smiled at them. Jan was on the front row. Too keen, but she smiled at him too. He waved a turnip back, grinning toothily. Jaheira was just making her way down between the seats, looking tired, with dark shadows under her eyes. She caught Aerie's eye just as she sidled along the row to sit next to Valygar and gave a tight nod. Relief bloomed in the avariel. So the druid had managed to talk down Elatharia? That meant today was a good day!

Thus freed for the moment from worry, Aerie could recall that Anomen's test results were coming up after the show. She sent the fidgeting cleric an encouraging smile, and he tried to offer one in return. She giggled.

"Shall we prepare, my Dove? I do believe the other actors are ready before us!" Haer'Dalis cut in, and again Aerie jumped in spite of her relief about Elatharia and Jaheira. She struggled to meet the tiefling's eyes, thinking of him knowingly agreeing to help the likes of Edwin and Viconia…and Elatharia.

"Y-yes, of…of course," the avariel nodded, and fairly tripped in her haste to get behind the scenes and finish dragging on her costume. It was just a long white gown sprinkled with blue glitterdust and would not take long.

One glance back at Haer'Dalis, who now stood before their little crowd, it was clear that he was already prepared – his hair had been plaited back, and an array of fake scars and tattoos painted onto his torso beneath his loose fitting shirt. The thought of acting with him while he stood there _bare chested_ and having to hold her composure in front of all of the others made her heart flutter tremulously. A little wildly, Aerie decided to paint her face paler – the better to hide her blushes.

"My dear flock!" Haer'Dalis's deep voice rang out through the theatre impressively, "I am sure you will agree, 'tis truly noble to court the approval of the audience. What greater purpose could there be?"

Someone hushed Minsc's attempt to correct that, in fact, the fight against evil was indeed a greater purpose. Aerie smiled fondly out at the confused Rashemi. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis was continuing – and Aerie only had that long to get changed. She scampered off, but she could still hear him even as she pushed past the clutter and sent a nervous smile in the direction of the waiting understudy-actors. All of them were already prepared; one had painted his face to resemble a skull, another wore a tunic which Jan had enspelled earlier with an Illusion of flame. The young woman struggling to look nonchalant in her fake wings made Aerie's heart drop a little, but she had to keep her focus as she picked up her dress and rushed behind a screen to change.

"We have rehearsed long and hard to bring to you this play of mystery and trial in Sigil and the Planes. 'Tis a play which I became fond of during my time with the Sigil Troupe, and now I have added a few of my own touches to the tale…with the aid of the lovely Mourning Dove, our Aerie."

How had she ever been impressed by one who was altogether too good at putting on such a jovial show? Haer'Dalis's tones now set Aerie's stomach roiling. She pulled on the dress and swept back her hair. The other young actors watched her in faintly amused silence as she rushed from behind the screen, almost tripped over a pile of hats, and pulled up the pot of white face-paint. Finding a mirror, Aerie set to dabbing it on herself, muttering her first few lines as she did so. Her heart was pounding. Her legs were shaking. There was a gentle fizzing at the corners of her vision. Was this normal?

"I hope you will enjoy this, our first play together. Anon, we shall begin."

Nothing had ever frightened Aerie more.

* * *

The Government District was much quieter in the early evening than the Slums. There, the streets would be full of people travelling home from a long day at work, or those heading straight to the Coronet. Elsewhere in the city, the traffic of carts and horses barely stopped by nightfall and resumed with the dawn. But here…all was still by seven hours past noon. There was just the whistle of the wind rising up the tiered streets of grand homes clinging to the cliff-face and the tinkling of the fountains. Maybe the odd bark of laughter, the chiming of some distant bells. The chatter and bustle of the rest of the city was just an echoed swell, almost indistinguishable from the crash of the waves below.

"This is the kind of place that is more befitting of a man of my breeding," Edwin noted smugly as they caught a glimpse of the main square down a side street. He paused to nod appreciatively to the mighty cowled statues flanking the head office of the Cowled Wizards of Amn.

"Ha! A waste o' good stone, I say," Korgan disagreed, baring his teeth in an unfriendly smile when the Red Wizard twisted about to glare at him, "Never should waste good stone. Just like good dragon scales." He guffawed, patting at his red armour merrily.

Elatharia failed to hide her laugh, and Edwin turned to her with a betrayed look. She just spread her hands and gestured down the road to where Yoshimo was waiting.

"Are you two coming? I thought we had something to do tonight," she pointed out, ignoring the flutter of…something…that swelled in her stomach at the thought.

"Oh, of course 'master', lead on," Edwin drawled sarcastically, but there was the hint of something a little tense in his voice. He tugged the hood of his black cloak lower and grimaced as he stepped past her.

Korgan nodded as they resumed walking, though he looked around pointedly at the tall houses which backed onto this alley. Even swathed in Abjurations and with Elatharia keeping up a few Divinations, it would be unwise to linger too long arguing out in the open.

"I may complain about th' stone, but I've been workin' me trade long enough to know when a job's risky," Korgan grunted, then shrugged, "I'd best be paid well fer this."

"You will be," Elatharia promised, although she could not recall how much money remained to her.

Their path led them down the far end of the intersecting street, where the high walls of the Temple District helped to bracket off this enclave of wealth from the rest of the city. Here the servants even had their own roads, the backalleys – and tonight that segregation was going to be their target's undoing.

A narrow set of steep stone steps led down through each of the tiered rows of houses, and their destination stood at this end of the very lowest tier. Yoshimo stopped suddenly as they arrived at the narrow street at the tall building's back wall. Taking Elatharia's arm, he pulled her back against this wall alongside him, pointing up at the spikes lining its very top. It looked as if it led into a backyard of some kind; there was a closed wooden gateway broad enough to allow through a carriage.

"I can scale this with ease, leader," Yoshimo promised, keeping his voice low, dark eyes glinting in the lowering sunlight, "The gates are likely padlocked from the inside. I do not doubt that I can break such a seal."

"You are very arrogant today, bounty hunter," Edwin hissed. His rings bumped against Elatharia's hand as he joined them, staring over her head distrustfully at the Kara-Turan.

"Only realistic, friend," Yoshimo shrugged, unflappable as ever. He glanced around at the empty, shadowed back alley with its rows of unsightly backyards and only the half-seen sweep of grander rooves. "Where is our dwarf, leader?"

"I'm 'ere, snake," Korgan's disembodied voice floated as half a bark through the cool air. The Kara-Turan's lips twitched in amused understanding. He nodded in accession to the void.

Elatharia smirked and, with the _True Seeing_ Enchantment already active upon her mask, all she needed was a little concentration. Instantly, with very little fanfare, Korgan popped into view. He was grinning proudly, leaning on his axe and watching the trio who had felt the need to back up against the wall with a significant amount of smugness.

"Do as you said then," Elatharia told Yoshimo, "And take Korgan with you through the back."

"But not you, leader?"

"No," she nudged Edwin subconsciously, "We're going to go and…charm our way in."

Edwin gave a faint laugh at the double meaning.

"Very well," Yoshimo did not sound convinced, but nodded all the same, "I shall look for the evidence you requested."

"Good. Bodhi may want us to know nothing of our task, but I would at least know who I have…dealt with."

Another nod from Yoshimo, who turned and planted a foot against the wall, bracing himself for a quick climb – augmented as he was by a _Strength_ spell.

Elatharia and Edwin did not linger to watch the bounty hunter. Whether or not they trusted in his skill, they did not want to be caught with him if he was found out. They had other work to do, and both were quiet as they made their way back to the steps, taking the last few down onto the main street. The house was tall and ornate from the front; sweeping marble and a long garden adorned with sculpted hedges, a decorative fountain and many carefully arranged spirals of flowers.

There was a painted apse set in the district wall with a bench, intended to give a good view of the impressively opulent houses arrayed down this immaculate paved street and the glittering blue expanse of the sea not all that far below from this lowest tier. It was not the view they had come for, facing inwards with their dark cloaks drawn up around them. Edwin waited patiently while Elatharia cast her first spell – Jan had promised them that the apse would shelter them from the possibility of being detected by the Cowled Wizards, all though he had done so in reference to this being a hypothesis, and not an event.

The Transmutation words came easily to her, fingers plucking at the Weave without the aid of spell components in the Turmish way, as her father had taught her. Still, it took careful concentration and Edwin was sensibly quiet and watchful at her side. He certainly would not have wanted to end up looking like a hobgoblin.

The air fizzed around both of them and Elatharia opened her eyes to see that she had gained a few inches of height and that where once a Red Wizard of Thay had stood by her side, now there appeared to be a velvet-clad lordling. The expressions were all Edwin's, though. He did not seem to know whether to sneer or to grin. Looking down at herself, she saw that she now had the form of a rather portly and ageing man, dressed in dark velvets. The mask upon her face was no longer visible, but it was the only thing that stopped her markings manifesting in this new form.

"That is…not an improvement," Edwin grimaced, the expression strange on his current form's youthful face. His voice was a little different, although his accent still rolled out in the same manner.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she sighed, rolling her eyes at him and turning back to face the street. She tried not to flinch too openly at this new, deep voice. Edwin sniggered for her.

The appearance of a vain young noble did not much suit him, either. Insofar as those words did not already describe him. That brought a smile to her (currently unfamiliar) lips, and she turned her focus back to their mission.

They approached the mansion without further hesitation, passing through the open main gates and walking side by side down the main path. A pair of guards, halberds in hands, stood watching their approach with bored disinterest. There was no further evidence of security at this house, which was a little surprising. But Elatharia was concentrating too hard on keeping her footsteps even and unhurried and on ignoring the nervous hammering of her heart to truly care about this.

The two guards only crossed their halberds over the polished front door as the disguised wizards stepped up into the impressive, colonnaded portico which sheltered them from the sun during the brighter hours of the day.

"Lord Roaringhorn does not take clients following the sixth hour past noon," one guard insisted stiffly, only now bothering to stand properly to attention. It looked like his arms had started to shake from holding that halberd out like that. Elatharia fought the urge to sneer and instead stepped up in front of Edwin, putting her hands behind her back and affecting a confused and faintly hurt expression.

"We are not here on business," she tried to remember to channel some of the arrogant entitled manner that she had observed from her noble-born companions, "We are here to see Lord Roaringhorn for a much more important reason."

She could hear Edwin whispering the necessary spellwords. The quieter of the two guards attempted to look behind her current portly frame, nervousness registering on his face.

"Is everything alright with your son, my lord?" he asked, his tone everything but friendly.

"Oh…yes, yes of course," her heart was thundering, "Why wouldn't there be?"

Both men frowned and shared a look, as if sensing her insincerity. She fought hard to keep her expression neutral, shifting on her feet as if impatient.

"Now if you would permit us to see your lord…"

"I think you should step aside, sir," the first guard interrupted sharply, gesturing with a sweep of his halberd that cut the air between them. Edwin's spellwords grew louder now and Elatharia did as she was bid, smiling broadly in wicked relief.

"Stop right…"

"He's casting a sp…"

Both guards barely had time to cry out, one taking a lumbering step forward in his heavy plate mail, before Edwin spat out the last few words. There was a ringing in Elatharia's ears, a momentary haze in the air, and both men's eyes clouded over into eerie opalescence.

"Now," Edwin asked, his tone full of sharp insistence, "Will you permit us to enter?"

The guards blinked as if dazed, and then both smiled welcomingly. They stepped aside to let the two wizards past.

"Of course, sir. Forgive us for the inconvenience."

And they even opened the door for them. Inside, with the door clicked shut behind them, Elatharia dispelled their Transmutation. It would not do for Yoshimo or Korgan to fail to recognise them.

All was quiet and dark, the front door leading to a cavernous granite-and-marble atrium, dominated by a sweeping set of stairs. An unlit chandelier hung from the panelled ceiling, glittering faintly in the dim light. The walls were lined with paintings, a few ornate vases set upon plainer pedestals. The house was too large to hunt for their target throughout its many rooms, but it seemed that this would be unnecessary. There was a faint rustling coming from somewhere upstairs, a hurriedly muttering voice…and the glimmer of candlelight.

Elatharia almost jumped from her skin when she saw Korgan stomping through a nearby open side door. His movements were heavy but eerily silent thanks to some potion Yoshimo had insisted he drink. He grunted at the sight of her, apparently recognising that she could see him with her mask on. Attempting to regain her composure, the Transmuter waved him over and gestured at the front door behind her and Edwin – who was affecting disinterest at her interaction with the invisible dwarf.

"Watch the doors," she told Korgan in a whisper, "If the guards change their minds…kill them."

He had been about to complain, but with that order he just grinned and nodded, moving past Edwin to take up his position. Meanwhile, the two wizards moved on. There was no sign of Yoshimo, but it seemed likely that they would find him close to that disturbance upstairs. They would have to rely on him to have already disarmed any traps left to catch out intruders.

All of the rooms upstairs were dark, a few with their doors open and furniture covered with cloths as if abandoned, a few shut and dark. The only hint of movement came from the door at the end of the hall, from beneath which still flickered the orange glow of candlelight. And there was Yoshimo, waiting for them by the door, all but invisible in the shadows of the corridor in his dark leathers. He gave them a nod as they arrived.

"He is within," he mouthed more than whispered, "The way is clear."

Though her nerves rebelled, her pulse pounding in her ears and making her more than a little lightheaded with the reality of this, their most unlawful deed, Elatharia made to step forward, already reaching for the door.

"Wait," Edwin's snapped the word a little too loudly when stealth was required, his hand closing tightly around her upper arm, "The bounty hunter is wrong."

Releasing her, the Red Wizard fell into a spell immediately, the words and gestures unfamiliar – an Abjuration. Surprised and more than a little unsettled, Elatharia sent a look Yoshimo's way. He frowned back at her for a confused moment before spreading his hands in apology. The spell finished, a number of symbols flared along the doorframe ahead, burst into white light and then fizzling out.

Swallowing, Elatharia looked around at Edwin and the Conjurer nodded sharply as if to say that it was safe for real this time. His eyes were wrathful when they turned Yoshimo's way. Meanwhile, Elatharia approached the door a little more cautiously. Her hand had settled upon the knob and she was just glancing at her two companions for a second opinion when she realised something was wrong. The shuffling beyond had ceased. And Yoshimo's eyebrows were raising, his mouth opening to shout a warning. Edwin cursed.

A heavy arm locked across Elatharia's front, fingers digging into her shoulder. She yelped, wrenched backwards against her unseen assailant, scrabbling automatically at the restraining arm.

"She said you would come for me!" a breathless male voice exclaimed a little shrilly from behind her, "She said you'd come but I'm…I'm ready for you!"

Before anyone could say anything, Elatharia felt a sharp pricking at the skin of her throat. Something cold and serrated and very _sharp_ was pressing at her neck. Her eyes locked with Edwin's. Panic clawed at her thoughts. She remembered not to struggle and they all grew very still.

"I'm ready for you, and you'll not murder me, you bitch! I'll see you die first!"

Her skin blazed white hot with sudden pain as her assailant pressed the knife tighter. Yoshimo held out one hand as if attempting to placate this attacker's fears even while his other hand moved for the sword hilt at his hip. Edwin was staring intently at her attacker now, his hands poised for a spell. Tension hummed around him and he was breathing hard.

Elatharia gasped as the knife scraped over her skin. His hand was shaking, and maybe that was what saved her. But the blade was burning against her agonisingly and it was almost impossible to think straight. She could feel blood trickling down her neck.

"Who told you?" she asked through the pain and the shock, her hand closing around his forearm slowly, carefully – as if imploring him to hesitate.

"It doesn't matter. You'll not have me! She gave me this dagger and I'll use it – I'll use i…"

" _Aniyey aj sila zerid, sme siyalu sila éla!_ "

His words cut off with a shriek as Elatharia snarled out those very familiar spellwords. Blue-white energy flowed from her hands and into his arm. He screamed and writhed, losing control of his body – though the force of her _Shocking Grasp_ held him to her. It did also, finally, give her a physical advantage over this man, and she used it.

After a brief struggle, knowing that her spell could not last much longer, Elatharia attempted to twist from his grasp; they staggered forwards, to the side…and crashed through the door into the one lit room in the house. The man fell heavily and Elatharia almost joined him thanks to her hold on his wrist. Instead, she righted herself just in time and knelt at his side, prying the strange, pale dagger from his grasp with one hand, bringing it to his neck immediately. Only then did she release him from her spell.

His eyes were bloodshot, the foul smell around him suggested that he had soiled himself, and he had bitten his tongue; blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. He jolted and cried out when a burst of magical energy crashed into him. Edwin snarled something hateful along with it, and Yoshimo's blade was soon resting its tip at the man's collarbone, a third threat of violence as the Kara-Turan's boots reached the floorboards by the head of Elatharia's assailant.

"Who told you about me?" Elatharia demanded, teeth bared as she leaned closer. She could not remember the last time she had held a knife with violent intent. Had it been…to save Imoen from the clone in Irenicus's dungeon?

The man shook his head, whimpering. He looked young, though probably still older than Elatharia, with a full beard attempting to disguise a weak chin. Tears were trickling past his temples thanks to his supine position, brown hair just settling after the static left it. He was dressed plainly in dark cloth; his cloak and boots suggested he had either been about to leave or just arrived. Given the open backpack by the expansive four-poster bed in this colourfully decorated bedroom, and by the array of far more expensive clothes strewn across the covers and the floor, it looked like he had been packing to flee.

"Was it Bodhi?" the Transmuter snarled, ignoring the thudding of Edwin's boots as he joined them in the room.

The man trembled, but shook his head.

"P-please…I've given your guild all the money I can. D-don't…I was desperate. She gave me the dagger and told me to use it if you came…"

"Who told you?"

"The…the woman…I don't know her name…"

"What did she look like?" the knife bit into his skin as it had hers, and something _mad_ writhed inside her at the sight of his blood. Her hand tightened on the handle of the weapon until it was shaking, her knuckles white.

"She had…red hair…and wore a sigil…feathers – an odd number of feathers…"

"Seven feathers?" Edwin snapped, and suddenly Elatharia felt his leg pressing against her side as he moved closer, his hand clamping down on her shoulder as if he sensed what she would do, "Why did she say we would come?"

"For the Sh-shadow Thieves. To collect my debts to the Shadow Thieves!" the man's voice rose again and he started to raise his hands. Edwin's boot pressed down on his wrist, and he relented, "Please," the man tried again, "Don't let her…don't let her hurt me."

"You are woefully wrong about our intentions, fool. (Although I am sure the dwarf will collect the money you have left). Do you know anything about this woman who warned you? Where she came from, whom she works for? Why she cared whether you lived or died?"

The man shook his head.

"I'm…I'm just a m-merchant. I h-have rich relatives in Waterdeep! They'd pay you well for my release," a moment of hope in his eyes. He looked from the Red Wizard to the bounty hunter…to the child of Bhaal, "I just…I just owe a few debts to the Shadow Thieves, that's all!"

Edwin let out an irritable sigh. His hand left Elatharia's shoulder.

"He is no one," Yoshimo noted blandly.

"He has seen our faces and heard our voices!" Elatharia denied flatly. The Kara-Turan inclined his head in acceptance, face blank.

Edwin's boots retreated, as did Yoshimo's katana blade. The hope drained from the man's eyes. And Elatharia realised that there was no choice anymore. If she let this man go, he would run to those who would kill her. If Bodhi did not get to her first. And if she did not do this quickly, he would certainly kill her in self-defence. She thought of Imoen, who had told of the horror she had felt at the call of Bhaal when she had committed the horrible deeds Irenicus had enforced. She thought, with shame, that this death would bring her no happiness…or real sadness. It was necessary. And that was all.

She pressed the dagger into his throat quickly. He thrashed and twitched and choked. His eyes rolled. Blood bloomed from his mouth. Balanced on the balls of her feet, seeing him through the comforting haze of Bhaal's power, she watched the life leave him until his last, rattling breath. Then she stood and turned away to join Edwin, who was waiting in the dark corridor. He was frowning, his eyes fixing on the blood still trickling from her neck wound.

"Elatharia."

Yoshimo's voice was tense and clipped. She spun on her heel, in time to see the bounty hunter staring down at the man she had just killed…and to see that body rapidly dissolving into golden dust. Her breath left her in a gasp, and she staggered back a step. Bhaalspawn. That man had been a Bhaalspawn? And as his essence dissipated into nothingness, the dagger he had been given rattled to the floor. The dagger which she had used to kill him. For the first time, she realised: it was a bone dagger.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
The lines of the play which Aerie speaks at the beginning of the chapter are a quote from the D&D computer game Planescape: Torment, and the costumes of the actors are inspired by characters therein.  
The name of Elatharia's familiar is from Old Irish 'in gaith' meaning 'the wind'.**


	29. Treachery on All Sides: Part 1

**Chapter 28: Treachery on All Sides Part 1**

* * *

Korgan had killed the guards. It was unclear if they had turned on him, or if he had turned on them, but either way that left them with no choice. Elatharia had the dwarf drag them fully inside the house, and then she and Edwin lit the place on fire. The four of them escaped the rising smoke through a _Dimension Door_ of Edwin's.

That brought them to the pavement directly opposite the Planar Sphere. Korgan, satisfied with the money he had taken from the house, grunted something about ale and left them, heading in the direction of the Copper Coronet. Dazed, dizzy and unnerved by the events not long before, Elatharia barely noticed.

The sun was low in the sky but had still not set – it occurred to her that Haer'Dalis's play would probably not yet be finished. The streets nearby were still rowdy and busy, but as ever this side alley was abandoned. But for one dark-clad figure awaiting them in the shadows cast by the Sphere's platform. Bodhi.

At the sight of the vampire mistress smirking at them like that across the street, Elatharia snarled angrily, hands balling at her sides, and approached at speed. Edwin cursed and snatched at her wrist, but she pulled free before his grip could close. Yoshimo just matched her pace, keeping by her side as she came to the edge of the long shadows falling across the Sphere's side of the street.

"Greetings, friends," Bodhi smiled, her voice soft. It still set Elatharia's skin crawling.

"You knew he was a Bhaalspawn! That was the only reason why you sent me to kill him!" her accusation was spoken without doubt, and Bodhi hardly looked surprised by the words. She shifted, her movements strong and graceful…and menacing. Her skin was icy white in the indirect sunlight, her eyes narrowed a little as if the brightness made her uncomfortable. At least that was something.

"Perhaps I did. Does it matter?"

"Yes!" the Transmuter snarled, "And he had a bone dagger just like the one which you offered me before."

"Did he?" Bodhi's tone was mocking. Elatharia felt Edwin's hand closing around her wrist again, tighter this time.

"He did," Elatharia said, more quietly. The vampire mistress waved the words away.

"You are wise not to trust me," Bodhi smirked, "Or…you would be foolish if you trusted me. But you should know that I will keep my word. Kill Aran Linvail for me and you will be heading to your sister that very night."

Elatharia straightened at that. That was a promise she could not ignore. Bodhi seemed to misunderstand her pause.

"Aran Linvail will come for you if you do not kill him first. Destroy his guild, or use more cunning means. His death, the sooner the better, will benefit your goals as well as mine."

"And what is it that you gain from forcing me to kill fellow Bhaalspawn?" Elatharia demanded.

"That is not something that should concern you," Bodhi disagreed sharply, "I will not accept defiance when I have offered you so much aid for so little in return. Remember, if you must, that you have made your choice. There is none left to you."

Her smile then was more of a snarl, thick red lips parting and spreading to reveal sharp white teeth moments before her form exploded into a rush of fluttering black wings, a host of bats which rushed past Yoshimo, Elatharia and Edwin, forcing them to twist about and stagger back from the sudden swarm.

"It would seem that we have our final task, leader," Yoshimo noted, and there was a hint of relief in his voice. He glanced from Edwin, who was glowering at him rather intently, to Elatharia, who was barely listening. A faint smile came to his face, "I will be waiting anxiously for the moment when we move to act upon this next task. It will be a relief to escape the Shadow Thieves and the vampires both," he admitted before taking his leave.

The moment he had gone, Edwin rounded on Elatharia.

"You must be mad as well as incompetent, you _fool_ ," he snarled, and his vehemence had her backing up a step in surprise, "To speak to a creature like that in that way…and to do so with…with this," he gestured to the cut on her neck.

She had forgotten about it, but now the pain returned to her. Her skin was sticky against her fingertips, which came away red.

"She hardly looked interested by it," Elatharia disagreed automatically, moving around him to head up the steps to the Planar Sphere. It would be a little strange to stand around in the street with a fresh and untended wound on show. She cursed when she noticed that some of the blood had trickled to stain the neckline of the Robe of Vecna. She would have to use another cleaning cantrip to get that out. If it would come out.

"You do not know that," Edwin insisted, following her up the stairs, "A powerful vampire like her may well be very good at hiding her urges. It does not mean she is any further from acting upon them."

Elatharia glanced at him over her shoulder as they reached the platform by the Sphere's door.

"Since when were you an expert on Bodhi? Isn't it a little late for suggesting siding with her is bad idea?"

"I could say the same thing to you," Edwin paused while she spoke the command phrase to deactivate the wards and unlock the door. At just a gentle touch and an exertion of will it opened inwards smoothly, utterly silent. Once they had stepped through, it melded with the curved white wall and disappeared from view entirely. "At least I did not show such fears to her face."

They passed through the next door, into the Viewing Room – where Elatharia still kept her eyes on the floor in spite of the shell of a sphere visible through the glass. There was no more Minauros but in her memory. She gritted her teeth and forced her mind's eye to see only darkness, lest she think too hard upon why such a panic overtook her in this one room. If she could have, she would have expelled it from the Sphere.

"Bodhi must be used to being distrusted by her allies…" the Transmuter forced out at last, not wanting to show a conspicuous silence in this place where once he had held her from flinging a wild spell at the glass.

Edwin caught her by the shoulder only moments after she had spoken those words, a second after they had stepped through into the octagonal central chamber. She gasped, her thoughts still half-distracted by those memories she had been trying to avoid.

"We are not her allies," Edwin denied as the door to the Viewing Room clanged shut behind him. His expression was tense, his eyes intense, "To her we are as slaves, though the lies may be pretty."

It was rather hard to deny that. Bodhi had power over them which they could not match. Was it possible to be allies with someone if you had nothing to give? Elatharia just winced, knowing Edwin would understand this for accession.

It was uncomfortable looking up at him from so close, the bend in her neck pulling uncomfortably at the cut. She extracted herself from his grip and paused, feeling a little lightheaded. Her wound was still bleeding, but she had not lost all that much blood. The world tilted a little as she made a step towards the far door; the opening which led up to the library – and to her chamber. Her next words began a little more tremulously than she had intended, but she dragged herself into steadiness. It was somehow easier to speak when she was not looking up at him.

"She did know that man was a Bhaalspawn. She did not deny knowing about the dagger. I think…I think it could have been the same one which she offered me before, when she had me kill that Shadow Thief novice. We passed it off then, but we can't now."

"Indeed."

There was something ominous in that one word, spoken with such resignation by Edwin. He followed her to the library in contemplative silence, his footsteps ringing upon that domed chamber's black marble floor as they crossed the room. She continued on for the few steps leading to her bedroom; she heard him stop at the table, rummaging through a few of the books which had been left out there. As she moved past her bed to her mirror, seeking to see for herself the damage which that bone dagger had done, she could hear Edwin muttering to himself. He sounded fairly agitated.

Elatharia sighed when she saw herself in the mirror. The cut on her neck was _still_ bleeding, red rivulets trickling down her neck and tickling her skin fiercely. Uselessly, she wiped at it with her bare fingers, smearing it across pale skin. The neckline of the Robe of Vecna was stained darker than expected. It was damp to the touch. She winced, surprised. Perhaps she had more reason to feel lightheaded than she had thought.

Sighing to herself, she went into the washroom and found a bowl, filling it with magically warmed water; she returned to the mirror in her bedroom and placed the container on the dresser. A glance at her reflection showed that her cut was still bleeding. Curious. It really did not look that deep…

"You should delegate your assassinations more effectively, like I said before."

Edwin's voice made her jump, and she turned to look at him in surprise when he crossed her room in a few purposeful strides. He was holding a cloth in his hand, and his face was twisted into a look of distaste. He swatted at her hands when she tried to take it from him.

"You should also be better equipped for injuries," the Red Wizard continued.

She eyed him cautiously through the mirror, as if that might put some distance between them. Instead, he just looked back at her, eyes very dark in the dim light of the bedroom.

"When did you become a font of wisdom? And…" she stiffened when he stepped behind her, catching her chin and tilting her head back. "When did you know anything about dealing with injuries?"

The cloth was damp and cool against her skin and she fought the urge lean back against him. This slightly twisted position was difficult to maintain, but she suspected such a response would either drive him away or give him far too much satisfaction.

"One must learn something of self-maintenance when growing as a wizard in Thay," his voice was quieter than it had been before.

Edwin's sleeve brushed her neck and she shivered, eyes fixed on him through the mirror. He was frowning faintly, head bowed to his unexpected task. She caught his hand when he made to wipe away the blood from her collarbone and neckline. He must have felt her swallow nervously, but he just raised his eyes to meet hers in the reflection, looking at her disapprovingly. Vaguely she realised that the bleeding had finally stopped; there had been more than water on that cloth, evidently.

He let go of her chin, but his other hand was still trapped against her, warm and heavy.

"Bodhi knows a lot more than we expected," Elatharia admitted softly, hating the tremble in her voice.

"Yes," he agreed, just as quietly, meeting her eyes for real as she turned to look at him properly, "And there is more to it than you know."

"Explain." Why did she feel so breathless?

His eyes flickered to the long cut at her neck, to his hand pressed to her collarbone, and to the red stains at her neckline. A faint sneer curled his lip, but she just watched him expectantly, not liking the serious tone in his voice. His fingers twitched against her skin, but he did not pull back.

"The seven feathers he mentioned. The human woman who passed us in Bodhi's lair who…"

"Who made Bhaal's power…awaken," Elatharia nodded, and then her eyes widened in recognition of the detail he had told her before, "She wore the symbol of seven feathers at her wrist!"

He frowned down at her, but nodded, pulling his hand free as she relinquished it.

The memory of the peculiar encounter earlier set her heart pounding uncomfortably. She watched the glimmer of the golden buttons of his jacket rather than see his expectation. Understanding did not take long to come; she counted out the facts on her fingers as they occurred to her.

"She made Bhaal's power rise; she was wearing the symbol the man mentioned; so it must have been her or someone connected to her who gave him a bone dagger – something that Bodhi has used before, too, and which has a connection to Bhaal; Bodhi knew who he was and obviously had dealings with that woman. So…the woman we saw must also have some connection to Bhaal, some agenda with Bodhi and possibly also some agenda with me. Furthermore, the evidence suggests that Bodhi not only knows about my heritage but she is using it to gain some advantage for herself as well."

"Obviously," Edwin sneered.

He pressed the bloodied cloth into her hand and looked down at his palms distrustfully before performing a cleaning cantrip on them, turning away and striding back towards the table in the library through the doorway. Dropping the cloth into the bowl, Elatharia followed him, and he continued to speak.

"I have found few references to the seven feathers, but some rather obscure – and, importantly, disparate – sources suggest that it was once some kind of secret symbol worn by Bhaal's supporters throughout Zhentil Keep and its associate citadels. The symbolism was uncovered during Cyric's First Banedeath eight years ago and those who used it were thought to have been wiped out or…converted."

The chill of disquiet, of something dangerously close to fear, stopped Elatharia in the doorway of her room. Edwin had already reached the bottom of the few steps down into the library and looked back at her with an expression much closer to understanding than impatience. In his black and gold Archmagi jacket he looked made for that vast circular library, standing there upon the black marble floor beneath the glass dome, lit by the last golden lights of the sinking sun.

"I am starting to think that we need to be rid of Bodhi soon," Elatharia admitted at last, her hands twisting tightly in her grey cloak. She chewed on her lip nervously as Edwin watched her in silence for several long moments. Eventually, he gave a faint nod.

"That means we need to be rid of the Shadow Thieves soon," he reminded her, "Bodhi gave no room for negotiation (especially since you stormed forth to face her like an idiot, with no sophistication or sense, no gravitas to give her even a sense that you might be anything other than incompetent.)"

"It is going to be hard to think up a lie which Aerie will believe well enough to agree to help us deal with the Shadow Thieves," Elatharia pointed out, forcing herself to ignore his insults, "Since Jaheira told me that it was she who scryed upon us. Speaking of which – I thought you warded this place properly?"

"Lavok should have," Edwin shot back, but his eyes had widened in surprise for just a moment, "She must have used a simpler spell than I would have expected possible."

Elatharia suspected it was actually due to Edwin's automatic scorn of Divination, but she held her tongue this once.

"Anyway, we can't have Anomen, Valygar, Mazzy and Aerie all turning on us simultaneously," Elatharia disagreed to Edwin's unspoken thoughts, "We need their help in Spellhold. We need the help of anyone who will come with us. And that even includes distrustful, prejudiced bastards like Valygar."

She had made up her mind, and twisted about to draw the curtain across her room. Edwin's eyebrows rose.

"And what is it that you think you are going to do now?"

"I'm going to the theatre, Edwin," Elatharia told him with as much confidence as she could find, "And I can't very well do it in a dress stained with my own blood."

"And the cut? (Incompetent…foolish…)"

"That might just help my cause. If I blame it on the Shadow Thieves," she added smugly when he just looked at her blankly.

"Perhaps that would work," he nodded as if humouring her, folding his arms and sighing when his pause did not bring her any understanding, "What of your hair, fool?"

"What of m…"

Elatharia reached up to touch the tangled locks around her head without thinking, then cursed when her fingers came away stained dark. Edwin smirked at her triumphantly as she moved back to the mirror. Running her fingers through the dark strands revealed yet more gold beneath, broadening the pale section of hair on the left side of her head. Those new, golden strands were smoother and less tangled than the rest of her hair with just a few brown streaks to suggest they had not always been so pale.

Of course! The man she had killed had been a child of Bhaal. She had been too distracted by the circumstances, by the evidence pointing towards Bodhi and her mysterious ally's machinations and by the cut on her own neck. The vision of Bhaal's holy colour overtaking her own dark brown ought to have been disturbing…but she just felt irritated.

"I think I'll have to wash, too," she admitted with a grimace after a moment. Fortunately, not too many of their group knew of the connection between her appearance and the deaths of her siblings. If she tied it back, it might not be all that noticeable to those who did know, like Jaheira.

"Always a good idea," Edwin quipped, his smirk just beginning before she pulled the curtains closed between them.

* * *

The play had passed Jaheira by. She had watched the actors upon the stage, among them Haer'Dalis and a white-clad Aerie, but had not really seen them. She had been vaguely aware of the avariel's nervous tone, of the way her voice trembled when required to rise louder. It had been unnerving to see the transformation in Haer'Dalis, the way that he so readily took on the quieter, more brooding persona of the play's lead. It made her warier of him even than before – how much of his interactions with the group were genuine? Just what was he really thinking? Whose side was he really on? Only the scars across his torso which were revealed in this play were unmistakable. She had been a healer for as long as she had been an orphan – there were more real scars than fake ones scoring his muscular frame.

But the words and the plot, the faces of the additional actors – all of it had blurred into one long haze. When the final lines were spoken and Jan enthusiastically started up the applause, Jaheira felt Valygar's hand settling on her forearm. A glance to him, sitting by her side, showed that his expression was not unkind. She had at least remembered to clap with the others.

Guilt and shame were twisting her insides into knots. She, a Harper, reduced to this! And there was Aerie, beaming at her as she flitted down the steps from the stage, the other actors retreated behind the backdrop to change. Anomen was standing quickly, straightening out his long velvet doublet and squaring his shoulders. He looked nervous. Did he know…?

Aerie's hug was unexpected, and it very nearly overbalanced Jaheira. She had stood to go out for some air, to get a glass of water from the table by the door…and instead the avariel had fairly tackled her, thin arms tight around her shoulders, braids of blonde hair tickling her face.

"I'm so glad everything is ok!" Aerie exclaimed, and Jaheira stiffened. _Nothing could be worse._

The avariel giggled when she drew back, the others watching curiously. Some of the blue paint from her dress had clung to the druid's cloak. Aerie brushed at it, but continued to smile.

"Don't worry, I know it's our secret," she half-whispered, "But I'm so glad that you persuaded Elatharia out of…"

 _If only._

Jaheira could achieve no more than blankness, but the avariel did not seem to notice anything amiss. She just brushed at the paint a little more, screwing her delicate face up in apology. As if such a trifling, transient thing as a little blue paint could offend Jaheira. Not after Elatharia's words the night before. _If you get in my way…I'll see your blood run_.

"Minsc and Boo are glad to see that Aerie is so happy! We were ready to catch her lest she faint before! Or…Boo gave warning, and Minsc made ready," the Rashemi ranger boomed from where he was lingering between the rows of seats, a huge and familiarly comforting sight in spite of his absolute lack of guile. He smiled broadly when Aerie blushed.

"Well acted I say, Wingless!" Jan put in, his nickname leeching some of Aerie's giddiness, her smile replaced by a faint frown. She opened her mouth to complain about the name but Anomen's hand settled upon her shoulder. She turned to him immediately, and Jaheira backed up from them. The priest of Helm only cast the druid a cursory glance, a fraught look in his eyes.

"My lady, forgive me for interrupting – but I must away soon for my test…"

"Oh! Of course, I…I will go and change."

"You need not trouble yourse…"

"I want to come, Anomen! Mazzy and I both said we'll come, and I won't let you go alone now…"

Ah, he was too caught up in his own worries to sense the strangeness of this situation, just as Aerie was too relieved to notice it. Too trusting, more likely. Jaheira's gaze took in the others moving from their seats to congratulate the avariel – whether heartfelt or courteous, she had no idea. Minsc was still watching with the clueless smile, patting at Boo. Jan had turned to wander over to the stage, hands behind his back as he inspected some contraption on the wall. Valygar was just leaning back against one of the rows with his arms folded, watching but silent. At least he knew some of the truth – or at least that whatever Aerie believed was not it. At least he had not tried to stop the deception.

Meanwhile, Aerie was scurrying off to change in the rooms behind the stage, fairly tripping on her long white dress in her haste, and Anomen was fidgeting while he waited. One look at the young, vain priest and it seemed hard to believe that he could achieve knighthood. But then, such a life of righteousness and vows had always rather offended Jaheira's personal sensibilities. Absently, she adjusted the Harper pin at her collar.

"I…thank you for your support," Anomen offered to Mazzy as the paladin moved from her own seat to his side, ready to leave the moment that Aerie returned. She nodded stiffly, narrowing her eyes up at him as if sensing his awkwardness. When her piercing gaze turned to Jaheira, her frown only deepened and she took a step forward as if intending to address the druid.

A hand at her elbow had Jaheira turning around, a reprimand on her tongue. She bit it back when she saw Viconia standing there, blue eyes amused. Hatred welled up in the druid at the sight of the ebon-skinned priestess. How could she be so relaxed, knowing what had surely been done by those of the group who had been absent from the play? They had chosen well – Yoshimo would not be missed, Korgan and Edwin would not be expected. A few of them had asked about Elatharia, and the drow had just waved it away with some half-explanation about spells and wizards.

"Our leader would be pleased to see you so…amenable," Viconia noted smugly, her pale eyebrows raising when Jaheira pulled her arm free. The priestess shifted with unnerving grace, the overlapping scales of her Shadow Dragon armour catching the light from the lanterns above…and swallowing it. She was taller than surface elf females were wont to be but still smaller than Jaheira by a few inches. She did not tilt her head back to look up. She just watched her from beneath her brows and smiled.

"I would take that as a sign that these are desperate times, drow. I would not act to please Elatharia willingly," Jaheira hissed. Viconia rolled her eyes, pushing back her yellow cloak and resting her wrist upon the handle of the Flail of the Ages as casually as Aerie had brushed at the paint on the druid's shoulder.

"Your ideals are thin as smoke and just as cloying," Viconia purred, cutting her words off when her eyes trained on events behind Jaheira.

Turning, the druid saw that the others were talking amongst themselves – though Mazzy's frown had not abated. Anomen was shifting impatiently from foot to foot, watching Aerie hurrying back across the stage and down the stairs to join them. She had scrubbed the white paints from her face and arms, her blonde hair pulled back into a knot behind her head to try to hide the glitter and white paint streaking it. She had swapped the ghost's dress for her embroidered white tunic and grey leggings. She had her pale blue cloak slung over her arm and her belt was void of a weapon. Too trusting, indeed.

"Alright, I'm ready!" the avariel panted, slinging on her cloak as she joined Anomen's side.

The priest of Helm hardly seemed to relax, nodding to the group in general and holding out an arm for Aerie to take even as he turned to leave. Following them, Mazzy hesitated in front of Jaheira as if intending to say something, but waved the words away when Anomen called for her to hurry. When they had gone, their footsteps loud on the stairs up to the inn and their voices fast and nervous, Jaheira moved straight for the jug of water by the door to the lobby, pouring herself a glass and taking a long drink from it. If nothing else, it gave her an excuse to face the wall and not the faces of those she had betrayed. She felt Viconia's eyes on her back, though, and it made her skin crawl.

* * *

The play had not been as utterly boring as Viconia had feared. Aerie had been enjoyably wretched, and it had been interesting to see how Haer'Dalis portrayed the characters' Planewalking. It had felt like an insight into a part of his life that she could never understand. And, it had been entertaining to watch Jaheira suffering with her pointless guilt over the secrets she now held under duress for Elatharia. Having power over those who would one day become your enemies was always…intoxicating.

With Aerie, Anomen and Mazzy gone to learn the results of the priest's knightly test, the threat in the room was somewhat lessened. If Elatharia did show her face (as much of it as she ever did dare to) then it seemed unlikely that those who lingered would feel duty bound to question, judge and fight her. It seemed safe enough to leave that rabble in the main room, with Jaheira twitchy and stressed, staring at every shadow, Minsc chattering pointlessly at his rodent and Jan scrabbling about with the mechanism for lowering the lanterns. Valygar was the problem, perhaps. But he had been silent enough so far.

The other actors, young idealistic fools the lot of them, were just trooping out through the back door as the drow stepped through into the room behind the stage – likely to go and find some more fashionable tavern in which to drink to the night's 'successes'. Haer'Dalis was standing at the mirror across the room, scrubbing off the fake tattoos and paints from his torso. There was a wooden basin full of soapy water on the stand in front of him, no doubt warmed over the hearth which crackled with fire nearby.

"This place is an absurd display of all the possessions that one must surely never wish to own," Viconia noted as she stepped fully into the room, staring with some disdain at the piles of masks, hats and costumes overflowing out of chests and wardrobes, stacks of the huge backdrops filling one corner of the room. Bottles of paints, make-up and soap teetered on the table between Haer'Dalis and the mirror. Aerie's white dress was discarded over the back of the single low couch and the wooden floor was splattered with some of the blue paint used upon it.

Haer'Dalis laughed tolerantly at her tone, wiping fake scars and grey paint from his arms. His back was already clear, pale skin hatched with silvery scars. His muscles rippled as he moved, his eyes now trained on her reflexion even as he continued his task. Clad only in his dark breeches, those strong, defined muscles were very much in evidence. There was no hint of fat on him; he was lean and graceful even now. _Especially_ now.

"Some would say that this is their dream," he suggested, nodding back at the door through which his novices had just departed.

Viconia sighed, crossing the room and leaning back against the cluttered table beside him, watching him shamelessly as he wiped off the last of the paint. She swallowed – nervously, was it? – as he sponged off the water from his skin, her eyes following rivulets low on his stomach.

"Yet it is not your dream," the words escaped her, distracted as she was, "You dream of travelling the Planes which you had your underlings portray tonight."

Embarrassment flooded through her, but she fought not to show it. He did not mock her, though. He just put down his sponge and watched her watch him. She bit her lip as her eyes fell to the jagged scar around his ribs, just below his left pectoral. She traced it thoughtfully, and his muscles tensed automatically. He grinned when she looked up at his eyes in surprise.

"I am…a little ticklish, my Blackbird," he told her, and her eyebrows rose, his smile following hers when she failed to hold back a snigger at that. He caught her hand when she tried to pull it back, pulling her closer until she was between him and the edge of the table.

"How did you manage to acquire such a brutal scar amongst so many, _jaluk_?" Viconia asked, more softly than she had intended. His skin, as always, was hotter than expected, strikingly pale against her own dark fingertips.

"That is the mark left by the blade of the demon whom I betrayed for the sake of the red dragon – and my own life, my Blackbird," the skin was uneven, silvery and raised, as wide as her hand at rest, "A flamberge will do that to you."

The image was a gruesome one. Viconia looked up at him sharply, disbelieving.

"The blade…to leave a mark like that must have gone straight through you! No one could survive that."

"I did, though the blade shattered many of my ribs and tore open my lung. I lay gasping and bleeding, helpless as a fish in the air. My superiors decided that my efforts had been enough to merit healing. Though, as you may know, the healing spells of those who pray to gods in the Abyss are hardly the soothing panaceas of this Prime Material's surface world."

His hands had settled upon her waist as he spoke, his expression distant and thoughtful all the same. His eyes focused on her again as she began to trace her fingertips more indiscriminately over his skin. He shivered, and she grinned wickedly.

"Would that all drow thought to torture tieflings with tickling, my Blackbird," he quipped, stepping in closer even as she sneered at him. In spite of this tantalising distraction, there was yet one more thing that had been lingering in her thoughts since she joined him in this partitioned area away from the others.

"Who helped you clear away all that foolish paint?" Viconia demanded, tilting her head back to look at him and narrowing her eyes expectantly. The thought of any of those novices – or, Shar forbid, Aerie – helping wipe the paint from him sent a pang of rage through her that she did not recognise. Haer'Dalis's eyes sparkled at her tone.

"Would it make you jealous?" he sounded pleased, ducking his head to hers as one hand smoothed from her waist and down, hooking under her thigh and pulling her leg up to his hip. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he forced her back a little and her thoughts scattered for a moment to feel him so close.

"If our places were switched, would you be?" Viconia managed, knowing that she should be irritated with him. Haer'Dalis's eyes flashed and his grin was far fiercer this time.

"Yes. _Very_ ," he growled, pressing his lips to hers with a passion that stole her voice – and her breath.

* * *

The streets of Athkatla were eerily quiet. The city seemed hushed, as if anticipating something dreadful. Perhaps it was just the lingering mist of rain and the threatening storm clouds looming above. Perhaps the absence of the Shadow Thieves and the whispers of worse monsters stalking the night were more than enough to keep folk off the streets.

Elatharia felt that there was a sense of pride to be had in realising that she had no small part in creating this tension. There was far less pride in acknowledging that in this she was Bodhi's' puppet, and the vampire mistress had given her the dubious task of eliminating the Shadow Thieves' leader.

In spite of Bodhi's assurances that none of Aran Linvail's men lingered on the streets during the night, that the Shadow Thieves were far weaker and more distracted by the vampires' encroachment upon their territory than they would have others believe, Elatharia was nervous. At least her green Traveller's Robe was not so distinctive as the Robe of Vecna. Still, she kept the hood of Gorion's cloak low and watched the shadows closely, heart thundering every step of the way from the Planar Sphere to the Five Flagons Inn.

The plan was simple. Show the group the cut on her neck, say the Shadow Thieves had at last betrayed them, and that they would need to destroy them now before it was too late. That Yoshimo had found them a captain who would take them to Spellhold once this was done. It all hinged on Aerie's trust in Jaheira and upon Jaheira's motivation to lie well.

Edwin had insisted upon coming with her to the theatre once she had emerged from her room dressed in her green robe, the blood washed from her and her hair a portion more golden than it had been before. He had said that he would come to oversee her implementation of their plan. But Elatharia suspected he was as nervous as she was of what could follow this night. After all, they had killed a man in cold blood at his stately home, murdered his guards and set his house ablaze not much more than an hour before. Could they fight off the wronged Shadow Thieves and the law enforcing Cowled Wizards at the same time if necessary? It seemed unlikely.

The Five Flagons Inn was the sole source of welcome and noise in the quiet, sleepy Bridge District. A few windows flickered with firelight, a few chimneys sent off wisps of smoke into the dark sky, a few boats bobbed along the jetties in the river beneath the eponymous bridge. Only the Five Flagons Inn had its doors open, bleeding warm orange light into the grey street, the gentle swell and ebb of talk and laughter filtering out towards the two approaching wizards. The clatter of knives and forks reminded Elatharia that she had not eaten for hours; her stomach rumbled hopefully, only to clench with the nerves of the act she must now perform. And in the theatre, no less.

She stopped Edwin just steps from the squat inn, catching at his hand on reflex. He paused, as hoped for, twisting about to look down at her. The buttons on his jacket glinted brightly against the black plains of his clothes, matched by the glimmer of his golden torc and its central ruby. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched her face but he stepped back towards her, boots clicking on the smooth cobbles. His arm brushed her shoulder, his hand tightening a little against hers. His rings were hard against her fingers.

"I'll bring Jaheira up to talk about a plan while we eat," she forced conviction into her tone, but Edwin's brows lowered a little at her all the same, "They will be more amenable to me suggesting it if…if you aren't there."

"And if they turn on you while my Conjuration skills are absent, unable to whisk us from their hasty blades?" his voice was hushed, but no less doubtful. There was a thrill to this; the angle of his body towards hers, the focused coolness in his voice, the way his eyes watched hers. _We are allies in this._

"That won't happen. Not right away," Elatharia amended, "Viconia and Haer'Dalis would side with me. I wouldn't trust Jan to do anything."

"And the druid? The barbarian?" he seemed tense, eyes flashing in the faint firelight, "The avariel, the paladin and the priest?"

"Jaheira won't…won't let them destroy the group before it's served its purpose, at least. She'll lie until those lies no longer benefit her."

Edwin's lips curved at that and he stood straighter again.

"Then you are more similar than you believe, Transmuter," he told her, his glance catching on the cut at her neck for just a moment before lingering over her hair. "But I will not allow you to jeopardise me as well as yourself in this. We will both go down to see them in the theatre."

His hand tugged against hers, the warmth and weight of it setting her skin to aching. Looking away, she bit her lip and disentangled her fingers from his, steeling herself for what might be to come.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Jaheira had never sounded colder, and the hateful tone made Elatharia's lip curl.

Valygar was watching over the druid's shoulder, hard to read but certainly distrustful. Minsc was caught between curiosity, a friendly smile, confusion…and miserable loathing at the sight of Edwin. Only Jan was unbothered to see either of them, sending the arriving wizards a distracted wave as they stepped through into the theatre from the lobby. It looked as if most of them had been about to leave, anyway – and there was no sign of Viconia or Haer'Dalis. At least the threatening scene that Elatharia had dreaded could not come to pass, with Aerie, Mazzy and Anomen absent.

"You missed the play, mighty, glorious and magnanimous leader," Jan called, "It was a wonderful show of Haerry's…writing skill."

Jaheira grimaced as if the gnome's voice pained her. She was wrapped in her dark brown cloak over equally drab travelling leathers and looked ready to flee. From the dark bags under her eyes it seemed that she had managed even less sleep than normal. Elatharia might have expected to take some kind of triumph from affecting the druid so, but found that…she did not.

"You also missed Aerie!" Minsc added, lumbering up to Jaheira's side and appearing ready to depart with her. His smile was friendly enough for Elatharia, "She has gone with Anomen and Mazzy for the knight's…knighting."

"For the results of his test," Jaheira corrected acerbically, sending a dead-eyed glare from Rashemi to Transmuter, "It is dubious as to whether or not he will achieve the honour that is knighthood."

"Do I detect sarcasm in your tone, druid? (I had not thought her capable of subtle wit at all)," Edwin suggested, his voice sending a ripple of unease through the two rangers and Jaheira.

"Any surprises that you gain from such observations are entirely due to your own failings, Red Wizard," Jaheira dismissed, and some of the steel returned to her expression when Edwin bristled irritably, "Now. Why are you here?"

"We need to talk," Elatharia said simply, gesturing at the cut on her neck, "The Shadow Thieves turned against us without provocation. They attacked us outside the Planar Sphere after they learned that Yoshimo has found us someone who will take us to Spellhold. We need to act against them before they come for us first."

The lie came more easily than she had expected, but it was a relief when Viconia and Haer'Dalis appeared from behind the partition of the stage's backdrop, two allies of hers whom she could rely on to back up and embellish her wooden falsehoods.

"What? This is unreasonable…dishonourable…Boo is wrathful! Minsc is…is…what is Minsc, Boo? Minsc's wrath will be shown to all of the Shadow Thieves and spread to each of them liberally!"

The Rashemi's enthusiasm was juxtaposed by Jaheira's absolute failure to respond. At his side, the druid just looked from Conjurer to Transmuter, her face ashen and her expression empty. She gave a faint nod, shoulders rigid.

"Well, this is hardly surprising. And it isn't boring, I'll give it that," Jan offered as he joined the group now gathering by the lobby door. Viconia and Haer'Dalis were just reaching them also, expressions curious.

"I find it hard to believe that everything you say is true," Valygar noted quietly, frowning at Elatharia over Jaheira's shoulder, "But the world would be a better place with the Shadow Thieves weakened. I will not aid you in this – but I will await your call to Spellhold, Jaheira." He clasped her shoulder as he passed her, and his gaze was weighty as he passed Elatharia on his way out.

Edwin waved the ranger's words away with him, affecting as much disdainful dismissal as it was possible to put into such a hand gesture.

"We who prefer action over idiocy must make plans for this venture," the Red Wizard insisted, "Because I think it is quite clear (to anyone with even half of the intellect possessed by the Rashemi's rodent) that we cannot storm the Shadow Thieves' complex and live."

"Wise words, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis nodded, although something about his smirk suggested that he was mocking the Conjurer. Edwin seemed to feel it too, fixing the tiefling with a fearsome glare. Viconia watched them both with a raised eyebrow.

"Planning sounds like a good idea," Jan nodded enthusiastically at Minsc's wrist-level, "I could draw some diagrams and make some lists…"

"In your own time maybe, Jan," Elatharia agreed, "But right now I'm hungry. I think we should make plans while we eat, personally."

* * *

The Radiant Heart was an ancient order long of the city of Athkatla. As far as Aerie could make out, it was an amalgamation of knights sworn to Helm, Lathander, Tyr and Torm; the holy symbols of each of these gods hung upon huge draperies between the pillars down this mighty vaulted hall, each equidistant from the next. The floor, of smooth pink marble, glittered with strands of quartz, all of it polished until Aerie felt that her feet might slip out from under her at any moment.

Plainsong was soaring as if to greet them as a colourfully cloaked guard led the entering trio to the robed men awaiting them before the altar. But the choir, a combination of girls and boys all clad in simple grey robes, were facing away from them, looking up at the huge circular stained glass window which caught the last rays of the sinking sun and sent it scattering, surely brighter than before, out across the hall in pinks and oranges. The glass had been coloured and shaped to show Lathander's sun sigil, and above it hung a vast metal hand-and-eye. This left little doubt that the Morning Lord and Helm were indeed the chief gods of the Radiant Heart.

It seemed that the hall had been prepared for their arrival, for surely a place like this would not be so void of people? This cathedral-like chamber was just the opening space that led onto the quarters and classrooms and courtyards of the Radiant Heart. The thought that those three men at the steps of the altar were indeed waiting for them, and that the servants and guards lining the walls were all there to tend to this ceremony, set Aerie's legs wobbling as surely as had the play earlier.

And at least the play was over now. It had been an…interesting experience, and the others had seemed pleased. But it had been hard to look at Haer'Dalis and speak her lines knowing that Viconia was watching. And knowing what she did of their complicity in Elatharia's plans, however much Jaheira may have stopped them before it was too late.

When they passed the halfway point of the hall, Mazzy's small hand closed firmly around Aerie's elbow, pulling the avariel back from Anomen's side to walk with the halfling instead.

"We are but his supporters in this, and he must appear strong and independent. You cannot take the knighthood with him, nor for him," Mazzy told her a little sternly, though her bright blue eyes were not the annoyed side of serious when Aerie looked down at the halfling.

Though the words stung a little, Aerie nodded in understanding, looking around now at Anomen's broad, straight back. He had been quiet and tense since he came to them with the news that today would be the day when he could learn of his knighthood…or of his failure. He wore the rainbow-cloak of the Radiant Heart as a half-cloak, to denote his…pending…status. Its vibrant colours did not altogether match his russet velvet doublet, or indeed his copper hair. Aerie refused to believe that this was an omen, and had indeed told him that it suited him. Belief was always important in these things, surely?

The guard stopped them a few paces from the three men waiting by the altar – which did in fact bear the symbols of the Heart's four official gods. He continued a step or two further before whirling about and clicking his heels together, watching a point on the far wall between Anomen and the waiting officials.

"I present to you the initiate Anomen Delryn, priest in the service of Helm. Long has he served, and well has he honoured the tenets of the Faith of Helm. But now he comes before you, before the light of Lathander and in the sight of Helm, a humble supplicant for the honour of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. Kneel, initiate, before those whose duty it is to lead the great Order. Helm sees all. Know that, and be judged!"

Anomen took three careful steps forward, and knelt before the shadow of Helm's huge metal hand, head bowed. A few of his copper curls fell forward over his brow and Aerie's fingers itched with the urge to push it back for him as Mazzy tugged her over to stand to one side. Instead, she clutched the halfling paladin's hand tightly in her own.

"That is Sir Ryan Trawl, the leader of the Order," Mazzy whispered, nodding towards the grey-haired man in shining plate mail who stepped up now, a scroll open in his hands.

His face was tanned and craggy, a well-kept but rather fussy beard clinging to his chin. His eyes were bright and blue, almost piercing enough to rival Mazzy's, as he read from that scroll in a deep voice that sounded well used to being heard…and listened to. To either side of him stood equally well-armed men, both in middle age; one had his hand resting on a sword at his hip, its pommel a pink jewel. His breastplate bore the symbol of Torm and he was watching Anomen's bowed head with an expression which appeared to be one of…fondness. A row of grey-hooded figures watched proceedings.

"And beside him are Keldorn Firecam, Champion of Torm, and Eventis Ilvastarr, a Watcher of Helm."

"Anomen Delryn, the time has now come for you to put aside your youthful sins, as all of us have done, and to see your actions judged before Helm. Do you heed our judgement and stand by your application to join the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart?"

"Yes, my Lord of the Order," Anomen agreed, his voice strong in spite of the nerves that Aerie knew he felt.

"Then we shall proceed. I, Sir Ryan Trawl, Master of the Order, stand as the voice of Helm and with me are Lord Eventis Ilvastarr and Sir Keldorn Firecam, your teacher. Six months ago you were sent upon your Wandering, to learn of the world and prove your worth before the eyes of the Order. Let us hear the evidence."

The grey-haired man with the jewelled sword whom Mazzy had indicated as Keldorn Firecam cleared his throat, straightening his back as his eyes fixed upon a point somewhere above Anomen's head.

"Your sister Moira was murdered by a man whom you felt deserved only death. There was no evidence against him nor were there grounds for his lawful murder, and though you confessed to me that you longed in your heart to do the deed…you stayed your hand. Though the impulse of unlawfulness is a weakness, your prudence was a great strength."

Was there a hint of smile on Sir Firecam's face? Anomen's shoulders seemed to relax a little. Lord Eventis Ilvastarr stepped forth now, and his smile was plain to see as he looked to Anomen.

"My son, Ajantis, was caught by the machinations and magics of an evil force in the Windspear Hills. You came upon him in the illusory form of an ogre, a bandit which the Order has vowed to kill," he gestured behind himself, and the first of the robed figures pushed back his hood, revealing the blonde-haired head of Ajantis himself.

"Let it be known that Anomen once again stayed his hand, though he spoke as any of the Order would have done in his belief that I was a maleficent monster. He waited for true judgement, and rejoiced as I did to see it done – all while acting to protect his noble-intentioned friends, whom I can vouch for from my dealings around Baldur's Gate."

As happy as Aerie was to hear these words and their likely outcome, her broadening smile wavered a little here. If only Elatharia were as noble-intentioned as Ajantis believed! For surely a champion of goodness and honour would not lie about something like that?

Another of the robed figures pushed back his hood now, and Aerie's doubts fled – Garren Windspear! The nobleman whose home they had cleared of Firkraag's influence! She had to press her hand to her mouth to hide her squeak of joy. His eyes flickered to her all the same, and a warm smile came to his face at the sight of her.

"I am Garren Windspear, lord of the Windspear Hills. My family have long held those lands, won and bravely defended by a dragonslaying ancestor of mine – only for the great wyrm Firkraag to descend upon my castle and capture my daughter, who is the dearest thing of all my life and more. Anomen Delryn and a companion…," his eyes found Aerie briefly again and she could not hold back her self-conscious giggle, feeling heat rise to her cheeks although none of the officials present paid her any heed, "They freed my daughter and brought her back to me safe and unharmed. She sends her thanks…and I give mine wholeheartedly."

Anomen glanced up at that, eyes bright. He looked a little…taken aback, truly. And when his gaze wandered to Aerie, she sent him her biggest smile though it sent the tears that had welled in her eyes tumbling down her cheeks. Mazzy shifted a little, as if uncomfortable with all of this emotion, but there was a smile on her face as well.

"Our evidence has been heard," Sir Ryan Trawl stated, his voice booming down that soaring vaulted hall, "You may rise, initiate, and hear our verdict."

Anomen was on his feet immediately, standing to rigid attention. Sir Trawl gestured to Sir Firecam and Lord Ilvastarr and each gave nods, as if reaffirming something that had been agreed before. The leader of the Order approached Anomen in a few clattering strides then, the final rays of sunlight glinting off his shining metal bracers as the sunset became night, natural light giving way seamlessly to the pale glow of ghostlights set along the pillars lining the central aisle of the hall.

"Anomen Delryn, you have shown yourself to be an honourable soul and a good man, though not without fault – as are we all. It is my pleasure to welcome you into the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and to name you Sir Anomen, Knight of Helm in our service."

They shook hands firmly, the smile finally breaking out for real on Anomen's face. Aerie jumped for joy, clapping her hands together merrily. Someone nearby laughed, and after a moment the others joined in with her impromptu applause. Anomen bit back a real laugh, remembering the appropriate words of this ceremony.

"Long live the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, for I draw from the pool of right and strike in their name," he finished, and Sir Trawl gave an appreciative nod, before finally breaking from strict ceremony and drawing him into a hug, slapping his back in the manner of human men.

When the older man stepped back, he waved to Aerie and Mazzy and the avariel fairly flew across the room and was in Anomen's arms before she had really thought it through. He was laughing now, his relief evident as he lifted her and spun about. His slight stubble tickled her cheek as he raised her, her hands grasping his strong shoulders. She clung to him, and for a moment it felt as she were soaring through the air once more, and that she really might have had wings.

"I'm so happy for you Anomen! I promised you it would all be alright!" she gasped, blushing fiercely now as he set her back on her feet.

"I think that's Sir Anomen now, lady," a deep voice intoned with some amusement, and the pair separated to see Keldorn Firecam smiling at them.

Aerie looked up at Anomen to ensure that she had understood this really was a joke, and then smiled to the old knight, stepping away a little that he might congratulate the man who had been named his pupil in the ceremony. They gave each other another of those back-slapping hugs.

"She is right, Anomen, it is as Helm ordained. You should not doubt that which cannot be altered," when he stepped back, Keldorn's expression was almost stern, even through his pride, "Never forget what it is that you have achieved this day, Anomen. Do not fall as your father did."

Those words seemed a little offensive, but Anomen seemed to understand. He clearly trusted this Sir Keldorn – Aerie was rather surprised that he had failed to mention him thus far.

Mazzy and Lord Ilvastarr came next to congratulate Anomen, each shaking his hand firmly. They were followed by Garren Windspear, Ajantis and a number of those others who had been present for the ceremony. At some point the choir had left, although Aerie had been far too distracted to notice.

"It is good to see you here again, Lady Fentan," Sir Trawl was saying to Mazzy while Anomen was receiving his praise, "It has been too long since last we spoke," he turned to Aerie then, holding out his hand for her to shake, "And you are…?"

"Aerie," the avariel said automatically, accepting the tight grip of his hand – when he paused expectantly, she blushed fiercely once more, "Oh, forgive me. I'm not…I'm not used to being in…in company r-really. It's…it's short for…that is to say – my full name is Aerdrerún Faenya-Dála. Aerie for short."

"A pleasure to meet you certainly," Sir Trawl pressed her hand between his, "Now I believe it is time for us to celebrate – we may be knights, but we do also know how to honour a happy day," he added with a wink to Aerie, "Will you and your friends be joining us, Anomen?"

"Indeed! That is…if you would like to – Mazzy…Aerie?" he was looking at her strangely, even once she nodded to show that she was more than happy to let him have this celebration. As the others started to move off to some pre-prepared room of merriment, Anomen lingered, catching Aerie's arm as she moved to pass him, "Your full name. You never said…"

"You never mentioned your teacher, Sir Firecam," Aerie pointed out, and Anomen winced. But she just smiled up at him, patting his hand where it lingered against her arm, "I…I think I prefer Aerie here, in the human lands. It has been a long time since anyone called me by my full name."

He nodded, looking a little guilty.

"Does it mean anything…I mean…"

She giggled, a little surprised by his awkwardness in truth but not displeased.

" 'The dear one of Aerdrie, of Faenya's meeting place, Faenya-Dáil,' " she told him, watching his hand as it drifted down her arm until his fingers curved beneath her palm.

He stared down at her hand for a long, quiet moment until the others had filtered through a side door and they stood alone in this vast human hall of graven stone. Anomen raised his eyes to hers only then, and there was something so sincere in that look that Aerie's stomach flipped nervously to see it.

"Not just beloved of Aerdrie, surely?" Anomen asked, a teasing hint to his tone.

"Well…I don't know. It's just a name," Aerie giggled, stepping closer and leaning forward a little, trying to get a look at his expression as his eyes fell back to her hand, his thumb drifting over her skin lightly.

"I am most glad that you came with me today, Aerie," he told her softly, holding her hand between both of his now, "You cannot know what it means to me to have one such as you believe in me so honestly. Your support was so greatly appreciated."

"You sound sad," Aerie noted, touching her free hand to his cheek and finally succeeding in seeing his face, for he raised it into her touch. The look he gave her sent her legs wobbling for the third time in the day, except this was surely the best of the three.

"Not sad, my lady," he denied, leaning closer now, his hands relinquishing hers and framing her face instead, "In awe."

He kissed her then, or she kissed him. Perhaps they met halfway. And all Aerie could think was: _I wish he could have seen my wings_.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
I'm using Old Irish as the language of the elves largely because of the name of Aerie's homeland, 'Faenya-Dail' as it's spelled in the game. One look at it, and I realised that it seems - either by coincidence or otherwise - to bear a great resemblance to the Irish word 'dáil' which means 'assembly', 'meeting place' etc. And Aerie's name always seemed a bit odd - when one looks up avariel in the Forgotten Realms Wiki, it says that they live in a place called The Aerie of the Snow Eagles. So I thought maybe she had shortened it, or someone had shortened it, into a nickname.  
Thank you so much to those who are following this story and to those who review - I always really appreciate your comments!**


	30. Treachery on All Sides: Part 2

**In which everyone seems to be lying to someone/everyone else about *something*...**

* * *

 **Chapter 29: Treachery on All Sides Part 2**

* * *

Haer'Dalis, as an employee of the Five Flagons Inn, had persuaded the innkeeper to let Elatharia and Edwin have their evening meal downstairs in the theatre, away from the crowds of other diners. They had cleared the table in the costume room and it was there that the serving woman had brought their meal.

Edwin had seemed offended by the setup, but Elatharia just took a seat and set to eating. Jaheira had placed herself at a seat as far away from them as possible, watching every movement and every interaction closely. Minsc lingered by the druid's side, wearing a look of expectant seriousness for which Boo would have to work hard as translator. With Valygar gone, the odds were comfortably in Elatharia's favour. Jaheira definitely knew that, flinching a little as Viconia and Haer'Dalis joined them at the table.

"If I were a more suspicious gnome, I would suggest that there is a room full of secrets here, to which only I – of those present and _capable,_ of course – am ignorant," Jan put in first, pulling up a seat close to Edwin and earning a wince from the Red Wizard as he clattered a small cogs-and-levers object onto the table between them. Elatharia regarded the gnome thoughtfully, setting her knife and fork down slowly. "It wouldn't have something to do with all this secrecy in general, would it?" Jan tutted, a faint smile coming to his lined face, "As if poor Uncle Jan would ever be offended by what you might do. I could have leant you the aid of my Blaster Bruiser Mates!"

Eventually, Elatharia just shook her head at him and he affected an intensely unflattering pout before rolling his small, dark eyes and shrugging. Minsc had looked a little too coherent upon hearing such words, though he said nothing for the time being.

"As you wish, masterful leader of secrets and mystery. Have it your way," Jan pretended to grumble when no explanation came, looking back down at the contraption he had placed upon the table and fiddling with a few tiny cogs and levers.

Jaheira barked a laugh, and her eyes were fixed coldly upon Elatharia when the Transmuter turned to look at her.

"We need to make a plan," Viconia insisted now, apparently utterly unaffected by the tenseness between druid and Transmuter, "The Shadow Thieves are going to be well-defended; infamously so. We do not know where Aran Linvail's base is, or in fact where he may be found at any given time during the day and night."

"You have had prior interactions with Renal Bloodscalp," Edwin pointed out, his tone blunt – as if they had all missed something obvious. The thought showed on his face when Elatharia looked at him in confusion. He spread his hands. "Aran Linvail, the leader – a figurehead most likely – of the Shadow Thieves, has his offices in the base beneath Bloodscalp's Guild House. Which is, I assume you recall, not all that far away from Yoshimo's."

"How is it that you suddenly know this…and we don't?" Elatharia insisted, and he paused to cut up some more of his dinner first. There was something triumphant and altogether too smug in his expression when he looked back at her.

"I was not a lowly fixture in the Thieves' Guild before you appeared begging at their door," he told her, "I was in fact in the process of infiltrating and undermining Mae'Var's work for Aran Linvail. (And I could have done it so much more subtly without them, hm.)"

Well, that was information which they could have done with earlier. Elatharia knew that her resulting grimace must of have told him so, but Edwin just raised an eyebrow at her and took a careful sip from his glass of wine. She sighed. It was too late to change anything now, anyway.

"I would like to point out that such information as that will only give us the ability to kill ourselves in the process of an overindulgent and ultimately farcical assault upon the main complex. I would suggest that we attempt to think in more subtle terms than what our Sparrowhawk has suggested," Haer'Dalis said. He looked to Viconia, and she smiled slowly as understanding seemed to come to her, too.

" _Khal'abbil_ , this does sound more promising. Think of it – we have a number of collaborators who continue to dwell under the patronage of Gaelan Bayle. Two of whom sit in our confidence now," she gestured casually to Minsc and Jaheira, who tensed at the comment, "Could we perhaps achieve something more…clandestine?"

"This does sound promising!" Jan agreed enthusiastically, but the drow completely ignored him. Haer'Dalis sent him an amused nod. Minsc's brow furrowed. Perhaps he was struggling with 'clandestine'?

Elatharia watched the tiefling and the drow for a moment, wondering when it was that they had started to scheme together so successfully. It took her another moment or too, staring down thoughtfully at the wine swirling in her glass, before she had considered all of the variables. Realisation sparked, and bloomed into light behind her eyes. With a gasp that soon became a grin, she caught Edwin's arm – dragging his attention back from his food to her.

"It's entirely plausible that _we_ could betray the Shadow Thieves. It's not all that plausible that Aerie, Minsc, Anomen and Jaheira would. In fact – since we've all been living mostly in two separate groups for a while now, they might even be expecting a fracture like that."

Edwin's mildly irritated expression smoothed into understanding at her words. Her grin widened when he finally started to smile. Jaheira was looking at them strangely when Elatharia turned back to her. Distrust, hate…and disbelief?

"We're going to need you to lie, Harpy," she told the druid with some glee.

"And just what lie would that be this time, monster?" Jaheira spat back. Elatharia's skin prickled at the words and her smile slid away but she continued regardless.

"Ideally I'd have you take Aerie – but that's not going to work. No one ever was a worse liar," Elatharia allowed, "So I need you to go with Haer'Dalis and Jan instead – we'll need a spellcaster who they won't necessarily kill on sight."

"(They might try against this spellcaster, and they would fail,)" the Red Wizard corrected beside her, and she realised she had not yet relinquished his arm. She did so now, and grimaced when Viconia smirked at her.

"Well, I for one look forward to this chance to act some more – and indeed to do it for such a greater purpose," Haer'Dalis grinned enthusiastically, "Though I feel there is some kind of insult to be had in your belief that the Shadow Thieves will be unsurprised to see me on the side of the Ptarmigan when I have spent so long in your company, my Raven."

"Don't take it as an insult," Elatharia suggested, "Just take it as a hint."

Viconia laughed, sitting back in her chair and eyeing the tiefling beside her.

"What is it that I am to lie about?" Jaheira cut in now, voice tight.

"I would imagine it involves our betrayal of the Shadow Thieves," Edwin explained haughtily, as if she were stupid. Jan blinked at him expectantly, but the Red Wizard just smirked, his gaze passing over Minsc's distrustful glare, "Or at least, that is what you will have them believe," he amended with an amused tilt of his head.

"Tell Gaelan Bayle that you need to warn them of our treachery," Elatharia nodded, "That you can't condone it and nor can the others – like Aerie and Anomen – but that you need to get it to Aran Linvail immediately, or else he'll be in grave danger because you need to pass on some important arcane information which only Jan can impart…"

"…When in reality, I will be laying Illusions, sending out Abjurations and no doubt eventually weaving a portal through which you may follow!" Jan fairly cackled, slapping his leg, "Excellent! Most excellent. And a good 'lie' indeed, to tell to our more innocent friends. That you aren't really traitors, of course." He looked around at them all innocently when several suspicious glares shot his way, "What? I may be a bit of a joker, but I'm not an idiot." Jan sighed for emphasis, shaking his head at the four who had been dwelling in the Planar Sphere. Meanwhile, Minsc was frowning faintly at the gnome, but his expression was one more of concern than understanding. He muttered some question to Boo, and frowned in greater confusion at whatever answer he got.

"Very well. Then that is what we must do," Jaheira nodded tersely. Her pales eyes met Elatharia's green ones, and as ever they were in agreement about one thing. _For Imoen_.

* * *

Aerie nearly leaped out of her skin and only just brought her hands up to her mouth to stifle her shriek when Yoshimo's dark-clad figure stepped in front of Gaelan Bayle's front door. She stumbled back into Anomen all the same, her mind fogged with the small amount of wine that had been successfully pressed upon her, and he put an arm across her back to steady her. Happy warmth bloomed in her at the contact, but she narrowed her eyes at the Kara-Turan watching them quietly from the doorway.

"What is it that you want, Yoshimo?" Anomen demanded, his hand tightening on Aerie's shoulder.

The Kara-Turan patted at the air between them, approaching down the steps to join them on the path. He had a heavy bag over one shoulder and his free gloved hand was utterly empty. Still, something was clearly _wrong_.

Jaheira emerged from the dark garden, and Aerie let out a sigh of relief. They had left Mazzy at the Five Flagons Inn, but now that Jaheira was here surely nothing could be done against them? In spite of all that Aerie had witnessed of the Kara-Turan's propensity to consort with evil; in his own silent, passive way she felt that perhaps he was just as bad as Edwin. And that would never have occurred to her without the scrying which Jaheira had insisted she perform. With the druid present, that must mean he had renounced his bad connections, and that Jaheira truly had pulled Elatharia back to a better path.

"J-Jaheira?" Aerie asked, and the druid flinched. For just a moment the druid's pale eyes were full of grief.

"We must get out of here," the druid said with no preamble, ushering the avariel and the new knight back down the path and onto the road, "Jan's Illusions will not last very long and we must be away from here quickly."

"What? What's happening?" Aerie grasped the druid's arm even as Jaheira started to lead the four of them back the way the avariel had just come with Anomen. She glanced back at Yoshimo, and he just smiled at her placidly. "Where are we going?"

"To the Planar Sphere," Jaheira did not meet her eyes and her pace was a little too fast, "I may have managed to persuade Elatharia from her evil road, but it would seem…"

"I have found a contact at the docks who will take us to Spellhold without the help of the Shadow Thieves. Our leader is not a patient woman, and as you know she was not happy with the long wait that they had been subjecting us to," Yoshimo finished from behind them, and for a moment Aerie rejoiced, "The Shadow Thieves have not taken kindly to this. They assaulted Elatharia and Edwin earlier in the day and our two wizards went to warn those at the theatre while you were with the Order."

The threads of information which the disparate parts of the group had managed to share in Aerie's absence were dizzying. She could not quite fathom how this had been achieved. Surely she, Anomen and Mazzy had not been gone that long?

"What about our possessions?" Anomen exclaimed, twisting about to gesture at the dwindling shape of Gaelan Bayle's house down the street and nearly colliding with Yoshimo, "How can I defend myself without my armour? What of my ancestral shield?"

He was at least wearing his sword at his hip, though he was sworn against using it.

"Fear not, good – knight, is it now?" Yoshimo's tone was a little too mocking for Aerie's taste, "For I carry all that you and the avariel possess here in this bag."

"Wh-what about Minsc?" Aerie's heart was pounding as she asked it. She was not prepared for such sudden distress! And she had drunk a little too much wine, too.

"He remained with us at the theatre when you left," Jaheira promised, though her words were clipped.

Aerie's boots skidded slightly on the wet cobblestones when the druid pulled her around the next corner. Why were they taking the backstreets to the Planar Sphere? It was pitch black and deserted out here in the Slums. Would it not have been safer to walk where the Shadow Thieves would not see them? Unease had settled upon Aerie's being, and she grasped blindly for Anomen's hand. He obliged, and his hold was strong and warm and gentle. Perhaps she was a fool, but it comforted her.

"A-alright," the avariel nodded, though her heart was galloping in her chest by the time the Planar Sphere came into view, halfway down the usual, narrow backstreet. She had not entered since Valygar had carried Lavok out. The memory of that poor accursed man deteriorating to dust in the Athkatlan light still set her eyes stinging.

The light of day was utterly gone, the sky pure velvet blackness above them, and Anomen faltered a little in the darkness. Yoshimo did not seem to have such trouble, and moved past them in spite of his heavy bag. It seemed rather impressive that he was carrying the possessions of both her and Anomen, given that the priest's breastplate alone would have been a feat to lift for Aerie.

Jaheira's lowlight vision was an advantage here, as it was for the avariel. No doubt the druid could see as clearly as Aerie that the Sphere's bronze tiles yet glinted with the reflected lantern light filtering down the street from the main road. The stairs were a blue bruise in the darkness, but it was possible to find them even once Jaheira had moved ahead, a few steps behind Yoshimo's ascending form.

Anomen tugged back against Aerie's hand when they reached the top of the scaffold, the door of the Sphere wide open. The light within was a little too bright to be inviting, but it was less fearsome than the deep darkness. Thus it was with some unwillingness that the avariel turned to look back at him. They could see each other more clearly now in the Sphere's illumination, but it felt unwise to linger before the open door like that, letting the light spill out and frame them for the whole district to see.

She had not expected to see him looking so hurt.

"What is it, Anomen?"

He backed up a little when she reached out for him. A glance back through the door showed that Yoshimo had passed into the deeper depths of the Sphere. Jaheira was watching grimly from the spherical atrium, dark leathers striking against the plain white floor and walls.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"T-tell you of what?" Aerie was momentarily confused, and more than a little alarmed. Anomen's brows raised in disbelief.

"If I did not know better I would think that is half a lie, my lady!" he admonished, and it was Aerie's turn to feel hurt. Her arms fell to her sides, and she watched the human man with wide eyes.

"Jaheira said that Elatharia had almost turned down an evil path, and that she had persuaded her from it. She spoke those words to you as if this issue was already known between you!"

"It…it was necessary to avoid an…e-escalation," Aerie wished her voice did not tremble so when she spoke such a simple truth! "I h-had wanted to tell you and Mazzy both, but I could not until I knew for certain that Jaheira had resolved the situation."

"And what situation was that?" his eyes were unhappily distrustful, and Aerie bit her lip against the tide that welled within her at such a sight.

"W-we should speak of it inside," she offered more quietly, peering into the darkness over her shoulder and not liking the half-seen houses and barrels visible on the road below. "I don't think it's safe out here."

"She is right, priest," Jaheira agreed sharply, coming up to the doorway now and beckoning sharply for them to follow her inside. Still she wore that frown, and it looked bleaker than ever before.

The new knight drew himself up, though he did at least nod at those sensible words.

"I do wish that you could have trusted me, my lady," he sighed, and Aerie just gave a faint nod. She was beginning to wish that she had been more insistent with Jaheira, too.

She looked back at the street one last time as he passed her…and saw the figure of a woman, dark clad and thin, blinking back up at her from the bottom of the steps. Aerie gasped and lurched back; Anomen caught her just as he had before.

"What is it, Aerie?"

"A…a woman," the avariel exclaimed, though now that she looked again there was no one to be seen, "There was a woman watching us."

Anomen grimaced, looking in vain into the darkness and pulling her much smaller frame into his strong side.

"The Shadow Thieves, I would expect," he suggested, and Aerie nodded.

"We should go inside," Aerie murmured, and at last he followed her advice.

Neither noticed Jaheira's doubtful grimace as she closed the door behind them.

* * *

For the first time since Lavok's death, the octagonal central room of the Planar Sphere was full of people. There were only just enough chairs around its circular table with Yoshimo just leaving the bag of possessions taken form Gaelan Bayle's house in one corner and Jaheira following shortly afterwards with Anomen and Aerie in tow. Both looked dazed, but they eyed Viconia, Edwin, Haer'Dalis and Korgan with open distrust. Aerie's gaze lingered on Yoshimo as well, more thoughtful than hateful, and she slid into a seat beside him nonetheless. Minsc, at his other side, leaned around the bounty hunter to smile at the arriving avariel. A few promises that this sudden flight from the Shadow Thieves was necessary, for goodness, and he had followed readily. He had only insisted that he have Boo and his greatsword with him.

Only Valygar and Mazzy were absent. Perhaps it was just as well that they were – both seemed to have a worrying tendency for disassembling lies and reconstituting them with the real truth. Both would have turned on Elatharia in a second if they knew the real reason for this treachery of the Shadow Thieves. Anomen might yet. It was at least a relief to realise that of those present only Minsc, Anomen and Aerie remained fully in the dark about their continued treachery. Lying was not painful for Elatharia, but it did not come naturally either.

As everyone settled themselves, the automatic politics of the group made itself rather more visually obvious than it had done in some time. Elatharia found herself flanked by Edwin and Korgan, Minsc eyeing the Red Wizard intently from the dwarf's other side. The Conjurer seemed to have chosen his position primarily because it afforded him closest access to the door up to the library – and one of the control mechanisms for this room. Haer'Dalis and Viconia had taken seats to Edwin's other side, putting the entire table – thus effectively the entire room – between them and Anomen and Aerie. The avariel was still watching Yoshimo, who was sitting carefully still between her and Minsc. There was an empty seat between Jaheira and Anomen, and the druid was keeping her eyes fixed upon the polished table beneath her clasped hands. Jan filled in the gap between her and Viconia.

It was Jaheira who spoke first.

"The Sphere is being watched," Jaheira informed curtly, flinching a little as Jan fidgeted beside her. The room's strangely perfect acoustics were in full evidence here; her voice sounded clearly for all of those around the table, without the slightest hint of an echo.

Aerie nodded her agreement, large eyes scanning over all of those in this strangely decorative room. The domed ceiling reflected the diffuse conjured light, illuminating the dramatic painting of a huge spellbattle upon its surface…and filling the whole pale room beneath.

"I think that is to be expected, i-isn't it? If the Shadow Thieves attacked you," she winced sympathetically to see the cut on Elatharia's neck, and Edwin drummed his fingernails on the table beside the Transmuter's elbow as if to signal that he felt the layers of lies and deceptions here as distinctly as she did.

"Yes," Elatharia cleared her throat.

A glance at Edwin, Viconia and Haer'Dalis showed that none of them seemed uncomfortable with this. But she knew, as surely they did, that whomever Aerie had seen outside had not been Shadow Thieves. So, Bodhi was keeping an eye on them. It was as it must be – they had nothing to hide from her.

"Boo says it is not at all safe to be trapped within this Sphere," Minsc put in, a rather downcast look upon his large face, "That we must show them our swords now, and take quick vengeance upon them for their treachery, lest they descend upon us first!"

"Indeed, that would be entirely sensible (idiot)," Edwin drawled, leaning forward in his seat, lip curling. His elbow bumped Elatharia's as he moved, and his arm stayed warm against hers thereafter. "If you were not relying upon _wizards_ to keep you from skewering yourself promptly upon quicker blades."

"And why might you not have all of your spells prepared now, Red Wizard?" Anomen demanded, though Aerie placed a small hand upon his sleeve as if to stop him. He ignored her, folding his arms across his chest and levelling him with a hard stare. Well, this was new. Since when had the priest had such nerve?

"Why would we waste our time memorising our most powerful and taxing spells until they were necessary?" Elatharia shot back, and the priest's expression faltered a little as he looked to her. He glanced at Aerie, whose grip tightened on his arm. She shook her head, minutely.

Anomen's frown did not abate, and Edwin flashed his teeth in a wolfish smile, as if just willing the priest to attempt to continue.

"Just what was it that kept you both away for so long?" the Red Wizard inquired, and it was Aerie who drew herself up, tilting her chin defiantly.

"Anomen was knighted today. Part of a noble cause which you will never understand," she told him, her high voice wavering just a little – but her delicate, angular features stern.

Viconia sniggered, and Edwin's smirk only widened. Elatharia rolled her eyes, looking at him pointedly to hint for silence.

"A wonder, really, given your…family history," Edwin noted all the same, eyes fixed with a malevolent twinkle upon Anomen, "I would be unsurprised to learn that a few bribes were required to secure this new honour for you, eh, priest of Helm?"

Anomen's rage flared, and he was halfway to his feet, hands on the table, before the shaft of Jaheira's spear came to bear, pushing him back suddenly into his chair. He slumped, utterly off balance, and Aerie gave a little gasp. Anomen just stared up at the druid who had leapt to her feet to stop him, open mouthed and momentarily without comprehension. Edwin sat back, something thoughtful in his eyes now. He hardly acknowledged Elatharia's disbelieving look, but for a slight quirk of one eyebrow.

"That is enough!" Jaheira exclaimed, "I have had enough of this endless baiting and bickering. Collect yourselves and listen to the plan. There is no time to waste!"

"Ha! I'd a' preferred to see a bit o' bloodshed first," Korgan chuckled, slapping the arms of his chair and throwing Elatharia a look that was surprisingly unaggressive, "But I think th' one who hands out me pay might o' had a few words with me fer permittin' the timely death of 'er Red Wizard."

"I am not anyone's…" Edwin started, but his indignant words were drowned out by equally outraged – or amused – comments from those around the table.

The clamour rose for a few moments; Anomen and Aerie with eyes wide and eyebrows high, aghast while Korgan bellowed more offers of manslaughter and Jan offered some anecdotes that only he found amusing. Minsc was muttering to Boo, and looked decidedly disappointed that Anomen had not leapt across the table to try to take Edwin's head. Jaheira's attempts to shout all of them down were failing, and the fraught look on her face was turning to frustration and anger. Only Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Yoshimo remained silent with Elatharia, who ground her teeth and thought of her promises. To Bodhi. To Imoen. And to herself.

The Transmuter stood suddenly, her chair screeching over the polished ground, and only Edwin paused, leaning back to look up at her with sudden amusement. Perhaps he realised her intent. When no one else turned to her, she gave a sigh…and reached into the Weave, her hands twisting to the rhythm of her spellwords. The magic left her with a faint ripple of air, a bubble spreading out from her body to engulf the whole room. She was indiscriminate in those whom it touched; Edwin's rings and robes protected him, and it was likely that Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Korgan would successfully resist also, given their magic-hardy natures.

The rest of the room fell utterly silent. Korgan stopped chortling in surprise, and then wheezed out some genuine bellows of laughter when he realised what had befallen. Haer'Dalis looked around, grinning now, as the others gesticulated and mouthed their comments for a moment longer before realising it was futile. A glance at Korgan was enough to silence the dwarf too – perhaps he could see the threat of less pay that lingered in her angry green eyes.

"Enough," Elatharia insisted, leaning her palms on the table and eyeing all of those before her with some significantly vehement irritation.

Aerie, Anomen, Minsc and Jaheira all bore variations of scandalised expressions; Jan was in stitches (silently) and Yoshimo had never opened his mouth to begin with. It was an improvement, at least.

"Now that I have your attention, I'd like to point out that we need to bring down the Shadow Thieves tomorrow. They left this cut on my neck," she gestured at the injury, and could almost believe the lie herself by now. She ignored the flash of memory, of the man – her brother – dissolving into golden dust before her eyes. "And they will not stop there. We can't bring them down with brute force alone," at that Minsc looked decidedly shocked, "So we need to use their tactics against them. We need to be cunning," at which comment, Anomen and Aerie shared a worried glance, "I'm sending Jaheira, Haer'Dalis and Jan into the headquarters, to pretend to be whistleblowers against us. They will demand to see Aran Linvail, and I'm sure you will all agree when I say they are likely to believe Jaheira when she says she has turned against me."

Edwin chuckled at that, and Viconia raised an eyebrow. Jaheira's eyes narrowed, and she gave an all too self-satisfied nod. At least she would have the chance to tell the truth to someone.

"Jan will set up a portal to get us inside. So be ready by dawn tomorrow. Because that's when we're going to bring down the Shadow Thieves."

She looked down at Edwin then, intending to gauge the responses of her allies, and was struck by the fierceness of his eyes on her. She swallowed hard, and looked away sharply. Those around the table were watching her with understandably rapt attention. At the sight of them so mute for once, her lip curled and the sarcasm rolled easily from her tongue.

"Any questions?"

* * *

The _Silence_ spell had been effective, Jaheira would give Elatharia that. But the weight of her lies was heavy, and she knew that sleep would not come easily to her – as if it ever would now, when there yawned that aching open space across her bed. Over her life. _Khalid, let Silvanus hear my vow…my plea…_

The Planar Sphere was large, but it had not been made for a large number of guests. Most of its space seemed to be taken up with unseen machinery, or that vast empty chamber which the others called 'the Viewing Room'. There were also the places below, where Jan had disappeared down to not long ago, where the walls were made of metal and the pipes were in the open, where two golems – one peeled of its clay – stood amongst shelves of spare parts, vast books and obscure tools, along with the portals, disused as they were. The place stank of technology – literally, in places – and was undoubtedly a foreign thing, warped to human needs. It did not belong on the Prime Material Plane. She had heard some of the others murmuring that it came from Minauros, one of the Nine Hells. A fitting place for Elatharia and her lackeys.

Only the garden room held any hint of peace, false though it was. The roof was opaque, letting through a diffuse and – at this hour – dim light. It could have been a sunset in the wilds, with trees around and brilliant green vines tangled between them, ferns and grasses tall under foot. The central pond looked natural, too, with flowering plants dotting the greenery around it. Fish swam within, amongst water plants, and there was a bush near the rock upon which she sat that held a ripe crop of edible berries. The doors around this disguised room were just out of sight from here, five of them dotted around the circular chamber.

The Planar Sphere may have been large, but it did not have enough rooms for all of them. Even with Elatharia's sleeping quarters somewhere else, no doubt past that door through which she and Edwin had disappeared back in the octagonal meeting room, the others were going to have to double up. It had been made quite clear that the Red Wizard had a room here in the garden area just like the others, and he would not share. Viconia and Haer'Dalis had disappeared into one, which left Anomen to share with Minsc, Yoshimo to share with Korgan, and Jaheira to share with Aerie. Jan had promised that he had found a cot down in the lower rooms.

It had been a long time since Jaheira had shared a double bed. Her last partner had been Khalid, many months before. Six months before, in Baldur's Gate. Then they had set out north…and been ambushed by Irenicus in the night not fifty miles from that city. Jaheira's fists clenched at the thought. It still mystified her, how he had known who they were, and where to find them with such efficient accuracy, appearing in a whirlwind of sound a magic. Her fingers ached with the memory of Khalid's grip being torn from hers for the last time.

Most of the others had gone to bed, and when Jaheira saw the forms of Aerie and Anomen picking their way through the greenery, she stood from her rock and picked up her spear, turning about for the door behind her which would lead to her room. She left it ajar, so that the avariel would know to enter without need of knocking. She could hear their hushed voices; Aerie's high and Anomen's low. There was a faintly strained tone to their words.

Within, the room was pale white and very simple. A large bed, an empty bookcase, an archway leading to a separate washing area, and a chair and table. It was pointlessly spacious, typical of wizards and their egotistical ways – even if the lack of decoration was not. Jaheira was a little glad to be sharing with Aerie – she would have had no idea how to dispel the light in the room before sleep. There were no candles, no lanterns and certainly no windows here. Artificial light had always made her uncomfortable.

The druid had set aside her possessions, washed, and changed into the tunic and leggings she favoured for bed by the time that Aerie and Anomen's conversation drifted into earshot. Though she chose the side of the bed furthest from the entrance and turned her back upon it, the slightly open doorway made it impossible not to hear the words spoken, especially given their tense tones.

* * *

"This is…this is madness. How can you trust them to honour their word to Jaheira? These people…these _creatures_ are at least as evil as the Shadow Thieves! What right do we have to choose sides?" Anomen demanded, only half remembering to keep his voice a whisper as he caught Aerie by the shoulder. She had been about to bid him goodnight and turn for her room; Jaheira had left the door ajar for her.

"I…I _am_ sorry that we couldn't tell you," Aerie promised, looking up into his handsome, earnest face and saddened to see him so conflicted. He had not taken the information about Elatharia's almost-betrayal well. "B-but it would not have changed anything. Jaheira has…has persuaded them out of their desperate plan, and now we have to trust them to hold to their promises."

"Trust? Trust…," Anomen sounded understandably frustrated, but Aerie's brows drew together at his cynicism, "There can be no trust with those who have consorted with those who lurk in the night and cover themselves in greater secrecy then the Shadow Thieves. Where are these shadowy figures now? What were they going to do with them?"

"I…I don't know," Aerie admitted, looking down at her hands, her stomach sinking, "I think that will be a problem which we will have to deal with as well."

Anomen laughed tensely and she grimaced, not looking up at him. How could they have gone from a sweet kiss in the halls of the Radiant Heart and celebrations with the Order to this, arguing over the morality of staying with the allies they kept? She felt guilty.

"I understand if you feel that you c-can't stay," she told him, watching her own hands fidgeting and ignoring the weight of his touch on her shoulder. Her heart was sinking, but her words poured forth in a whisper. "I know they aren't all the good people that you had h-hoped for. B-but Jaheira is alone in this world without Imoen, and she sees her as her daughter. I have to stay for them. Because I….I won't see Jaheira hurt any more than she already is. Because her and Minsc are good, kind and honest. And because they have told me stories of Imoen, and how much they love her."

She hated the way her emotions swelled, the tears coming to her eyes, and bit her lip to stop it trembling even as Anomen stepped closer, catching her chin in his hand and tilting her head back. His expressive hazel eyes were bright as they met hers, just as they had been earlier.

"I will not abandon them either, or you – who are more noble and generous than words allow," Anomen vowed fervently.

Her smile of relief spilled her tears over her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb before leaning closer, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. She sighed, closing her eyes, her body bending back a little to allow him to embrace her. He was so much larger than her! The thought almost made her giggle, his closeness almost banishing her fears.

Instinctively, she hooked her hand behind his neck, fingers smoothing up over his skin to tangle in his thick hair. Her lips found his, and they clung together. The contact stole her breath. She gasped, only for them to come together again. His arm looped around her, his hand flat against her lower back, pulling her closer as the other settled against the side of her face, holding the kiss. She trembled out of something other than stress now.

At last, flushed and dazed, hearts pounding, they parted enough to look into each other's eyes. Their laughter welled up giddily.

"I'm so glad," Aerie admitted belatedly, her heart swelling to see Anomen's deceivingly roguish grin. His eyes looked much darker than they had before now as they searched her face.

"As am I, to be with you," he told her, and her heart flipped.

"What…what is this?" she ventured. Anomen seemed too distracted by her closeness to worry at her words, or her nervous tone.

"A beautiful moment that shines through the harshness of the deeds we must yet endure," he met her eyes with a surprisingly knowing expression, "Need we rush into explanations?"

Relief bloomed.

"No," Aerie agreed, smiling anew even as he released her, his expression bashful.

"Good. And now, little as I may wish it, I believe we ought to go to our beds," Anomen pointed out, drawing a blush from the avariel. The way he took her hand, his fingers warm and gentle against hers, it felt remarkably intimate. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and her breath caught, "Goodnight, my Lady Aerie."

"G-goodnight," Aerie echoed, before a hint of mischief found her. He raised an eyebrow curiously to see her sudden smile. " _Sir_ Anomen Delryn."

* * *

"We could be on a ship to Spellhold tomorrow."

Elatharia's voice, sudden and a little hoarse from their long silence, pulled Edwin from his thoughts. He had been staring down at his spellbook but not really seeing the symbols and notes; he had finished memorising his spells over an hour ago, his tea cold at his elbow. He closed his book, its spine crackling loudly in the large room and grating against the still thoughtfulness that had descended upon his tired mind.

Edwin looked up slowly to see Elatharia watching him. Her hair had fallen out of its bun behind her head, the streak of blonde taking up a significant section of her hair now. It shimmered in the light, straighter and better behaved than the rest of her – strikingly much darker – hair. She still wore her mask, and that green Traveller's Robe. Silly girl. The Robe of Vecna would have been a better choice with such dangers lurking all around them, even here in the Planar Sphere. Especially here, now that the two priests and the Rashemi had joined them.

"I would expect so," the Red Wizard agreed eventually, leaning back in his chair to look at her more clearly. She had taken the chair beside his, but the curve of the table meant that he would have otherwise had to twist around uncomfortably to see her face properly, "If Bodhi holds to her promises."

"Yoshimo seems certain that she will," Elatharia noted, pulling her feet up onto her chair and hugging her legs to her chest. No boots while in this room, as always. The wrapped nature of her dress meant that the skirt parted a little, revealing much of one bare leg.

"A good reason to think that she will not," Edwin offered, but the Transmuter shook her head, grimacing even as she rested her chin on her knees.

"Both of them have said they have business at Spellhold," her eyes found his again, a brilliant green in the additional candlelight flickering on the table before them. Her frown smoothed out. "But neither of them have said why. They have prior dealings." She pressed her lips together, clasping her hands against her legs more tightly. "I feel like there is no one left to trust."

"Trust would always have been a mistake," Edwin noted, reaching out to pick up his teacup and thinking better of it at the last moment when he remembered it was cold. He traced the golden patterns on the porcelain briefly instead. Thinking. Thinking. "In my experience trust is always a mistake. You should never have trusted the Shadow Thieves. The avariel should never have trusted you. We must stay one step ahead of our enemies, or our future enemies…"

"Can I trust _you_?" her voice wavered.

He looked up at her sharply, his breath clawing inwards. Her eyes widened to see his deep frown.

Silly girl.

"No," he told her distinctly, slowly.

She looked down at her feet, silent for a long moment.

"Don't betray me at Spellhold, Edwin."

The words were high, quiet…sad? But they held a threat, he knew. He just inclined his head, acceding the point. It was hardly a promise he could keep, with Bodhi's threats lingering at the back of his mind. But he could understand the threat. He could respect it.

"You should not trust your sister, either. Men like Irenicus deal in all the weapons of magic. Men like him throw geasa around as readily as the avariel administers healing."

She flinched, and did not meet his eyes. On a frustrated impulse, he caught the arm of her chair and pulled it towards him. It screeched unceremoniously over the marble floor, juddering a little and forcing her to overbalance. Her foot braced itself against his leg lest she topple, and her hand caught his bared forearm where he had rolled up his sleeves.

"I would know if she were geased, Edwin," Elatharia denied softly, "And I have to trust her. She is the only one who I have ever known whom I can trust."

"She has been gone from you for – effectively – half a year. In the hands of Irenicus. She will very likely not be the same girl you knew."

Her hand tightened on his arm, gripping more firmly than he would have expected. Without thought, her thumb traced over the spiralling patterns of tattoos on his skin. For a moment, his mind went blank. Oh.

"I am not the girl she knew, either," Elatharia told him, her other hand flipping his wrist over, a fingertip smoothing up the line that marked one vein. He watched her face, and the strip of cloth that hid her markings, fighting the distraction. "But she is all there is to trust." She caught the sentence, stopping it there – as if she had intended to say more.

"We, all of us, are changed," Edwin pointed out distractedly. Elatharia laughed bitterly.

"You think your few days in a transmuted shape is comparable to what Irenicus did to us?"

Ah, he recalled her words. _Live dissection. Mental disassembly…Did he rape you? No. Did he have someone else do it?_ The silence had been answer enough. Even Szass Tam would have had more finesse, and _he_ had – by all accounts – lost any respect for permitting those he tormented to hold on to life.

"You have always been one to throw trust around blindly," Edwin noted, ignoring her pointless question. "What of your foster father?"

Her smile vanished.

"I think he lied to me," she admitted, "I don't think he told me all of the truth about who I am. Even given his omission of my father's true nature," she waved away Edwin's inevitable correction, "He always told me that I was a half-Elf, although he would never say anything about my mother. I think he knew that I wasn't a half-Elf, or at least that he suspected," she brushed her hair behind her ear pointedly, "I don't have pointed ears, even. It was just a sense that I wasn't quite _normal_ that meant no one ever considered I might not be what he said I was – until you. And he never answered my questions about why I…look how I do; about my markings. It was only his letter, the one I saw when you'd left, that he really told me anything."

"What did he say?" Edwin leaned forward automatically and when Elatharia did not immediately respond, he hooked his fingers under her mask and pulled it over her head. She grimaced irritably, jerking free of the cloth when it caught on her hair. Her forehead almost knocked against his, but for her quick realignment. " _What did he say?_ "

She looked at him strangely, but sighed and spoke. As if the truth did not really matter.

"He said that he saved me from a sacrificial altar in Scornubel with the aid of a 'kind benefactor by the name of…" she paused, looking off into space for a moment before remembering, "'By the name of Melissan', that was it. In his journal Sarevok also said that he remembered me as a toddler, squalling as they put me on the altar in Scornubel's temple of Bhaal. I think that's where the cult who bore me – maybe both of us – must have come from, because he said in that same journal that he went back there to be trained as a Deathbring…"

Edwin had stopped listening, those words igniting rage within him so acute that he could not be _there_ one moment more and he stood abruptly, raking a hand through his hair and searching the blank far wall, the only empty space in the whole book-filled room. Bodhi! Damn Bodhi, if she could be damned! _My friend tells me there is a sacrificial altar in Scornubel that has been empty for a decade or so._ It would have had to have continued its use until the Time of Troubles, but not thereafter. Fitting, given Bhaal's fate.

"( _Ishest siyas? Ishest haps er her_?)"

He hissed the question in his native language, too agitated to maintain his hold on the common tongue. Just as well, for the questions were as incriminating for him as the answers would be for Bodhi. _What does she know? What is she hiding?_

"Edwin? What is it?"

"(A clue)," he muttered, turning on his heel and ignoring the Transmuter standing from her chair a pace or two away from him.

Instead, he strode to the tome he had left out by his spellbook and gathered both volumes up. _The seven feathers symbol which was a Bhaalite Zhent sigil, a bone dagger which Elatharia had always said came to her in her visions related to Bhaal…and a sacrificial altar in Scornubel, twice mentioned by different sources_. And this connection had to be kept from Elatharia, whose hand now settled at his elbow, tugging. Because Bodhi had made him vow to betray her.

"A clue for what? What do you know?" she sounded nervous. Her green eyes were very wide when he looked down at her over his shoulder.

"None of your concern." _Everything to concern you. All of it concerns you!_

He tried not to fumble the book as he turned to face her, forcing his rage to the back of his mind to let it seethe there with his indignation. He pried her fingers from his elbow with his free hand before plucking his Archmagi jacket from the chair beside them where he had discarded it hours before. She had inadvertently answered the question that he would have liked to glean an answer to more subtly. Scornubel. It was important after all. As if a scheming creature like Bodhi would let slip information like that idly.

"We are meeting in here at dawn," Elatharia told him as he turned back to her. She drew herself up as if offended, or anxious, or…something foolish, her small hands fisting in her skirts. His skin still whispered with the memory of her fingertips tracing his tattoos. Silly girl.

"I will be ready (though the others may be less efficient, of course)," Edwin answered automatically. A bubble of amusement pushed at his disquiet. He smiled. "And if they babble and complain, you can always _Silence_ them again, hmm?"

Her expression relaxed minutely into the faintest of faint smiles. He was struck with the absurd need to touch it, turned up to him the way it was, but the Red Wizard quelled the thought. She caught his wrist as he started to turn to go.

"Edwin," she complained, "My mask."

Ah. He had not relinquished it after pulling it free from her face. She plucked the strip of fabric now from his jacket where its ribbon had caught on one of the buttons. The scars on her wrists caught the light as she did so, and Edwin's words escaped him before he could have checked them. (As if he would have felt the need to…)

"You realise that it will be necessary to speak of Irenicus's…actions…before we meet him, yes? I cannot face a mage whose methods are unknown to me."

Her eyes were bleak when they met his.

"Then if it is necessary to get back Imoen and to kill him, I will have to speak of it."

* * *

 **Author's note:  
 _'Geasa'_ as used here is indeed the plural of the word _geas_ which originates in Medieval Irish manuscripts.  
Ancient Egyptian, as spoken herein by Edwin, is unsurprisingly nightmarish to transliterate even with help - at least for me. I am aware that what Edwin says probably is a very inaccurate take on the language, but I suppose it would have been a long enough time since Ancient Egyptian became Mulhorandi for me to bashfully put it down to language evolution...**


	31. No One Crosses the Shadow Thieves

**With thanks to those who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story. Your comments are always greatly appreciated!  
Warnings for some violence herein.**

* * *

 **Chapter 30: No One Crosses the Shadow Thieves...**

* * *

It was a slow day today in Candlekeep. It was _always_ a slow day. The bells were tolling somewhere, tolling to say…something. They always did that, at highsun. And today was Midsummer, hot and bright, and that sun was _very_ high. Such a lovely gold, too. And there were all the monks, walking across the cloisters – none of them bothering to stop and take in the good weather. Buffleheaded, the lot of them.

She could lie here and stare up at the endless blue sky for an hour or more at a time, sheltered from the howling coastal winds by the slope of the roof tiles. Maybe she wouldn't go to Mr G's office, after all. And though it felt like she had already been, some time ago, that must have been a dream. There had never been any letter from any 'E' to any 'G'. Elminster…and Gorion. Just words. She had forgotten all of them. None of them mattered, just the heat of the bright golden sun on her skin, here behind the battlements with the soldiers at drill and the monks at study and the gulls in the air and the waves crashing. And the bright, bright golden summer day.

Yes, she _could_ lie here, so she would. No one had ever been all that good at stopping her.

The heat was making her drowsy, and the warm air was hazy. She wanted to close her eyes. But…something stopped her. Something said that the darkness behind them held bad nightmares. And there was something…something missing. A memory. Her…sister. Where was her sister? She sat up suddenly, alarmed, hands slipping a little on the smooth cold tiles. Why did she feel as though her sister had been gone too long? Wasn't she supposed to have been writing that essay for Parda in the Great Library? '" _Spontaneous Creation versus Discreet Alteration." Compare and discuss the theory behind the Turmish and the Sembian Transmutation methods'_. Or…had that been her? Long ago, before all of the…

"Elatharia?"

Imoen scrambled to her feet, and turned…and found herself now in the gardens before the main keep, all bright flowers and high bushes. Her back was to the wall. Her back _ached_. And her feet. There was no one to see her, and she stumbled forward. Her sister! Where was her sister? Hadn't they meant to…weren't they supposed to…

"Elatharia!"

Footsteps.

Measured, quick. Not her sister's. They seemed to echo, as if ringing off a polished floor and through a great stone room.

But that wasn't right. Imoen didn't know any stone rooms like that. Or anyone who walked like that.

But then…who was Imoen? Was it _her_?

"It is a real pity that you have succumbed to delirium, my dear."

His deep voice, measured and calm, crawled over her skin and left her shivering, awareness of who she was, of what this place was, filling her in a rush. The sunlight drained away and it left her empty and in the dark. Her eyes refused to see for many long moments; her limbs trembled as she hauled herself onto all fours. The air was cold as she sucked it into unwilling lungs.

"But it is no matter in the grand scheme of things," he continued, voice flatter even than it had been before, "Interesting, though, that you call for your sister even in your imaginings. It is a sentiment which I can…recollect."

At last the fog faded, little as she wished it to, and she saw this tall stone room, vast, grey and covered in pipes – all of them knotted across the ceiling and separating along the walls, each feeding one of the glass containers beneath them. Containers full of death, death that clawed at her thoughts, peeling away darkness to give her glimpses of the golden sun.

Her stomach clenched and she wretched pointlessly, curling up rather than look at _him_. His boots stopped just inches from her chin, polished tips catching the bright conjured light drifting in globes above them. His arms wrapped around her waist, and the feel of them stilled her. Fighting would have been pointless. Insults would have been as useless as begging. His fingers were warm through the thin fabric of her tunic. How could someone so dead inside be so full of life? So…

She stumbled back against him as she found her feet, the metal rivets on his leather tunic digging into her skin. She wanted to close her eyes as he turned her around to face him, but something stopped her. The layers of his spells, holding her in a daze? He held her tightly by the shoulders as if he expected her to fight. As if she could have, with his pallid skin fairly aglow with his spell protections!

His eyes were watchful as ever, searching her for every detail. His face was stiff, still, too pale – though the gap between its edges and his scalp yet glistened red. He was without expression, the veins across his temples dark. His neck and arms shimmered with scars – burns and incisions. _If you are to understand pain, you must first learn it for yourself._

"The time has come again. Just another practice, before the true event."

He fairly snapped the words, and she just stared up at him. What was the point of asking? It would only make the anticipation worse. A faint frown, a flicker of an expression, shifted across his gruesome visage…as if he had expected something else. A question, maybe.

How long had she been there on that floor? Not long. It couldn't have been. This wasn't where he normally kept her.

When his hands slid to her hands, the fear clutched at her. A yelp escaped, hoarse and broken, and she tried to pull free as he pushed them together. A rope of mithral wound itself around her wrists at his silent command. He hooked a finger in the knot, and pulled her with him. She stumbled and swayed, and the golden light burst in pulses behind her eyes at every wrong step.

"Please. _Please._ "

It was pointless to beg. For anything, here. He always produced the results he wanted, when he wanted.

Ignoring her, he dragged her to the lever at the centre of the room. Today it looked different. There was something – one of the pipes – hanging down above the spot between him and it – and another on the other side. He pushed her there, above the white sigil carved into the black stone. She stumbled and fell heavily, a sob wracking her but his eyes were without emotion when she twisted around, her tears endless as they flooded her cheeks. She held out her bound wrists.

"Please. You've had nothing from me. I can't…I can't take any more…"

He gave a lazy gesture, and the air around her hummed with a wall of force. She twisted about to watch him stepping around her, to the lever. This was new. Was it the end, at last? _Ah, oblivion at last_.

"There is not much more now, child," he promised, "Perhaps you will even thank me for what I have taken from you, when this is done. I will certainly thank you. My sister certainly will. I…do not think yours would, however."

He pulled the lever, and though she cried out and tried to get back to her feet, to push past the wall of force, the magic containing her and binding her wrists just left her crumpled back on the ground. When she looked up, to the power building in the pipe above her, she opened her mouth to scream.

* * *

"Coo! Ye're back soon," Gaelan Bayle noted as Jaheira stepped into his sitting room at dawn. It might have been a surprise to see him up so early, if he were not so shifty. He stood fully from his seat by the desk, setting down his quill as Jan and Haer'Dalis followed her inside. He eyed them warily, "And with friends I've not seen fer many days. How's this then? Where be the elf and ranger and the lordling whose company I've grown more used to?"

They had lied to Gaelan the night before. Or, Yoshimo had. The bounty hunter had told him that they were performing a mercenary job at the De'Arnise Hold and that they would be gone for at least two days. He had chosen that fortress because it was far enough away as to ensure a delay in response from the Shadow Thieves' inevitable sources there, and it would seem plausible enough that they would not seek to check.

"'Twas all a noble ruse to save our skins and those of our peaceable allies…my Alley Cat," Haer'Dalis answered in his most serious tone.

Gaelan Bayle jolted a little at that, and the surprise on his face registered the depth of the Shadow Thieves' current problems. That he did not know of what the tiefling spoke was a good sign for them. Jaheira wished it were not.

"Elatharia and her lackeys – the Red Wizard, the dwarf and the drow – have betrayed you. And us," Jaheira told him readily.

Gaelan Bayle's eyes widened. His hand went to his belt. Jaheira made a point of folding her arms, and Haer'Dalis patted at the air as he reached her side.

"We come to you in good faith. As allies," Haer'Dalis promised, and Jan nodded happily from the open doorway, making a show of glancing over his shoulder.

"And why might I believe that of those who have lived long with her?" Gaelan Bayle demanded. A click of his fingers, and doors opened from hidden points all around the room. Beside the fireplace, behind the bookcases – and suddenly the room was full of armed rogues of his employ, black-clad and ready to strike.

Jaheira's lip curled. These Shadow Thieves were making it easier for her to betray them, if this was how they treated an apparent warning. Though her heart was thundering, she held her ground. Jan let out a startled chuckle. Haer'Dalis kept his arms up, palms facing out.

"My Alley Cat," he laughed, affecting nervousness though his feet settled carefully – poised to spring if necessary, "We bring you fair warning, and one of great import. We must demand to see your master, Aran Linvail, at once. For Elatharia has chosen a wretched and dangerous path. I have good proof that she and her new allies will soon strike at your master, and we must speak with him first lest the plot become real."

"How can I believe ye?" Gaelan Bayle insisted, shifting behind the other Shadow Thieves. They closed in now, faces masked behind red kerchiefs, hoods low…daggers drawn.

"Because with your master dead, we cannot hope to get to Spellhold. Elatharia will leave us – or kill us – as readily as Linvail," Jaheira spat the words. They were a lie, after all.

Her venom seemed to go a long way to convincing Gaelan Bayle. He nodded as if they made sense.

"And I cannot have her doing that, because I must save Imoen – whom she would surely corrupt."

The words tasted wretched. Bayle nodded again. He looked them over, and saw that they had come unarmed. He could not know that Elatharia and the others waited at the Planar Sphere with those very weapons, ready to come at Jan's call.

"Alright," Gaelen Bayle agreed at last, and a gesture from him saw his minions stepping back, sheathing their blades. "Check them for weapons. And if ye be clean, I'll be takin' ye to Master Linvail."

* * *

The complex which belonged to the Shadow Thieves was vast. Not only did it take up most of the apparently abandoned houses filling the northern stretch of the docks – with the exception of Yoshimo's much smaller Guild House – but it also used the re-appropriated old sewer beneath. Where above it was ruled by Renal Bloodscalp, below was Aran Linvail's base. Gaelan Bayle had bypassed the former to get them to the latter – another piece of evidence that the Shadow Thieves were jumpy, ill-informed here in Athkatla of all places. It must have been the influence of this mysterious 'Bodhi' for whom Elatharia worked.

The main base of the Shadow Thieves in Athkatla was understandably well fortified. Magic flared as each door unlocked, wards peeling away and resealing. Or so the Shadow Thieves would intend, but for the little mechanism Jan had promised he kept in his pocket. Jaheira had been informed by both Elatharia and Aerie that it was a theoretically functioning device.

Where she might have disbelieved the advice of one and doubted the advice of the other, she felt that both of them together could be trusted. The Transmuter was a liar but she was a powerful mage who liked to be right, and the avariel might have been unconfident as a wizard but she would never be a liar. They had both promised her that Jan's device would stop the wards reforming. The guards would expect to see them flare up again as they resealed – they would in fact also manifest this phenomenon as they were disarmed.

Jaheira hated to trust in others, and arcane magic was a mysterious and treacherous field which she would have preferred to avoid more than most other methods. But they had no choice now, as Gaelan Bayle led them personally to Aran Linvail, with light-footed rogues at their heels and guards bristling at every doorway and turning. They had passed through several doorways, and no one had raised the alarm against Jan's gradual disassembly of their wards. A few of them had even nodded to him in recognition as he passed them. Another confusing unknown that Jaheira would have preferred to do without.

The old sewers were blessedly clean, at least. Void of the smell which must have once permeated them, their rounded walls were pristine white, dotted with numerous doors or connected across old, cavernous drainage points by rope ladders. Gaelan Bayle had told them to step only where he did upon the smooth white-tiled floor as they trod their way through this labyrinth of tunnels, bypassing halls, climbing over some passageways by way of wooden platforms. The traps in this place were miraculously well hidden.

Viconia and Haer'Dalis had been right. To try to storm this place would have seen the massacre of their band. It would be an interesting feat to pull off, teleporting in to kill Aran Linvail and teleporting out to live to see another day. Edwin had not relinquished his teleportation stone lightly to the gnome. Its duplicate would have to stay at the Planar Sphere for this to work.

At last they reached a round metal doorway set at the very end of a tunnel. The guards there stepped up to block the way, and Gaelan Bayle shared a heated, whispered conversation with them for several tense minutes. It was hard to tell if Haer'Dalis was hopping from foot to foot beside her out of genuine nerves or as part of his act – they were, after all, officially here to warn Aran Linvail.

Eventually Bayle's posture relaxed, and the two guards nodded unwillingly, one sending a searching glance over Jaheira, Haer'Dalis and Jan while the other went to the door, turning the wheel which held it shut. It jolted inwards with a sigh of air, and another push sent it swinging open. Immediately, the smell of perfume and burning logs drifted into the corridor, accompanied by the tinkle and twang of lute music. The guard who had opened the door waved Gaelan Bayle in, but stopped Haer'Dalis when he made to follow. The tiefling stepped back, smiling faintly as if he understood.

The gap in the door was not great enough now that Gaelan Bayle had passed through for them to make out what waited beyond, and Jaheira's heart was pounding hard, sweat trickling down her back, by the time that the Slums guildmaster returned. He sent a nod to the guards, who stepped aside at last to let the infiltrating trio pass. Haer'Dalis made a point of waiting for Jaheira to go first.

Bayle did not follow them inside, nor did his men. The three stepped through alone, and were faced by an unexpectedly sophisticated scene. The room awaiting them was populated by a number of guards in the Shadow Thief leathers; a pair at the far door, a pair at the top of a balcony accessible by a flight of carpeted stairs, a pair sitting in each corner of the room, and a number lining the far wall in the shadow of the balcony. Five of them there; thus fifteen in total. All armed and armoured.

And that did not include the three lounging upon the couches by the fire place, and the lutenist sitting by the mantelpiece playing his instrument with the skill of a true bard. The ground was carpeted with intricate rugs, each depicting a different exotic landscape, the walls lined with colourful paintings and full bookcases. A chandelier hung low over the trio watching the lutenist, glittering with real candlelight. The ceiling was panelled with gilded wood. It all spoke of wealth; of nobility.

The lutenist stopped as the door slammed shut between the entering trio, a tapestry of a waterfall unfurling to hide it. Jaheira jumped at the loud noise and Haer'Dalis's hand brushed her wrist – as if that was supposed to comfort her! Her skin crawled, and she put her hands firmly behind her back. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as his black eyes watched the scene ahead.

Two men and a robe-clad woman sat upon those couches. She was slender but her black hair was streaked with grey and pulled back into a severe bun, her dusky skin lined in the manner of a middle-aged human. The pouches at her belt, remaining there even reclined like that, proved that she was a wizard – and if that were not a big enough clue, numberous rings glinted at her fingers. She watched them as they entered, her seat giving a perfect vantage point to observe the treacherous newcomers. Her expression did not even flicker as she placed her glass upon the table along with the two men's. One had his back to them, and he gave a long sigh before sitting up, gesturing sharply to the bard, who gave a quick bow, plucked up his instrument, and hurried away up the stairs, vanishing through the door on the balcony.

A glance at the guards around the room showed that they were all watching, but none of them volunteered any information on how to proceed. So Jaheira and her companions stood in tense silence, and waited as the man stood, followed by the two with him. He was small in stature for a human, his nose a little long and pointed, his tanned skin crinkling around his eyes. He had a thin face and small, piercing eyes which came to rest first upon Haer'Dalis, and then slid to Jaheira.

Her hands clenched into fists behind her back as he approached. The woman, her long purple robes sweeping over the carpet, stayed at his side. The man with him, burly and dressed in chainmail, put a hand on the mace at his hip and held back a step more, the expression on his hard face impressively fierce.

"My man has informed me that you have news that is very important to me," the smaller man noted. His hair was thick but peppered with grey to the point where it was hard to tell what colour it had once been. He was obviously no longer a youthful man, though his frame beneath those undoubtedly enchanted black leathers suggested that he was still strong and fast. Every movement was graceful and measured, even as he pushed his hands into his pockets and observed them with an open smile.

"We have indeed," Haer'Dalis promised, "For a former ally of ours, Elatharia, for whom you once promised to gain passage to Spellhold, has turned against you. She has sided with Bodhi, and she intends to kill you this very night with the vampires' aid."

The woman snarled something in a foreign tongue and the guards around the room bristled, inaction becoming the tense promise of action. Jaheira's body ached with the need to ready herself similarly. She ground her teeth against the trembling and willed herself not to look around at Jan, who had lingered behind them.

The man who had spoken, who must have been Aran Linvail, just inclined his head in calm acceptance.

"And what is it that you want for this warning? I must say that such words are not entirely useful to me; I would give you much more for some real information."

Haer'Dalis opened his mouth to speak, but the wizard caught Linvail's elbow.

"We should ensure that they are without wards or other Divinations," she pointed out in half a whisper, "I know of the gnome. He is Jan Jansen, an Illusionist."

Linvail nodded, smiling still…but when both looked to the gnome, their faces dropped. They would have searched him, but for the small issue that he had…disappeared. Haer'Dalis's eyes lit up with mirth as he followed their gaze. Jaheira kept her eyes trained on the trio before her, her thoughts mentally counting through the fifteen other guards primed around the room.

"Gaelan Bayle said that the gnome was with you," the wizard noted slowly, frowning deeply now. Jaheira realised Jan must have timed his disappearance for the precise moment when he stepped through the door; no one outside would have noticed, and no one inside would have had a chance to see him. Had he betrayed them?

"You were misinformed," Haer'Dalis adlibbed, shrugging amiably.

Linvail's smile had dripped away. His hands were still in his pockets, and Jaheira was starting to understand this stance as more of a threat than a peaceable gesture. His eyes narrowed the tiefling's way.

"I know that I was not, bard," he used the mention of Haer'Dalis's trade like a weapon. A reminder that he may have been weakened by Bodhi's gang, especially at night according to Elatharia, but he had not always been so disadvantaged.

"Then I am afraid that I cannot tell you," Haer'Dalis said neutrally.

"Why are you really here?" Linvail insisted, apparently reluctant to accost them yet when they were unarmed. What was Jan doing? "You must think me utterly stupid as to believe that you would come here, betraying the mistress who has housed you and fed you and given you a bedmate, without wanting something substantial in return. Oh, do not look so surprised. Bodhi may have stretched us thin – and you already know this – but I am still master of the _Shadow Thieves_! We have eyes that have watched you in the day and seen proof of all of these favours she has given to you. And though Bodhi has been a thorn in our side for many nights, and she may have cast a veil upon your mistress's choices of late, we still hold every nation along this coast in our hands!"

The guards drew their weapons in perfect synchronisation, and the four closest to them began to advance, circling the druid and the tiefling from only a few feet. She watched them anxiously. _Khalid…Silvanus…give me strength. Help me through this test. For love and vengeance. To even the score and return to the Balance._

Haer'Dalis had, by contrast to everyone else in the room, relaxed at those thunderous words. Where Linvail was snarling, he was smiling. He shrugged again. Perhaps his nature gave him an affinity to magic that told him something about Jan which Jaheira could not know. He spread his hands.

"If you could promise me sanctuary from the demons on my – metaphorical – tail, I may well have considered a bargain, my Panther. As it is…little else would do. We have come here to kill you, and in Bodhi's name."

The hum of magic filled the room, and Jan winked back into being – standing behind Aran Linvail and his flanking lackeys. He was holding Edwin's teleportation stone in one hand, and his crossbow in the other. A trickle of white light was rising from the stone, spreading in a great pool upon the floor around him. The wizard at Linvail's side whirled first and instantly began casting.

"A pity," Linvail sighed, "For you cannot yet fathom your error."

Shaking his head, he gestured to his guards, surprisingly unbothered by this dramatic turn of events even as the armoured man by his side made a leap at Jan and received a primed crossbow bolt in the chest. It clattered to the ground, but also staggered the man for the time it needed for the Illusionist to wink back out of being. The portal he had set in motion had risen to a blinding light.

The guards around Jaheira and Haer'Dalis, meanwhile, lunged for the pair. Unarmed, both of them were forced to leap back – almost colliding with each other. The tiefling dodged under the first swing of a sword, catching the man's wrists and charging against him; sending him crashing into the man at his side before dancing free, glancing repeatedly at the figures materialising through Jan's portal.

In the space that Haer'Dalis had forged, Jaheira backed up quickly, dodging one swing and then another, forced to take a cut to the arm from one Shadow Thief just to avoid disembowelment. She had not expected to be so relieved to hear the hum of arcane magic, the shouts of battle joined as those from the Planar Sphere materialised successfully.

The arrival of the others distracted the men who were making another attempt on her life. It gave her a chance to deflect the sword of one with her bracer while landing a punch on his side. As he pulled back, the other – who was just advancing – was hit by a sudden barrage of magical energy. He staggered, crying out and pulling his hands up to cover his head. Jaheira hardly had time to register this before she had to evade the next swing of the man still intent upon her life. But she did have a moment to notice the number of projectiles which had stunned the other man – they had been too great in number to have come from Aerie.

* * *

From the cold, nervous octagonal room in the Planar Sphere to this, Aran Linvail's private meeting room. It was quite a disorientating change – but disorientation was not really an option in a situation like this. And it looked as though they had arrived not a moment too soon – Elatharia's first act had been to send a string of _Magic Missiles_ hurtling into each of the men swinging their steel Jaheira's way. The druid had spared her a startled glance, even as she rushed to reach the others before the rest of the guards could react.

Haer'Dalis had managed to immobilise one of the pair who had attacked him; that one lay choking and wheezing desperately on the floor. He was, however, backing up rather quickly from the second man. Anomen flung his sword belt at him, and he caught it mid-run, buckling it on even as he arched aside from the next swing.

Both of the men who had been attacking Jaheira were shaking off the ringing in their ears and the sting of Elatharia's bruising missiles, and the druid only just reached Aerie's side before the attack of the defenders began in earnest. It was a difficult task for Elatharia to concentrate on the next spell while chaos was roaring around her.

Anomen, Minsc and Korgan each flung themselves into the paths of rushing attackers, and Jaheira made a similar move once Aerie had handed over her spear. Haer'Dalis was preferring to keep out of the main group, and was now significantly better poised to take on his foes with his shortswords shining in his hands.

Jan and Yoshimo had both turned to deal with the two archers on the balcony. The gnome, as the summoner of the group, had ended up at the centre of his allies, and now took his cue from the Kara-Turan at his side, arrows skittering from his magical defences. When one of the enemy archers went down, Jan whirled about to lend his crossbow's bruising projectiles to Haer'Dalis's aid. The tiefling was now fending off attacks from three sides, after all.

That left Edwin and Elatharia with Aerie and Viconia to face Aran Linvail and the man and woman flanking him. The plan was already laid should they see a wizard – and the woman undoubtedly had fallen into an arcane spell of some significant destructive power. An Invoker who was already shimmering with protections. Elatharia might have sworn if she had the time to.

In the event of a mage, Aerie was to cast the Abjurations while Edwin fell into a Conjuration of no small magnitude. From the corner of her eye, Elatharia could see his tattoos rising up with white light, the words of Infernal hissing from his lips. Meanwhile, Viconia had thrown herself with a war cry to Shar straight at the man by Linvail's side; bolstered by a number of divine boons which crawled over her skin as black tendrils of shadow, the drow had also taken on a _Strength_ spell from Elatharia. The first swing of her flail visibly startled the chainmail-clad man, who had raised his shield to block her aggressive assault and now staggered back under the weight of the blow.

The Invoker's first spell – _Chain Lightning,_ no less – crackled over their protections, blue-white and fearsome, leaving a distinct smell in the air. Less well protected than Edwin or Aerie but for the Robe of Vecna, Elatharia had to take a few bruises from that spell. She was used to it, and the robe had absorbed most of the attack, though it staggered her a little and left the smell of ozone all around her. It had also given Aerie time to let fly her first spell, shattering a few layers of protections around the Invoker – who snarled, and backed up a little.

Edwin's spellwords were rising, the ground white-hot by his feet. Sweat was beading his brow, and his arms were shaking as the portal he had called upon shimmered into being. A creature of fire was crawling its way forth.

Meanwhile, Yoshimo had felled the second archer and was lending his bow to Jaheira, Korgan, Minsc and Anomen. They were hard-pressed – four against eight was not good odds. Even if Korgan's wrathful swing of his axe had just felled one man _and_ severed a limb of the one next to him. Both went down screaming, and the dwarf roared his approval. Minsc bellowed something back, and another scream followed.

Aran Linvail had been backing up since the group arrived. When Elatharia's next spell hurtled towards him – another _Magic Missile_ , to test his defences – the air about him shimmered, but he staggered a little. His eyes were understandably hateful as they met hers. She shrugged, and fell into her next spell as Aerie did beside her. Aran Linvail pulled his hands from his pockets, and flung the first of two glimmering shuriken for the Transmuter's head. Her _Slow_ spell completed just in time – not only did it affect the two men left attacking Haer'Dalis, allowing the tiefling to make that one man, it also slowed the projectiles…if not Aran himself. Elatharia knocked them from the air with two deft taps. They even fell to the ground slowly. He pulled out a pair of knives from his seemingly endless pockets…

And then Edwin's Summoning ended. The creature of flame which stood above the dwindling portal beside him was an eight foot monster, a humanoid figure of lava and fire only. It clawed at the air as if unwilling for a moment or two, but its very presence sent the two men fighting Anomen and Minsc staggering back with yelps of fear. Korgan cursed, too, but followed that up with a mighty deathblow upon his enemy. That left one man against Haer'Dalis, Viconia ducking and parrying with the well-armed man in chainmail, and five Shadow Thieves facing Jaheira, Minsc, Anomen and Korgan.

Yoshimo took that as his cue to draw his katana and leap into the fray. Elatharia heard the cranking of Jan's crossbow behind her as she raced through her next spell. The only foe in the room who was not fazed by the arrival of the fire elemental seemed to be the Invoker, who was calling up _Aganazzar's Scorcher_ from the sound of things.

With Aerie wide-eyed at the sight of the fire elemental – which had gone to lend its considerable size and threat to Viconia's endeavour against the armoured man – and Edwin only just turning to his next spell, Elatharia knew she had to time this right. She spat out the words for her _Cone of Cold_ a moment before the Invoker's spell triggered. Fire met ice, and was swallowed by it. The rush of snow and shards broke over the Invoker, but it sent Linvail staggering back with a cry. He dropped one of his daggers…and turned to run for the tapestry behind him. No doubt a door lay beyond.

Edwin's spell finished just as Linvail was pushing aside the tapestry, reaching a door with a complex spiral lock-and-wheel mechanism. The master of the Shadow Thieves made to cry for help, to hammer on the metal because he would not have the time to unlock it…and his attempts came out unheard. The Conjurer had assessed the situation, and decided a _Silence_ spell would be best. Elatharia shot him a grin, which he returned even as red light rose up along the tattoos curling at his neck and wrists.

A wall of force was a simple enough spell for a practiced Transmuter, and Elatharia called upon one now, pushing Linvail back from the door. His magical protections were too complex for her to get through them in the middle of battle, but she could certainly affect him indirectly. He yelped as Edwin's _Magic Missiles_ careered into him, a barrage that sent him stumbling off to the side, one knife clutched in his hand as he witnessed Haer'Dalis at last slaying the third of his attackers. The tiefling met his glaring eyes with a smile and a twirl of his blades. They began to circle each other, both bleeding. The bard look to have split a lip, and had sustained a number of cuts – enough to stain both of his voluminous sleeves red. It did not show much, but he was limping a little. Meanwhile, Linvail had gained a quickly swelling knock to the eye from the wall of force and held one of his arms uncomfortably against his side, the skin broken and red thanks to Elatharia's _Cone of Cold_.

The enemy Invoker had just called up a _Shadow Door_ when Edwin's _Breach_ hit her. She did not seem to notice, or perhaps knew that she must reach for the door or else face overwhelming odds. Her last Abjurations melted away. And Jan's paralytic crossbow bolt slammed into her. The projectiles were blunt, and thus did little damage, but with her protections gone it did its intended job. She stood as one frozen.

With the armoured man who appeared to have been one of Linvail's lieutenants dying a noisy and flame-filled death at the hands of Edwin's fire elemental, Viconia whirled about and felled the Invoker with a swing of the _Flail of the Ages_. Aerie flinched and turned swiftly from the gory sight, while the drow just stared ahead at nothing for a moment, chest heaving to catch her breath.

Still using a great deal of her concentration to hold the wall of force, Elatharia glanced over her shoulder as Edwin started casting by her side again. Jan was reloading his crossbow, lips pursed as he bent to his task, while Anomen, Minsc and Korgan were uniting in a semi-circle to bring down the last two Shadow Thieves. When one broke and ran – the only one in a fit state to make such a move – Yoshimo took him down with two quick arrows.

With Korgan taking such joy in the end of the last Shadow Thief, Anomen stumbled back…and lost his footing. With a grunt, he went down heavily on one knee, and Aerie flew to his side with a healing spell rising on her lips. His eyes were full of pain as he watched her, a good enough sign that the blood oozing from the one gap in his armour below his arm was no small injury.

Minsc staggered a little as if dazed before noting Jaheira's determined march to join Haer'Dalis's wary circling of Aran Linvail. The tiefling clearly had no interest in taking on the Shadow Thief master alone, even as Edwin's next _Breach_ took the magical shimmer from Linvail's leather jerkin. The man was cornered, eyes darting about the room to take in the situation…and the group now converging on him.

"Stay close by me," Elatharia hissed to Jan and Edwin as she moved to approach Aran Linvail.

He backed up against the wall, breathing hard, as Jaheira, Haer'Dalis, Yoshimo and Viconia barred his escape with ready spear, katana, shortswords and flail. Minsc had lingered by Aerie and the wounded Anomen, perhaps concussed from the way that he was swaying and the brilliant bruise forming at the side of his head.

Elatharia stopped just a pace from reaching the gap between Viconia and Jaheira. Linvail met her gaze, though one of his own eyes was almost closed from the swelling on his face given to him by her wall of force. His teeth were bloody.

"You cannot know the error that you have made, Bhaalspawn," he spat, and his words sent a ripple of unease amongst her friends. Hearing the epithet, Elatharia straightened, caught between rage and intrigue, "Or how the lies you have woven have doomed you."

His wrist flashed, and his last dagger soared through the air. In a flash of well-timed anticipation, Jaheira's spear intercepted…and the blade fell to the carpet with a dull thud.

"Call us even," the druid grunted, not looking around at the Transmuter, advancing on the master of the Shadow Thieves instead as Yoshimo slammed the pommel of his katana into his stomach.

The two men grappled for a moment until the Kara-Turan caught his hands behind his back and Jaheira's spear point came to rest above his heart.

"Bodhi has caught you in her trap, just as she did your new lackey," Linvail snarled, looking pointedly at the Kara-Turan struggling at his shoulder, "That is why we gave him over to Irenicus…"

"You worked with Irenicus?" Elatharia snarled, and her wrath rose in a tide. Jaheira spat something hateful also, and her spear point dug deeper against his jerkin. He flinched. "Is that why you knew who we were when we escaped?"

"Of course," Linvail agreed, frowning at her as if she were stupid, "You have already proven yourself incapable of understanding the importance of working with those whom you know are truly your enemies."

"That does not make you better than me," Elatharia denied sharply. Behind her, it sounded like Aerie was still tending to the wounds of Minsc and Anomen. Just as well – they would not like to witness this.

"That is an irrelevance, but one I could contest," Linvail promised, "For the Shadow Thieves have always opposed the vampires. Know that Bodhi has lied to you. And may your death be slow and painful. May Irenicus do with you as he wish…"

His next words came out as a blood-filled gurgle as Jaheira pushed her spear through his chest. When she pulled it free, he fell to the ground, unmoving, and she stared down at him with her shoulders rigid, trembling. Elatharia's smile came without mirth as the others moved away, knowing that they must escape quickly before they were found out.

"We are more than even," she promised the druid before turning to Edwin, gripping his sleeve as she blinked away the golden light of her father, "Take us home."

He grimaced, turning the teleportation stone in his hands slowly and staring at Linvail's fallen form for a long moment before giving a sharp nod. The light of the spell rose up once the group had gathered at the centre of the room – most of them bore a number of lesser wounds, but Minsc and Anomen were all but on their knees. They left in their wake carnage, and Elatharia's stomach clenched with something other than hope, or victory. Why did she feel so…afraid?


	32. Before We Set Sail

**Chapter 31: Before We Set Sail**

* * *

The moment the group materialised in the octagonal room at the centre of the Planar Sphere, Anomen and Minsc slumped against the walls to receive treatment from Jaheira and Aerie. All of the fighters were bruised and bloodied, and Haer'Dalis was just easing himself stiffly into one of the chairs as Viconia called imperiously for those others who required healing to come to her. She did not seem to bestow any special privilege over the tiefling.

With the others distracted, Edwin's hand closed around Elatharia's arm and he pulled her into the corridor which led up to the library. It looked as though he and she were the only two to have left the battle fairly unscathed – though her ribs were aching where the _Chain Lightening_ had caught her through her robe. She grimaced when the Red Wizard pushed her back against the wall, looming over her with a fearsome stare.

"We must look over our shoulder from now on, Elatharia," Edwin warned in a hiss, and there was something disturbingly akin to worry in his eyes when he looked back at her, "Retribution will fill the streets. (As should have been predictable, given the widespread nature of the Thieves.)"

"Then we will wait until nightfall," the Transmuter promised, though the thought pained her on many levels, "When Bodhi's power can protect us. Although…we will need to ensure that the others do not learn of how we got passage to Spellhold."

"I am sure that I can get to the Guild House without detection," Yoshimo promised them, coming to lean in the doorway upon silent feet, "There Valen will be waiting to hear the news, and her…organisation should be capable of protecting it from assault. Though I do not doubt that they will soon know of Linvail's death all the same."

Edwin stepped back slowly from Elatharia, sneering at the bounty hunter.

"And I am disinclined to trust you, snake," the Red Wizard pointed out, "After what Linvail told us."

"Perhaps it should make you trust me more, friend," Yoshimo disagreed, turning to Elatharia now as she peeled herself from the wall, wincing at the ache in her bruised ribs, "For he gave away my secret. 'Twas my work with Bodhi that was found out by him, a former employer of mine. When I refused to spy for him against her, he threw me to the whims of Irenicus."

 _The flash of knives, the pain. The screams._

"Perhaps," Elatharia agreed, more stiffly than she had intended, "Although I find myself wondering why you might want to come with us to Spellhold even more than I did before. There is nothing to tie you…"

"There is everything to tie me," Yoshimo disagreed, the flash of something like sincerity in his eyes for a change, "And I will have vengeance against the man who stole my freedom."

"Just so long as you help us free my sister," Elatharia reminded him.

He nodded, wiping at the sweat on his brow and grimacing against some unseen wound.

"Go on then, snake," Edwin shooed him away, "Make yourself useful and do as you offered."

"You think that Bodhi will have the ship ready for us by the time she promised?" Elatharia asked of Yoshimo as he turned to go. He raised his eyebrows at her as if surprised that she should doubt it.

"Of course, leader. Do not forget, Bodhi has her own reasons for getting us to Spellhold – just as the Shadow Thieves did. I imagine, like them, she has some interest in sending us to fight Irenicus."

"He seems to have acquired a lot of enemies," Elatharia nodded, "Another vendetta, then?"

Yoshimo smiled.

"Perhaps."

* * *

Yoshimo had taken one of Edwin's teleportation stones with him as he flitted from the warded safety of the Planar Sphere and into the morning light of Athkatla. With assurances that they would soon be on their way to Spellhold, several of the group had gone to get some rest. It looked like few of them had achieved much sleep with the expectation of the conflict with the Shadow Thieves looming over them throughout the previous night.

Aerie had insisted that Anomen and Minsc in particular take some time to rest – given their newly healed wounds. She had also sent Jaheira off to bed, which had amused Elatharia. And it had left Viconia tending to Haer'Dalis's wounds, his jerkin and torn shirt discarded on the floor beside him to reveal a few cuts on his arms and a long a gash over one shoulder.

Korgan had gone to clean his armour, but returned to the room to polish it, complaining that he would be murdering Minsc if he had to sit anywhere near those snores. He still refused to accept that he also snored. Meanwhile, Jan had veiled himself in layers of Illusion and headed home to collect his possessions for the journey to come, promising that he would bring Mazzy and Valygar back with him.

Elatharia had taken a seat at the table, with her bag of holding now containing all of her meagre belongings, and a few books (and scrolls) from Lavok's library. She had barely noticed Edwin when he slid into the seat beside her until he poured tea for both of them, sliding one cup until it tapped the back of her hand.

"One for the road?" she asked wryly, cradling the hot cup in her palms, turning to look at him with tired eyes. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

"I cannot drink an entire pot of tea in the time that it will take for Yoshimo to call upon us," the Red Wizard looked over the room's occupants before continuing, "It would be in everyone's best interests if Bodhi were to send us on our way as soon as the sun begins to set and she can impose her influence upon the city once more." He winced Korgan's way. "Must you continue with that, dwarf? Is it not enough to clean the blood and gore from your brutish equipment?"

"I'll let that pass wizard, as I've had a good share o' killin' today. Polishin' me armour now just gives me more incentive to make it bloody again!" Korgan chuckled to himself at the disgusted expressions which he induced from Viconia and Edwin.

"I would much rather hear about what happened at the house of your victim, quite frankly," Viconia disagreed, turning from Haer'Dalis's healing wounds to look at Elatharia directly, "Something about the way that you are attempting to hide the streak in your hair suggests that it has been an interesting past twenty-four hours, _khal'abbil_."

"And I would like to point out that, should you wish to empty that teapot, it would have been far more expedient to offer some to we others who grace this table, my Sparrowhawk…or simply to boil less water," Haer'Dalis noted, eyeing the drow and the Transmuter affectionately as they began to converse rapidly in drow sign language. "In truth, I would suggest that the two of you look like wizards who have fallen into a common trap."

"And what trap is that, tiefling?" Edwin demanded, adjusting his red Houppelande beneath his long black cloak. Like Elatharia, he kept his belongings for the road in a bag of holding hidden in a pocket.

"Used to intellectual challenges, hypotheses and theories – and trusting only each other with such complexity – you now worry over the unknowns which you could not account for before you made your fateful decisions. Bodhi is probably as dangerous an ally as an enemy," Haer'Dalis shrugged, standing slowly with a grunt and negotiating bending to pick up his shirt and jerkin.

"And just what makes you think that?" Edwin's eyes narrowed dangerously, but the tiefling just smiled even through his pain as he straightened up again.

"My Sparrowhawk, as a lover of chaos I am more than happy to join in the road you have taken. But I wonder at the incentives that drove you to such a turn."

"I think you are confusing me with the _incompetent_ wizard in the party."

Elatharia paused in her response to Viconia in order to send him a glare.

"I'd have trouble tellin' ye apart from yer foolish errors," Korgan offered unhelpfully, and gained two sets of hateful looks.

"I am not acting as your critic, my Birds of Prey," Haer'Dalis denied with a crooked smile, "I am but a follower and an observer. We must simply now be watchful as we depart this city."

He sounded chiding enough to Elatharia.

"But now, I must take my leave to gather my things lest our Blackbird undo the good healing work she has done in a fit of revenge for delaying the Raven's story," Haer'Dalis admitted, grinning down at Viconia as she watched him pointedly. In truth, it looked like she was just looking for an excuse to stare at his half-dressed state, and Elatharia hid her smile behind her teacup.

Edwin grumbled to himself, rubbing at his returning beard irritably, even once the tiefling had departed. He took to observing Elatharia's conversation with Viconia – understanding, but unable to join in as the Transmuter relayed the story of the latest child of Bhaal whom she had been deceived into killing. She could feel the weight of his eyes upon her, but kept her own eyes on the drow.

"This is concerning, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia noted with a frown once the story was told, her spoken words now suggesting that she intended for Edwin to have a part in this conversation, "Not only does Bodhi show with this that she knows of your heritage – she meddles with it, also. We need to learn more of what this ally of hers might want. A creature like that does not show its symbols openly unless it wants you to see them. It is terribly unwise to work out _less_ than your foe intends."

"It could be a warning? Of what kind of knowledge she has against me if I fail her?" Elatharia suggested, though the explanation felt too simplistic. "Either way, we will need more evidence to come up with a better theory."

"She could be a worshipper of Bhaal, although this seems unlikely. If her ally is not deceiving us, then the latter certainly is, however," Edwin noted, "The bone dagger and the seven feathers both point to this, where Bodhi's use of the dagger alone may have been a simple taunt."

"Then it sounds like it was wise to avoid using it the first time she offered it – however inadvertent," Elatharia added when Viconia raised an eyebrow. "Though killing other children of Bhaal without such a specialised weapon has had the same visual effects," she gestured at her hair, "We don't know what the bone dagger could do. When I dreamed of it, before…" even now her words caught, "Before Irenicus, it felt like a victory to refuse it. Bhaal's voice was angry when I chose my own methods, like I had subverted his plans."

"Sounds t' me like ye're tryin' to have yer own way too much and too often," Korgan grunted, setting his armour down with a clatter and observing her from behind bushy brows. His leathery face was deeply scared as well as lined, and it was hard to tell how much of his expression was a frown, and how much of his expression was just his _face_. "All at once, I mean. Even I can see ye're weavin' too many threads fer yer likin'– and tryin' to unravel too many. Bad sign, lass," he sighed, eyeing Edwin, "Typical wizard, holdin' too much stock in yer mind, and not enough in bein' quiet and betrayin' yer friends loudly later. Too principled, if ye ask me. Too proud."

Edwin sneered at him as the dwarf started to pull on his red dragon scale.

"I think that is the first time in some time that she has been called 'principled'," the Red Wizard noted, a little too astutely. Something about those words sent a pang through Elatharia and she looked away sharply. _I did what I had to do._ "(And you're pseudo-philosophising is hurting my mind. Go back to polishing your axe, idiot.)" There was no bite in his words. In his heart – what heart he had – he clearly agreed. And that was something, coming from Edwin.

Viconia was just opening her mouth to speak when they heard the slamming of one of the doors closer to the entrance, followed by heavy footsteps. All of them tensed as the door by the unpopulated stretch of table began to open, ready to leap to their feet and defend themselves in the event that someone had breached the Sphere.

"I bring treasures of many kinds," Jan announced almost before Valygar preceded him through the doorway.

The ranger was grim faced as always, but the gnome was grinning from ear to ear, and carrying a peculiar panelled wooden box in his arms. Mazzy followed him in, braids bouncing, and her curious smile suggested that for once Jan had some good news. All three wore their backpacks, Mazzy adorned in her half-plate to make it easier to carry. Whatever it was that the gnome brought, it must have been quite something to offset a paladin's inevitable judgement of what had befallen without her at the base of the Shadow Thieves.

"What kinds of 'treasures'?" Viconia inquired suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

"(Turnips. He has brought us a box full of turnips,)" Edwin prophesied.

Jan flung a wink Elatharia's way, lumbering up to the table and making a show of struggling to push the box onto the surface. Hopping onto a chair by Mazzy, even while Valygar surveyed the room of his dead ancestor with distaste, Jan made a gesture for silence. It was not given readily.

"Not so, Eddie," he sniggered, and the Red Wizard just huffed irritably at his insistence upon the nickname, "For I have brought three gifts – the wonderful Mazzy Fentan and the dour but useful Valygar Corthala. These surnames really are useful for drama," he looked Elatharia's way, "Maybe you should think about getting one?"

Viconia tried and failed to hide a chuckle at that, but just raised her eyebrows innocently when Elatharia sent her a puzzled look.

"Gnome," Korgan growled slowly into the avowed silence, leaning forward with a look in his eyes that suggested he had realised something that the others had not, "What's in the box?"

"Why, the third treasure of course!" Jan cried, and pressed a small lever hidden under the top rim.

The box clicked in several places, and opened up before its sides fell outwards, folding back in on themselves to become a wooden platter, upon which rested several cloth-wrapped items. Korgan was on his feet in a moment.

"Gnome, I think I might love ye," he announced gruffly, "I was startin' t' think we were goin' t' starve all day in here."

Mazzy was smiling more widely now, watching his advance around the table with the most amusement Elatharia had ever seen her show about anything relating to Korgan. The halfling paladin moved to help Jan pull open the cloths, revealing a large pie, a whole wheel of cheese, some assorted vegetables (of which turnips did feature) and a substantial fruitcake.

"Do we have plates?" the paladin inquired cordially, and Elatharia nodded, starting to stand.

"Past the library. I'll bring some." An offer for which she earned a look of ennobled disbelief from Edwin.

"Plates? Cutlery? What are ye? I'm havin' neither – and if ye don't hurry, I'll've eaten the lot!" Korgan bellowed.

While several of the others laughed, Elatharia found herself suddenly hardly able to smile. Edwin was still looking around at her, predictably unamused anyway, but even Valygar was chuckling to himself. The Red Wizard caught her wrist as she passed him, her path forcing his hold to slip to her hand instead. The touch of his fingertips to hers stopped her.

"You should delegate your tasks," he said banally, as if he had just intended to delay her a moment more. His eyes searched her face, as if he sensed her mounting disquiet but was no closer to fathoming its reasons than she was.

She just shook her head and moved off, because the promise of getting closer to Imoen again was wringing her soul with nerves, and the promise of getting closer to Irenicus was making her want to scream and scream with fear.

The Transmuter spent a little too long in the kitchen, all things considered. Korgan had promised to eat everything, after all, and he was more than capable of it. Clattering the plates and the meagre cutlery she found, she eventually had what she needed and headed for the library. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Edwin leaning against the doorjamb. He had a book cradled against his chest, as if that was why he had come in here. But his focused stare proved to her that really he had wanted to catch her alone.

"(Look at her. A tavern wench at least has more skill with crockery,)" he sighed as she made a show of heading past him. "You are behaving even more erratically than normal, Elatharia." It was hardly a comment full of concern, but it stopped her in her tracks, not much past the table and less than halfway across the circular library. She turned to see him approaching her, his red robes striking against his black cloak and the equally dark marble floor.

"I do not know if we are great enough in number to face him," she whispered the words, feeling like a child and hating how tremulous she sounded. The plates were digging into her bruised ribs uncomfortably, but she preferred the distraction. Memories of blood and pain and knives and a _barbed devil_ rushed behind her eyes. She only noticed that she had started shaking when Edwin's hands closed against the top plate and the bottom plate, stopping their rattling.

"He is a powerful mastermind, undoubtedly," he agreed, "But we have plenty of fireball fodder."

"Not enough," Elatharia denied, though her smile did emerge briefly.

"And you have revenge on your side."

"Revenge makes people stupid. It made Jaheira malleable, too," Elatharia pointed out doubtfully.

"He will be one wizard against three."

"Three?"

Edwin's mouth twitched in amusement, and he released the plates.

"The avariel and the gnome add up to one wizard, I suppose."

"And Imoen," Elatharia corrected him, the words stirring something more like excitement in her heart. Her sister! At last! They would be going to find her sister. "I have her spellbook in my bag still. She learned a lot of magic during last year and he…" she gulped, "He taught her a lot more."

"Curious," Edwin's brow furrowed, and he caught her elbow as if to accentuate his point, "You should show me that spellbook. If he taught her things, then it could prove useful in understanding how he fights. I would also point out that it is more than passing strange that he has taught her anything. What exactly did he have in store for you, Elatharia?"

"I…" suddenly food did not seem so pressing, or appealing, "I don't know," Elatharia half-admitted. Edwin's brow furrowed more.

"We must discuss this…"

"Do you have the plates?" Mazzy's voice was strong even when she was trying to be cautious. She cut off her words a little suddenly as she looked through the door into the library and saw the two wizards jumping apart guiltily, looking around at her with wide eyes (and a glower). She seemed to square her shoulders and determine to plough through the awkwardness. "Because I think Korgan really might act on his threat if we don't get some plates now."

* * *

Valygar slipped out of the meeting room while the wizards were away and the others were fussing over Jan's offering of food. It seemed that their apparently impulsive destruction of the Shadow Thieves had confined them to this spherical fortress until nightfall; it was now impossible to enter the place without some magical knowledge. The place was all smooth white stone where it was not a-glitter with decoration, bright until one spoke the appropriate command phrase; a series of long corridors connected by that central meeting room, doors held shut by seals that could only be released with a wheel.

The Planar Sphere filled the ranger with disquiet. For all it stood for, for its past as the lair of a monster in the shape of his ancestor and for its current ownership. But he had promised to Jaheira that he would follow her to Spellhold, and he did not easily break promises of such sincerity, especially not to those in such need as her.

Valygar trod the path he remembered to the circular gardens, a place of greenery and berries aglow with convincing sunlight and awash with the smell of sweet flowers in bloom, their pinks and blues and whites a gentler splash of colour than the grander mosaic ceiling of the meeting room. Minsc's snores assaulted his ears also, rumbling with familiar awesome resonance through the nearest closed door, these portals at least constructed of more familiar wood and hinges.

In fact, of the five doors set in the walls around this circular garden only one yet stood open, and through it he spied Jaheira sitting on the edge of a large white bed. Dressed in her green tunic and faded black trousers, her feet were bare and her blonde hair wet; it seemed fair to assume that she had washed and changed after the battle just passed. Her full backpack was propped up by her ankle, and she was staring at the ground, forearms braced against her thighs.

She looked up as he approached though his tread upon the moss-and-grass ground was inaudible to his own ears. Her frown eased a little, though not entirely, and she lowered her pale eyes to the floor between them as Valygar reached the doorway.

"Aerie ordered me to sleep," the druid noted with the flat voice of one weary enough to deserve such dictation. "I do not think that she understands what it is that she demands of me."

"Then I take it you have paid dearly for this opportunity. Jan says that the clash occurred between our group and the Shadow Thieves because Elatharia chose Yoshimo's contact over their aid. That it led to an attack on her person due to affront or distrust. I take it the truth is otherwise."

The druid nodded, though he had not really been _asking_ , her mouth set in a hard line.

"Aerie and Anomen took the other two rooms," she gestured to her right; his left. "She took her own advice, I hope. But it might be wise to speak behind a closed door – or not at all."

It was the closest thing to an invitation that one was likely to gain from the druid, and Valygar hesitated to take it. Sometimes solitude and silence were better than words. He knew this well. Still, after a moment of contemplation he nodded, stepping over the threshold and pulling shut the door behind him. He did not take a seat, though there was a chair in one corner. This whole place rang with the Sphere's smooth white blandness, very alien, and it jangled his nerve as surely as the more usual grandeur of wizards.

"Why have you come, ranger?" Jaheira demanded into the stillness. Straight to the point.

"I said once before that we should drive the less…honest members of this group away. And I understand that you wish to hold on to their help during our trip to Spellhold – that is not something I would say is wise, but I understand your need. Still," he sighed, folding his arms and shaking his head, "Those wizards are far too close. Edwin cannot stay with us forever; if he does not kill Elatharia first, she will take his side."

"It has ever been thus," Jaheira promised, though something about the flicker of irritation on her face suggested they were words spoken in anger rather than honesty, "Are you suggesting we must separate the Red Wizard from the group now?"

"No. that would be too difficult, and cause too much strife. But we must prepare ourselves for treachery, and for the will to fight back if necessary – indeed, to make the first move."

"As satisfying as that sounds, Imoen would not thank us for it when we reach her. She loves Elatharia, as they were brought up sisters, and you would be surprised by the level of tolerance that she has for Edwin."

"We may have no choice," Valygar pointed out, "And you should be prepared to tell Aerie and Anomen. Mazzy also, of course."

Jaheira nodded, looking away again as if losing interest. They had, after all, discussed this in less detail before. Valygar shifted uncomfortably for a moment or two before steeling his nerve. He crossed the room and clasped Jaheira's shoulder – just as she was about to tell him to leave, from the looks of her irritated grimace. At the contact that angry expression wavered for a second time, and she looked up at him with something more like anxiety.

"I came here to show you that you have my allegiance, as promised. I will take the ship with you to Spellhold, Jaheira. And," the faintest smile passed over his lips, "Aerie was probably right. You should try to get some sleep before we leave."

The druid tried to frown at Valygar, but her brows trembled and an even fainter smile graced her face. The ranger looked away and stepped back conscientiously when her eyes began to fill with tears that she would never wish him to see. He was opening the door to leave when he heard her gruff words.

"Thank you, Valygar."

* * *

It was a surreal sight to see a ship's sails being unfurled at this hour, the sun a rippling wheel upon the horizon, sinking into the sea and leaving in its wake a fearsome shroud of pink and purple. The stars were starting to come out, faint for now; at least their night at sea would be a dry one. The usually choppy Sea of Swords was remaining obligingly calm, too. It felt like a calm before a mighty storm to Yoshimo.

The ship was an impressive carrack waiting far out on the longest jetty, where Athkatla's unusually deep harbour could cope with its size. Yoshimo had to squint from here, back on the cobblestones of dry land, to read the lettering on its side. _The Sea's Maid._ Not the most inventive of titles. But then again, Saemon Havarian's inventiveness was always far too busy with all of his lies – though that ship had taken more names over the years than he had, and that was saying something. It had been a blessedly long time since they had last met.

The captain in question, long-time smuggler and part-time pirate, was just sauntering down the jetty to meet Bodhi, who stood swathed in her long black cloak, just her red smile visible beneath the deep hood. Havarian seemed to have taken sea-legs to the extreme, perhaps appropriating it as some kind of swagger, leaning on a metal-topped cane. Perhaps he really did spend that much time at sea. No one wanted him on land, that was for certain.

"All is prepared, Havarian?" Bodhi inquired silkily as the ship's captain arrived.

"Indeed, ma'am. All is in order and we'll not be long of the land," Havarian agreed with a tip of his dark, feather-adorned hat. He was dressed remarkably drably today, in a plain black doublet and grey trousers. His boots were soft, and made no sound as he moved. He had a longsword at his hip and a pipe in one hand, as always. "I assume you're…ah…people have taken up 'watch' of the city for the night by now, mistress?"

"Good. And yes, of course," Bodhi nodded minutely, folding her arms and gesturing Yoshimo's way with one black-taloned finger, "I think you two have met before?"

Leaning against the lantern pole where the jetty began, Yoshimo straightened now as Havarian turned to look at him curiously. They had indeed met before, several times while Yoshimo had been in the employ of…his own coinpurse, two-timing Bodhi and the Shadow Thieves. Since it had been Linvail who threw him into Irenicus's clutches and not the vampire mistress, Yoshimo felt that the day's events could only really work in his favour. Who else could say that Bodhi had given them a second chance (of sorts)?

"We have," Yoshimo noted when Havarian squinted at him through the dimming light. The captain was only about ten years older than the Kara-Turan, a little weathered by his forty years but still muscular and vigorous – and quick with a blade. His eyesight could not be that bad.

"We have?" Havarian shifted from silent foot to silent foot, "Ah, yes. Yoshimo. Haven't seen you around for…more than twelve months, I'd say. I'm not sailing all the way back to Kozakura in my lifetime, I'm warning you. That was a voyage I'd sooner forget."

"And I would, also," Yoshimo affected a laugh, though the memory of his time in Havarian's crew, scrubbing decks and fighting a seasickness more akin to the plague, was not something about which he would ever be able to smile genuinely, "Though it has been twenty years, and still we think of it whenever we see each other. Perhaps we should aim not to meet after this journey, yes?"

Havarian cracked a more genuine smile at that, though he filled it with his pipe so that he might shake the Kara-Turan's hand. His grip was tighter than Yoshimo had expected, and something desperate clawed in his strikingly blue eyes before he turned back to Bodhi with a small bow.

"I take it I'm just waiting on his friends now, ma'am? Will you be joining us? I have a room that…"

"No," Bodhi said it sharply, "That would be unwise. She must not be suspicious of anything until the time is right. Else the chaos that could result from her more unaccepting friends might destroy all hope of getting her to Spellhold in one piece. And that just cannot be allowed." She drew her cloak around her more fully, so carefully to keep every inch of skin veiled from the fading light.

"As you would have it, mistress," Havarian agreed with another bow. She inclined her head to him imperiously.

"Do not forget your role in this, captain. Take them to Brynnlaw and guide them to the inn. Wait at the harbour – there may be need of your services afterwards," she turned to Yoshimo then, and her eyes were hard as stone, "Do not waver from what we discussed. You know your fate."

"I do," Yoshimo agreed, and the words only strengthened the wall of stone around his heart, "I will inform my companions and they should be here very shortly." Reaching into his jerkin's pocket, he turned over the teleportation stone in his hand. He could not use it, but Valen waited back at his Guild House. She had dabbled in wizardry during her long life.

"Very good, then everything is in motion," Bodhi grinned more fiercely now, stepping back from the two men, "I will see you both shortly."

When her form exploded into a swarm of bats, both men cowered.

* * *

"I never thought I would see this day," Elatharia murmured, pulling back a little as the rest of the group trooped down the narrow stone steps leading into an old, empty section of the docks.

Hearing the disquiet in the Transmuter's voice, Aerie paused by her side, watching the others descending with Jaheira in the lead. Her torch led the way, one of few illuminations in this run down section of the Docks District. Seeing the crumbling crates and the cracked flagstones, Aerie squeezed the Transmuter's shoulder as reassuringly as she could. If it were not for the huge ship bobbing at anchor at the far end of the one intact jetty, the avariel might not have believed this were true either. But its numerous sails were unfurled, and it looked more than ready to leave port.

"It certainly feels a little…a little strange, that we have to take a ship from the abandoned stretch of the old harbour," Aerie admitted, adjusting her heavy backpack and already looking forward to the chance to take it off. "Although Y-Yoshimo seems to…to know what he is doing. I hadn't realised he knew a wizard who could use Edwin's teleportation stone to get us here."

Elatharia looked around at her then, her expression a little uncomfortable. She tugged her grey hood lower with white-gloved hands as if something about Aerie's words had made her self-conscious.

"I can't lie to you, Aerie," the Transmuter said, "The man who captains that ship is probably a smuggler at best. Apparently no one else travels to Brynnlaw – it's one of the Nelanther Isles after all, and you know what they're better known as."

"The Pirate Isles," Aerie nodded. Mazzy had warned her of all of this. Spellhold stood on the island of Brynnlaw, one of the smallest of the infamous Nelanther Isles. "I…I understand. And I'm with you."

Elatharia smiled almost wistfully at that, and moved to follow the others. Edwin had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was watching their interaction with a small frown while the others moved to meet the man waiting by the lantern at the beginning of the jetty.

"Wait," Aerie caught her arm, and Elatharia looked around at her sharply, "I…I wanted to say that I'm glad you let Jaheira talk you out of whatever…whatever it was you were going to do. Maybe the Shadow Thieves b-betrayed you because they knew about what you almost did, but I'm just happy that you didn't do it. I…I understand th-that you love your sister. It's noble to care so much," the avariel smiled, "But nobler when to know to…to stay your hand."

Elatharia just nodded stiffly. Her smile did not return, and she turned away without a word.

They caught up with the others just as they reached the man waiting under the lantern. He stepped forward, his smile shining white in his tanned, weathered face, and tipped his hat to them before scanning the group trudging to a stop before him. His eyes rested on Yoshimo, irises glittering an indeterminate human shade in the poor light.

"So this be your merry band, Yoshimo," he greeted as Aerie stepped up between Jaheira and Anomen. The druid did not look around, her expression rigidly aimed this new man's way, but Anomen looked down to meet Aerie's eyes. He brushed his knuckles against hers as she fidgeted with her cloak.

"Indeed," the Kara-Turan nodded, clapping the man on the shoulder and turning to face the group, "Elatharia, this is Captain Saemon Havarian, once of the Moonshaes and now long of the sea. I have known him many years, but only in the past few days has he fortuitously returned to Athkatla. And he has very kindly agreed to take us with him to Brynnlaw."

"Elatharia, is it?" the captain followed the Kara-Turan's gesture and held out a hand the Transmuter's way. He grinned as she took it, "Tis not often that I meet a fellow of the Moonshaes here." He looked Yoshimo's way and thus missed Elatharia's undoubtedly bemused expression – an expression repeated amongst the group, no doubt. "Her name might seem unusual in Amn, but in the Moonshaes tis the name of many a grandmother. Not a common name amongst the youth, though," he looked back to Elatharia, "Traditional parents, yes?" Although his smile dropped when he met her eyes.

"I'm…not of the Moonshaes as you assume," she corrected slowly, "My home was Candlekeep."

Havarian recovered quickly enough, raising an eyebrow.

"Well then, not so many children spring from Candlekeep, lass. One look at your green eyes and one sounding of your name, and any child of the Moonshaes would be certain to promise you that you share their blood," he nodded with some sincerity before his crooked smile returned and he gestured to the group, "Regardless, I'd not like to keep you out here on the cold dark land a moment longer. Follow me, noble adventurers! All aboard! And may the winds carry us fast and true for Brynnlaw!"


	33. This Sea of Swords

**As ever, thank you so much to those who are reading and to those reviewing - your comments are greatly appreciated!**

* * *

 **Chapter 32: This Sea of Swords**

* * *

"Here, drink this."

Too wretched to disagree, Elatharia nodded foggily and took the small glass vial from Saemon Havarian's hand. Still leaning over the railing – more of a precautionary measure, since she had thus far retained the contents of her stomach, unlike Korgan – the Transmuter pulled free the cork and sniffed at the opening. It smelled faintly of mint and not much else. A quick cantrip told her that it was free of poison, even as the boat rocked again and her stomach lurched.

"One look at you now on the sea, and I'd never have mistaken you for a Moonshae-born," Saemon admitted while she drank the potion, "Though I'd still wager you have the blood."

Elatharia grimaced against the taste of the concoction, turning her back to the open sea and leaning her elbows on the railing, staring up at the taut sails straining against the wind which yet howled in her ears and set tendrils of hair whipping across her face. It had been a slow start to the voyage; the bay of Athkatla had been deceptively calm and the air fairly still. But Saemon had promised that their journey would set its pace only once they reached the Sea of Swords for real…and then the waves had risen up, sharp and foaming, rocking the ship while the wind bore down upon them with force enough to burn her cheeks as badly as the sun – which now hid behind thick white clouds. The air tasted of salt, and the seagulls had lessened in number to almost none as they left behind sight of land. After a night and day of travelling, not even the golden sands of Amn were visible. All was a roiling blue-black mass, but for the odd hunk of rock rising above the foaming waves.

The crew were a cheerful enough lot – at least as far as Elatharia could determine. Their eyes lingered curiously on her mask in an altogether different way from how they lingered upon hapless Aerie. Jaheira had insisted that Anomen stay at the avariel's side for as much of this voyage as possible, sending wary glances after every sailor adjusting the rigging or scrubbing the deck. A few were playing cards on a set of barrels and had taken up the task of teaching the game to Haer'Dalis.

Anomen and Aerie were talking by the railing at the prow of the ship, while Minsc had taken to joining in with the crew in an impressive display of strength – and of previously well-hidden skills. Mazzy, Jaheira and Valygar were talking a few paces from them, frowning and gesturing by turns. Viconia and Edwin were both determined to stay below decks for the most part; the drow only surfaced at night to whisper with Haer'Dalis. Meanwhile, Korgan was still leaning over the far rail – apparently Saemon had not got to him yet.

"Perhaps you should offer your concoction to him, too?" the Transmuter suggested, nodding in the direction of the afflicted dwarf.

"Aye, I should," Saemon laughed, standing effortlessly upon the boards without the support of the railing and beginning to fish around in the satchel swaying from his shoulder. His eyes were very blue and a little too perceptive when he raised them to hers again. "And as a Transmuter, I suppose you'll be wanting the recipe to make yourself some more, aye?"

Elatharia blinked at him, surprised.

"I've known a fair deal of wizards in my time, lass. Amn isn't a good place for spellcasters, controlling imports and exports of spell reagents and the like. A large part of my trade is bringing them what the city has made illegal. So, the recipe, aye?"

"You're not going to be selling any to me, Captain Havarian," she denied him, though his smile did not falter. "But the recipe I will accept. Not the ingredients." With the recipe she would be able to understand how to create the necessary spell for future use – or else she would discover that it was simply a placebo.

"As you wish, lass. I'll have it for you shortly." He did not mention Bodhi, or whatever she had given him or offered him for this passage. But his willingness to help only served as a reminder that he was working for their mysterious ally.

As the captain sauntered away to risk approaching Korgan, Elatharia took a deep, relieved breath. The seasickness had only come upon her a few hours ago, when the ship began to rock most distinctly. Korgan had been like that since they left – which meant that Saemon must have made those potions during the journey and not had any to hand before.

"How long to Brynnlaw?" she called after the captain.

"We'll be at the harbour by evening tomorrow without doubt," he answered, turning about and tipping his hat back at her as he ducked under some rigging.

That thought set her mind reeling, and the next breath she took was a little shaky. A day and a half to prepare for Spellhold. Wherein waited her sister. With Irenicus. It was a good enough reminder of what she should be doing now that the seasickness had passed, and she headed for the door down into the lower decks. Her passage across the rocking deck was not nearly so well-balanced as Saemon's, but she was learning.

"Ah, my Raven! I saw a seal of your Prime Material for real today!" Haer'Dalis greeted, catching at her wrist for a moment as she passed him. The table at which he and some of the sailors sat with their card game stood against the cabin wall into which the door down was set.

 _Manacles digging into her wrists. Spiked manacles shredding her skin and tendons and muscles as she writhed._

Elatharia pulled free of his light grip automatically, air leaving her lungs abruptly. For a moment it felt as though no air would ever enter again. She looked away at nothing and finally recalled that she had once pointed out to him that he had never seen a seal. The smile she sent him for his exuberance was clearly not very convincing. Haer'Dalis's own grin flickered, and something altogether too serious and empathic filled his dark eyes.

"Won't you stay and learn the game, my Raven? It may distract your thoughts from the things to come."

 _Nothing would_.

The sailors peered at her too curiously.

"The only thing that might distract me is preparation," she told him, perhaps a little sharply, and escaped through the door, ignoring his calls of cheerful protest.

It was a little difficult to navigate the ladder down below decks with her long Robe of Vecna, especially with the ship rocking around her, and then she had to allow a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The lower deck consisted of only three separate areas; two sections lined with bunks, separated by a long – and currently mostly empty – storage room. Her party had been given one of the bunk rooms to themselves, and it was just outside of this, at the far end of the storage room, at which Edwin had strewn books and sheets of notes across a particularly large crate. Seated on a wooden board running the length of the wall with a conjured light bobbing just above him, he was not hard to spot. The glint of his numerous golden rings and the vibrancy of his red Houppelande were striking in this dingy underbelly of the ship.

The Red Wizard glanced up as Elatharia approached, following her course as she came around the crate to sit next to him on the board. It was a little high for her, and the edge dug into the back of her knees; she pulled her legs up under her instead, and Edwin did not relinquish space to her as she leaned closer to see what he was reading. His elbow dug into her ribs, and she tried to ignore the sudden and almost overwhelming urge to wriggle closer still.

"What is that?" Edwin demanded by way of greeting, pointing at the large sigil drawn into the page of the book before him.

Elatharia's stomach dropped at the sight; although she had told him to look through Imoen's spellbook out of necessity, she would have preferred that neither of them did. Her sister's small, slightly rounded calligraphic hand swirled across the opposite page. The memory of teaching her that spell surged up, and suddenly there was a lump in her throat.

"That…that's one of the first proper spells I taught her," Elatharia muttered, flicking through the few pages ahead of it in the book before returning to it, "It's a Transmutation, for breathing underwater," she glanced at Edwin's face, her chin brushing his shoulder, but he just watched her fingertips tracing the familiar shape of the spell's symbol.

"A relevant consideration now, I would think," he noted, "(And so simplistic that I could not recognise it. Hm.)"

"I know. Moonshae blood or not, I've been memorising it every night since we left," she admitted, ignoring his scornful mutterings pointedly. Something about seeing that spell, there in her sister's hand, brought back memories she would rather keep dormant until she could see Imoen again for real.

"You truly think that the ship's wayward captain has given you a real clue about your mother?" Edwin asked sceptically as he brushed her hand from the page and flicked through to another.

"Well. Moonshae Islanders are stereotypically green eyed and red haired. I've not the red hair, but Saemon Havarian hasn't either. It wouldn't be proof even if both of us showed both traits," she admitted, "But…my name. He seemed very certain about that. And his accent is indicative of the Moonshae language. He demonstrates elements of pitch accent, in particular. So he sounds like he's qualified to know."

"Demonstrates elements of…" Edwin twisted about to look at her properly, taken aback, "When did you demonstrate such knowledge of _the barbarian island languages of the Sea of Swords_?"

"I studied under a great linguist, Parda, in Candlekeep," Elatharia reminded him, "Well…Parda was better known for his palaeography and study of practical magic theory, but he's the kind of man who knows everything about everything."

"(Indeed, if you live long enough in a place like that you will inevitably turn to the less cultured areas of study,)" Edwin muttered. He paused. "Green eyes and red hair, you say?"

"…Yes," Elatharia nodded, "Why?"

He just frowned and shook his head, gesturing at Imoen's spellbook instead. The spell it showed now was not familiar to Elatharia, though it did not appear particularly complex. Her skin crawled, and she recoiled automatically – enough to jolt Edwin and earn an irritated hiss. _Irenicus._

"He taught her many spells in the time when you were his captives," the Conjurer commented, eyeing her a little irritably as she failed to tear her gaze from the sigil upon the page. "Necromancy and Invocation, mostly. Enough to make me think that he is specialised in the former…"

"He isn't," Elatharia stated automatically, swallowing against the nausea which now had nothing to do with her former seasickness. "Imoen wrote in my journal that he…used a number of Enchantments, too. And he d-d-definite…" she gulped, the blankness behind her eyes warning of a memory that she could never recall, lest madness reign, "And he _definitely_ used Illusion spells more than once. Since Illusion would be a Necromancer's forbidden school…"

"Yes, yes, I am familiar with magic," Edwin complained, gesturing between them as if that gap that had emerged was a physical representation of Elatharia's unease. "Although you apparently do not fathom the importance of learning all that is available about one's enemies."

 _It is terribly unwise to work out less than your foe intends._ That had been Viconia's advice before they left. It rang painfully true. So Elatharia forced a deep breath and shifted closer again so that they might both peer down at the book.

"I do understand," she disagreed, leaning forward to hold down the corner of the book. She almost relinquished it again when Edwin's thumb drifted briefly over the scars dotting her wrist.

* * *

Mazzy found Jaheira standing alone at the prow of the ship, staring past the dwindling lantern light surrounding the rowdy group gathered around the main mast. Her back was rigid, her shoulders squared, and her hands gripped the railing tightly. Her eyes were trained upon the west, no doubt thinking of their destination, or lost in thoughts of those she pursued, no doubt.

Pushing her hands into her cloak's inner pockets and drawing the garment more closely about her deceptively small frame, Mazzy pulled up short, just before the wheel. The contraption hummed faintly with some enchantment, or a ward of some kind. Surely it did not steer the ship? Either way, it creaked faintly as it shifted with the swell and fall of the waves beneath them. The ship rocked endlessly, and it had been a chore for the paladin to find her feet over the last day, though she had not suffered from the seasickness which had overcome most of the others. Brutish dwarves like Korgan might have lost their squeamishness (if ever they had it) but she was a halfling, and halflings apparently had strong stomachs.

It felt rude to interrupt Jaheira, but just as rude to avoid this conversation. And in the end, harbouring doubts, or fears, or worries was never a good idea. Where possible, conflict ought to be avoided, especially where misunderstanding would be the cause. Arvoreen was a god of war, but not of unjust war. And not of slaughter.

Jaheira twisted about to look at Mazzy a moment before the halfling reached her side. She sent her a stiff nod, lips pressed together tightly as if to show that she had no wish to speak. She turned her eyes back on the darkness-shrouded horizon quickly enough, but for a moment the light of Saemon Havarian's swinging lanterns had illuminated her pained expression. She seemed to flinch a little when a roar of laughter rose up amongst the group they had left behind.

Mazzy looked around to those others, gathered around the main mast, Saemon and his crew mingling with her various companions easily. Haer'Dalis, Minsc and Valygar had all shown some significant knowledge of sailing – or a willingness to learn – and had set about helping the crew since they set off from Athkatla twenty-four hours before. They had settled in quickly. It was strange to see Valygar sitting amongst such a boisterous, rowdy gathering – and smiling, too, though faintly, sipping on some of that foul rum. Haer'Dalis never touched the liquor, but his tiny travelling harp and the bawdy songs with which he accompanied it had given him a way to ingratiate himself further with the crew. Minsc's loud enthusiasm, though a little off-kilter with the crew's own, seemed to have been treated as an unadulterated virtue for once, too. It was a shame that the sailors also laughed along with Korgan's filthy stories and his ready stream of insults. Some banter between him and Haer'Dalis had been the cause the crew's present swell of laughter.

"They are so buoyant I might expect the ship to rise a few more feet out of the ocean," Mazzy quipped, leaning back against the ship's rim and looking askance upward to Jaheira. The gentle prod drew a long sigh from the druid.

"It pains me to see them so merry on a journey like this. It is not their fault that they cannot understand the magnitude of the horror we will see in Spellhold, but I find that does nothing to console me," Jaheira answered with unexpected frankness. She paused, grimacing. "And I should warn you that I am in no mood for conversation, Mazzy. But I have a feeling that you will not leave me to my thoughts so easily tonight."

"I do not disturb you idly, Jaheira," the paladin promised, pouring all of her sincerity into her words, "For, though you forget, I do understand your grief better than most." The words rang out true and strong, though her throat constricted at the memory.

"Forgive me," Jaheira agreed, though the words held no weight.

Mazzy fought not to tut, or to grind her teeth…or to remind Jaheira that her own husband, Patrick of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, had been torn from her grip and slain in the shadows of the Umar Hills. How she had waited in that dank cell for hours after that, fully expecting to die next but instead had heard voices, and the lock had glowed brightly for a moment with magical light before clicking open. There before her had stood Elatharia, a thin girl of a human woman, dark haired, masked, frowning…and her saviour. Minsc had been beaming on her left, and Aerie peering anxiously ahead on her right. Viconia had been watching the gloom with Jaheira not far away, Korgan guarding the door out onto the next passageway.

Mazzy would never forget that moment. Not the bittersweet relief, or the first guilty thought of rage: _why could you not have come sooner? Just a little sooner? And saved my Patrick's life as well._ But she had, instead, thanked them and sworn to help them in their noble cause of finding Imoen. Vengeance was not an action she could ever condone, but she could understand it. For her husband she would have faced that shadow dragon alone. She felt she would have slain it.

"There is something wrong," Mazzy insisted when Jaheira continued to refuse to speak, and the druid tensed at her words, "I cannot trust Elatharia to lead us while she lingers with the Red Wizard. And Yoshimo – we must be careful of him as well. He knows too much of this Saemon Havarian, of Brynnlaw and of Irenicus. We must be watchful, and careful. Lest they drag us into some dreadful trap."

"This group quickly divided," Jaheira agreed, finally looking around at Mazzy with an earnest expression, "And when the time comes, should we free Imoen, we must ensure that she is separated from the evils of her sister. Should it come to it, we may well have to fight. Valygar has already suggested this – no doubt Anomen and Minsc can be brought to understand this imperative as well. Aerie may well refuse to fight, but she will take our side in the end."

The grim words did nothing to lighten Mazzy's heart. At what point did a conspiracy become a righteous plan and vice versa? But she just nodded firmly, and shook the druid's hand.

* * *

The morning was heralded by the cries of seagulls, and the ringing of a distant bell. A number of the party, Elatharia and Jaheira included, had clustered around Saemon Havarian, seeing the brown-and-green splodges of islands dotting the sea unto the horizon. He had told them that they would not be reaching Brynnlaw until early evening, that no it was not visible yet – and that yes, they would know it when they saw it. They had dispersed slowly, though Elatharia had lingered a long time at the prow, eyes fixed on the horizon.

No stranger to the Nelanther Isles, Yoshimo had seen Brynnlaw in passing a few years ago, but had never been there. No one went there unless they had to. The sprawling mass of Spellhold clutching at its westernmost side was a good reminder to new travellers of why that might be.

Once Elatharia had descended back below decks to continue her studies with Edwin, sipping on another of those seasickness antidotes, Saemon Havarian moved to Yoshimo's side, leaning back against the railing. The others had, for the most part, taken up their continued aid of the crew to pass the time until evening. Jaheira was frowning off at nothing, Aerie tentatively approaching her. Korgan was teaching the sailors a bawdy song as they worked, with some input from Jan.

"Your antidotes really do work. A number of our less well travelled companions will be very grateful to you by the time we make land," Yoshimo noted cordially, though careful to keep his voice low. Havarian grunted a half-laugh, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. He did not meet Yoshimo's eyes as the bounty hunter turned to look at him, his voice a whisper. "It is a cunning plan. But will it be enough?"

"The steps have been taken to ensure that she trusts my potions. She has the ingredients and has suffered no ill effects. No doubt she'll be dizzy when she gets to land; I'll advise her to take another of these potions before she sleeps. It should render her without…defences. You and your friend can do the rest, I assume?"

"Indeed," Yoshimo agreed, "Though I would point out that no member of this party will take a single room. If she does not take a room with Viconia, there will be another with her."

"The Red Wizard, by any chance?" Havarian's smile was crooked, and wistful, "I almost feel guilty for denying them a chance to share what they surely have not yet done."

"Perhaps," Yoshimo shrugged, "Or maybe Aerie. All four of them are spellcasters, which could cause a problem – a problem that we do not have time for. Our master will not be pleased if our objective fails. It will slow his work considerably, and add an uncomfortable number of unforeseeable variables."

"Bodhi was explicitly clear that we do not give out the 'potion' to any other than your leader, Yoshimo," Havarian stated, "The others may be quicker to notice, especially the Red Wizard. He and the drow are very likely to recognise the taste of the necessary ingredients; I have been careful to flavour the antidotes which I give to Elatharia with a taste much akin to the anti-magic poison. One so young as her will not notice the difference."

"And what if she does notice she cannot cast spells?"

"By then it will be too late. Have your man ready to strike shortly after she has retired for bed."

Yoshimo could not hide his grimace at the precariousness of this plan – poisoning a Transmuter did not sound like the wisest idea. But it did seem that they had no other options. Even at the thought, the hooks in his soul twisted and scratched. He shuddered. Havarian's hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked back to the ship's captain to see him watching him with haunted eyes.

"It will be over soon, friend. For both of us," he promised.

"You seem rather caught up in conversation."

Mazzy's strong, clearly enunciated tones had them both looking around at the approaching paladin. Her half-plate glittered in the cloud-veiled sunlight almost as fiercely as did her eyes. There was a slight frown upon her strikingly beautiful face. Was that…suspicion in her tone?

"Just two weathered old travellers reminiscing on better, easier days full of fewer obligations, my lady," Saemon Havarian promised jovially, "I have known Yoshimo many years. Did he tell you it was I who ferried him from Kozakura to Athkatla? No? 'Twas a long voyage, to be true…"

Yoshimo sighed, and reforged his blandest smile as Havarian launched into a half-true tale twenty years old. Mazzy's frown abated soon. But the bounty hunter was not really listening – his thoughts were on Brynnlaw, and all that must yet be done to save his soul, and to damn Elatharia's.

* * *

Brynnlaw was first visible on the horizon as a long, dark smudge. It soon became clear that the hulking dark thing was in fact one massive building, of separate towers interlinked by enclosed stone walkways at many levels. The island itself was otherwise apparently quite verdant, and rather small. As they neared the port, it became clear that Brynnlaw's inhabitants were few in number; a cluster of houses arced around the beach, a few ships – and only one other large sailing vessel – bobbing in the harbour. The bells sounded as they arrived, coming from the tower high on the hill rising up between the town and the vast, deep grey stone of the complex beyond.

Elatharia had been lingering at the prow since Havarian's man first shouted that there had been a sighting of Brynnlaw. Aerie had decided to join her, though conversation had felt empty and pointless. The Transmuter's hands were tight upon the railing before her, and she was leaning forwards as if it was hard for her to avoid leaping in and swimming the rest of the way. Nor had she shunned Aerie's presence however, and – given the tense circumstances – that had felt as welcoming as a sunny smile.

Spellhold had few windows, though the odd glint from its towers suggested it had some. It loomed in eerie stillness over the rest of the island, without any hint of variation in its construction, no fluttering flag or sign to denote its nature. Though as they drew closer, and the sun began to sink below the horizon, it became clear that against each tower was graven a huge robed figure, each holding a globe of conjured light at various stages of reverent elevation. They put the lanterns swinging at the docks to shame, but Aerie would have preferred the gentle orange glow of real firelight any day to that piercing white shine.

The harbour was deep enough that the Sea's Maid could draw up to the jetty by the other huge vessel – a 'galleon', Havarian had called it. There was a scramble of activity and calls of greeting for the dockhands who came to join the ship. Elatharia's breath sucked in suddenly, and drew out with a rattle. She was rubbing at her eyes as if tired, but Aerie knew better. She slipped her arm through the Transmuter's and squeezed a little, sending her most sympathetic smile the young woman's way.

"How in all of the Hells are we supposed to get into there?" Elatharia asked softly, gesturing at the only tower of Spellhold now visible. The hill was steep between the town and the prison, and obscured their view. She seemed too tense to be consoled, gently extracting her arm from Aerie's grip.

"We'll find a way," the avariel promised all the same, "Irenicus overran it, didn't he? Well, there won't be the same kind of guards on it. Who knows, we might just be able to walk right in."

Elatharia's expression darkened at that and she pulled her cloak about her as she turned from the railing to look over at Havarian. He was calling for their group to gather round before they left; Jaheira and Yoshimo were already at his side.

"That would only happen if Irenicus willed it so," she sounded distracted; thoughtful. Her eyes narrowed as she looked around at Aerie, "I think you just made me realise something. And it's not good."

"Wha-?"

But Havarian had spotted them, Anomen, Minsc, Korgan and Jan joining him by the main mast with Haer'Dalis and Valygar converging on the group from opposite sides of the ship. Edwin and Viconia were emerging from below deck, no doubt summoned by the ringing of the bells. The drow had pulled her yellow hood low over her eyes to avoid the sting of the sinking sun's rays. In that vivid cloak, the Red Wizard was dressed in decidedly more red than he had favoured in Athkatla and his eyes were scanning the town ahead. Aerie took all of it as a bad sign. He had been spending far too much time with their leader of late.

"I've a few words to say before you depart, my good guests! But once they're said, you'll be free to go," Havarian called, and Elatharia headed forward to join him at speed upon hearing those words.

Aerie followed, slipping into the ring of people between Mazzy and Minsc, both of whom were dressed in their habitual armour, with weapons on their belts. Anomen seemed to have taken the hint to do the same – either because their heavy armour would be too difficult to carry from here to…wherever they were going next, or because they expected a fight. Mazzy looked up and caught Aerie's nervous expression. She patted her elbow and gave a faint smile.

"Just a precaution, Aerie. We don't know what this town is like, or how strong this Irenicus's influence really is."

"We will keep little Aerie safe!" Minsc promised, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him, unable to stop her automatic frown. His expression cleared as if he understood, and his next words proved that. "Or, we will defend her well enough for her to cast her mighty spells and save _us_?"

The words pulled a small giggle from her, and she patted his hand, though she did not feel especially soothed by either of them. After all, as Elatharia, Edwin and Viconia joined the group, a ripple of unease seemed to run subtly through all of them. _We are not all at peace._ Just seeing Elatharia standing there with Edwin, Viconia, Haer'Dalis and Korgan made Aerie's skin crawl. They had not all favoured each other for the voyage, but they shared a secret – as did Yoshimo, she would not forget. It was a secret, however much Jaheira had promised it was resolved, that Aerie had advised the druid against telling to Mazzy, Valygar and Minsc. Anomen had barely held back his wrath at the thought of such undoubtedly evil behaviour, and Jaheira was certainly withholding some information. But Aerie also understood the importance of keeping this group together, brief as she hoped this cooperation would be. The more of them there were, the easier a fight would be against a wizard as undoubtedly powerful and ruthless as Irenicus.

"Alright, my surrogate crew!" Havarian began, gesturing to the wide semi-circle of adventurers who had gathered around him. He leaned back against the main mast, tipping his hat to Elatharia in particular as he puffed on his pipe a moment. "I've a few safety issues to warn you with, afore you step ashore. After all, it will be my ship that gets burned if you go around causing trouble or threatening this place with righteous justice," he sent an apologetic gesture Mazzy and Anomen's way; both paladin and knight seemed less than pleased, but the halfling gave a faint nod of understanding.

"There are a few things you should know about this island," Havarian continued, "And the most important rule is that it has _no law_. As a co-state of the Most Unlawful Compatriot Anti-Sovereignty of Nelanther and its Isles, you'll find that the only word that goes is the word you can back up with your blade. Magic is legal," he doffed his hat to Elatharia and Edwin, though it was Jan who muttered a pleased comment at that information. The Transmuter seemed distracted, fidgeting and watching the movements of those in the town. Beside her, Edwin was frowning up at Spellhold's visible tower.

"There is a Duke here," the captain added, "But he's voted in by the amount of blood he's spilled and the number of Brynnlaevians who are a-feared of him. He's more interested in gold and a good life out here away from the authorities that undoubtedly hunt him than he is in backing up claims against theft, assault or murder. Of course, if anyone insults him too badly or causes him too much fuss, I've heard he'll hand any of that ilk straight in through the doors of Spellhold," Elatharia and Jaheira shared a wary look at that, both shifting uncomfortably at the thought, "Some strange business has been going on there for quite a few tendays, and I know you know it isn't the Cowled Wizards. Either way, he's figured he's better off pandering to the monsters in there than he is turning against their wishes. So be on guard," Saemon stood then, puffing a moment or two more on his pipe before smiling genially, blue eyes twinkling, "Another quick warning – twenty percent of Nelanther Islanders are orcs. That makes them the majority demographic in these parts. So don't go all ranger-happy on them, my large Rashemi friend."

Minsc drew himself up at that, watching the captain as sternly as he ever did anyone.

"Minsc is a champion of good and right. But he does not swing his sword without reason!" the Rashemi disagreed.

Surprised, but pleasantly so, Aerie smiled up at him and patted his massive arm. He blinked down at her, and then smiled back to see that she was happy with him about this.

Edwin muttered something in Elatharia's ear, the way he leaned in so close to her fraying Aerie's nerves further. The Transmuter grinned at whatever he said – and really, what was it that he said to her to make her smile like that at such a fraught time? She looked up at him before he had stood straight again, and their eyes held. Perhaps they did not even know that they behaved like this?

"One last thing, before you go," Saemon added as the party began to disperse – Korgan was already striding for the gangplank and was on it before the captain had spoken further.

"What can it possibly be?" the dwarf chortled over his shoulder, "Ye said there're no laws here but them we can enforce ourselves! Seems simple t' me!"

A few of the crew clapped the dwarf on the back as he left, Jan trotting after him. Aerie eyed them suspiciously – it was never wise to travel at the mercy of those who sided readily with your likely future enemies. She would be more than glad to get off this ship.

"It simply seems fair to add that you will likely be accosted on your way to the inn – that's the large three-storey building a little way up the hill. Just…try not to kill them, eh? It wouldn't be a good start. But a show of force will go a long way to stopping other idiots posturing your way."

"Alright, duly noted," Elatharia sighed, and waved for the others to head after Korgan and Jan, "It seems sensible to head for that inn. It's too late to go to Spellhold yet without a plan. We'll get some rooms, discuss our options, and convene with a plan at first light tomorrow morning."

Jaheira, Valygar and Mazzy were quick to go with nods of agreement, Yoshimo following after a firm handshake with Havarian. Haer'Dalis made to go as well, but Viconia's voice stopped him – though she was not, in fact, addressing the tiefling. Aerie lingered even as Anomen tugged at her hand to suggest they go, and Minsc passed them. It felt…dangerous to leave Elatharia with Edwin, Viconia and Haer'Dalis.

"And what will the townsfolk think of a drow, male?" the Sharan priestess inquired, her tone caught in its perpetual state of almost-purr and certain threat. Her cloak was a brilliant yellow, its silken outer lining shimmering in the lantern light and the shine of sunset. Her black shadow dragon scale tunic exuded darkness, as ever. A veiled monster. Insidious, quiet and calculating.

"They'll be surprised enough, but they'll not treat you worse for your nature, milady," Havarian promised casually, as if he were not talking to a drow priestess of Shar, "You'll be about as rare as the knight or the paladin in these parts, and a sight less hated."

That drew a smile from Viconia, who permitted him to kiss her hand in farewell. It seemed politeness and deference went well with her – and the sight made Aerie frown. The drow's blue eyes were smug as they met hers, before she and Haer'Dalis slunk away after the others.

"My lady…" Anomen tugged Aerie's hand again, but she looked back at him and shook her head.

"I'll be fine, Anomen," she told him, "G-go on, I'll catch up."

He frowned over her head to where Elatharia and Edwin were still talking to Havarian, but by now he knew better than to argue with the avariel – a realisation that made her smile fondly at him as he moved for the gangplank. Minsc's hand settled on her shoulder again when she turned to move closer to the captain and the wizards.

"Minsc and Boo will not permit small Aerie from facing the evil wizard without his sword to bring between them – though her spells may be potent."

Well this was new. Minsc had never been very vocal, following Jaheira's lead and seeming a little disorientated. Perhaps it was the proximity of Irenicus forcing him to remember all that had happened to them in the maniacal wizard's dungeon. Perhaps the forced proximity to Elatharia's allies had led him to notice her relationship with Edwin, and he really just wanted an excuse to keep an eye on the Red Wizard.

"I can hear your pointless attempt at subtlety, Rashemi," Edwin noted as they joined him and Elatharia. He kept his eyes on Minsc, and hardly acknowledged Aerie at all. The ranger did, after all, loom over him in a way that few people did.

Slipping between them, Aerie reached Elatharia's side at the moment that Saemon Havarian pressed a potion into her hands. It was a clear liquid in a rounded vial, stoppered with a little cork.

"Sip on this until you settle down for sleep," he was advising her, "It will stop you feeling too dizzy from the lolling of the ship. Elsewise the memory of the rocking sea will make the steady land seem just as bad as you felt at the beginning of the voyage."

"Thank you," she acceded with a faint smile, and at last they turned to leave for the streets of Brynnlaw.

* * *

The party convened at the far end of the jetty, amongst the clamour of dockhands shutting up for the day. The lighthouse, from which the bell had been rung upon their arrival, was beginning to send its startling red-gold light swinging into thickening darkness. They were already drawing some long, searching stares from the tanned, weather-roughened men who worked the docks.

"From what Havarian has told me, the people of Brynnlaw are a boisterous lot," Elatharia warned the group in general – though Korgan smile widened enough to show a few extra chipped and blackened teeth, "They are quite likely to attack us, or some of us, as a measure of our worth or standing in this…society."

"Bah," Edwin rolled his eyes, looking over the emptying docks, small and ill kept as it was, "I would hardly stoop to calling this a society."

"Historically and anthropologically inaccurate, actually," Elatharia told him rather flatly, and he narrowed his eyes – but said no more, so she continued. "Anyway, we need to get to the inn – there, about half way up the hill? Only the duke's house is larger," she pointed at the only fully stone building visible in the small town, just visible past a cluster of palm trees as a squat but broad mansion. Typical of human showiness in Aerie's experience.

"What is it that you are about to suggest, then?" Jaheira asked sharply, "I would like to point out that we need to reach a place where we might discuss our next move soon. There is no time to be wasted."

"Indeed," Elatharia agreed, cutting off agreeing comments from Anomen, Mazzy and Minsc. "And I was thinking that it might be quicker for us to split up into smaller groups. It feels as though we are more likely to be attacked if we are together in a large number. We will stand out even more than we already do."

"As if we do not already!" Viconia huffed, looking over the gathered adventurers with an indiscriminate sneer.

"I think you are right, leader," Yoshimo put in with atypical insistence. He held a faint smile when all eyes turned to him, "I know the ways of the Nelanther Isles better than I imagine the rest of you do. I would like to confirm that Elatharia's plan is for the best."

Jaheira and Valygar shared a look, but eventually agreements were given and the party began to disperse. The druid and the ranger were the first to go, Mazzy nodding to the others before following. Anomen looked as though he would have liked to join them, but he lingered when he noticed that Aerie was staying firmly put. Viconia and Haer'Dalis were the next to move – Korgan, Yoshimo and Jan along with them. When Edwin turned to follow, so did Elatharia.

"Wait! Elatharia, there was…th-there was something I wanted to talk to you about," Aerie exclaimed quickly, loathe to see the Transmuter disappear with such company again.

Elatharia looked over her shoulder at the avariel in somewhat suspicious surprise before glancing up at Edwin. He raised his eyebrows at her as if she ought to ignore the part-time cleric, but just shrugged and made to follow Viconia and the others when Elatharia turned back and moved to Aerie's side.

With the Red Wizard and the others departing, that left Aerie with Anomen, Minsc and Elatharia. The easier company drew a sigh of relief from her, and a wry – if slightly half-hearted – smile from the Transmuter.

"Don't think I haven't seen through your ruse," she noted a little wearily while they waited for the two groups of their companions to head out in varying directions. Jaheira's course looked like the most direct, unsurprisingly, but Brynnlaw was a small enough town for navigation to be easy even without a map. A few rows of houses lined up in gentle arcs along this side of the hill – and that was all.

"N-no," Aerie denied automatically, though she suspected Elatharia's faster mind could fairly see the whirring of her own as she attempted to find a different explanation, "I…I just thought that it would be better to have a more…more even spread of spellcasters travelling with fighters."

Elatharia raised an eyebrow, though Anomen nodded innocently. He smiled warmly when Aerie met his eyes gratefully – it did seem that he had not noticed any hint of a ruse, anyway. Meanwhile, Minsc beamed and adjusted the strap across his broad chest which kept his greatsword at his back.

"Aerie is correct, Elatharia!" he promised, "Minsc knows much about protecting witches – or wizards, as you say. You will both be under my protection – and of noble Anomen, also," he added, clapping the Helmite knight on the back hard enough to clatter his armour and send him staggering forward half a step with a slightly winded grunt, "Where Minsc goes, evil stands aside!"

Elatharia choked on a laugh but just shrugged in acceptance. She looked over Anomen, too, and a faint frown came to her face when she noted that he was refusing to meet her eyes. They had stayed away from each other on the ship, but that was to be expected – now it would be hard for the human cleric to hide how much he knew about her almost-alliance with Bodhi. The observation made Aerie more than a little nervous.

"Thank you, Minsc," Aerie smiled, happy to see the Rashemi ranger's pleased expression at her words.

"Alright, let's move out," Elatharia suggested, and took Aerie's arm as the two men moved ahead of them. "Go on then, Aerie," she muttered as they headed across the docks to the main port-side road. A flight of steep steps lay beyond this first row of quiet buildings, most of which looked to be shops which had closed up for the night.

Swallowing against the nervousness she felt to have the Transmuter so close to her side – and not altogether sure how she felt about this – Aerie forced herself to nod. She forced herself to believe that Elatharia's grip on her arm really was friendly, and not a subtle threat. The Transmuter was not known for her _subtle_ anger, after all. But after everything that she knew and had seen, the avariel could not stop her heart from leaping into a nervous gallop.

"I…I w-was wondering what it was that you said I had made you realise," she confessed, wincing against the shrillness of her own voice. She kept her eyes on the path ahead, noting with some surprise that there did not seem to be a significant homeless population here – if any at all. She might have expected a pirate town to have more, not fewer, given how clear Saemon Havarian had been about the kill-or-be-killed attitude of the place.

"Ah," Elatharia nodded slowly as if this request was fairly reasonable, but her long pause was not a good sign. "I would rather like to discuss something else with you, first, actually. So that we realise that the secret you are keeping from me is pointless."

"S-secret?" Aerie glanced up the few inches to Elatharia's face.

The Transmuter rolled her eyes.

"Jaheira acknowledged that she had you spy upon us with Divinations before she accosted us…about our potential dealings with Bodhi," Elatharia explained evenly, "So…I know that there are things which you have seen about me and those companions of ours with whom I have spent more time of late, which you are not admitting to. Also, I do realise that you have told Anomen – or that, perhaps, he has made sure to find out. You have always been an awful liar, Aerie."

"Well," the avariel bristled, "I would take that as a compliment rather than the insult which you intended! Lying may be a 'skill' but it is never a good thing. Just as siding with a force worse even than…than the Shadow Thieves c-cannot be worth the risk, either!"

Elatharia's eyebrows rose at that. It was an expression almost of…relief. She just shrugged.

"Then you have never been in a suitably ambiguous situation," she allowed, "But don't think I'll ever agree with you on that. Just be happy that I'm feeling diplomatic."

"D-don't talk like that! Y-you sound like Edwin," Aerie admonished automatically, and that drew a dark frown from Elatharia.

"Just honest, actually," the Transmuter disagreed, disentangling their arms now and throwing the corner of her cloak over her opposite shoulder, "Anyway, I've said what I had to. You needn't torment yourself about your untruths any longer."

It hardly felt like a compromise, but Aerie just nodded a little unwillingly.

"At least you didn't do it," the avariel agreed, "And I'm glad you feel like you can own up to these things out loud with me. Rather than…than keeping them secret."

"What would you think of me, if I had?" Elatharia's voice was low, almost a whisper. The sadness in it tugged at Aerie's heart.

"Well, you didn't," the avariel pointed out, trying to smile, "And…and I don't know. Because I don't know who 'Bodhi' is or what she would have wanted you to do. I j-just know that she led some vampires, and they gave you assignments. But that wouldn't be you, if you'd done it. Not the 'you' I've known. So…I can't judge you. I won't."

Elatharia sighed as they followed Minsc and Anomen around a bend and began the ascent of the stairs up to the next road. Aerie caught the first sounds of habitation – loud male laughter, the smashing of something made of glass. Smoke was wafting up from a number of chimneys, candlelight flickering in windows. There was a stillness in the air, filled by the boisterous clamour and the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of the sea. Away from the stone docks, sand was piled up on the roadside, which was formed predominantly of the same compacted material.

Another sigh, and the Transmuter shook her head with a wry smile.

"Fine. What was it you wanted to know again?"

They were just coming up to the next road, a broad dirt-and-sand track cut from the hill and lined with an unfamiliar type of coarse grass. A few young men dressed in billowing shirts and dark trousers were slouching under the awning of one house nearby. A smashed glass was at the feet of one of those who was standing. Each wore a red sash – a sign of some allegiance or employment, perhaps? – and a curved blade at their hips. They were muscular and tanned, a few lolling as if drunk. They did not look tired or dirty in the same way as the somewhat more aged dockhands – sailors, then. Pirates, probably. Aerie tensed, her gazed flying to the backs of Minsc and Anomen just a few paces ahead of them. But she forced out her response to Elatharia's question.

"What was it that you realised, on the boat before? You said my words made you think of something…"

"Yes," Elatharia nodded, though her eyes were narrowed and trained upon the young men nearby, "I was just thinking that it all seems far too convenient. Like Irenicus wanted…"

"Hey! You for sale?" one of the young men called out now, lurching to his feet to the laughter of his companions, gesturing the way of Aerie and Elatharia, "What's under the cloth, eh? Doesn't that mean ye _are_ for sale?"

Elatharia stiffened, though it was Anomen and Minsc who pulled up short. Aerie and the Transmuter almost walked straight into their backs.

"Oh, you already paid?" another asked Anomen, the gleam of intentional incitement in his eyes. It showed in the way he squared his shoulders and rocked on his feet, in the curl of his lip. In the way his companions gathered around him, ready, with hands on swords hilts and leers on their faces.

"Surely you wouldn't mind sharing?" the first man asked with affected plaintiveness. His eyes settled on Aerie, and the hungry malice in them pushed her back a frightened step, "The blonde elf's pretty. I wouldn't mind her."

"Do not speak of them in that manner!" Anomen snapped, his hand dropping to the hilt of his mace, "Slander and threats will not be ignored."

"Yes! Offer up apologies to our friends or see my fist, rabble!" Minsc agreed. He did not move for his greatsword, curiously. Perhaps he recalled Saemon Havarian's request that they avoid killing the natives.

"Oh! An imbecile and a spoiled brat of a noble!" the first man mocked, "I wouldn't be so sure about your 'prowess', knight."

"Aye! Might be we could show them what they're missing!" one of the others called out.

Elatharia sighed, and fell into a spell without any more words. She seemed oddly…detached from the whole situation. As if she had expected it. Or…as if she was avoiding considering it.

"That is enough!" Anomen exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder to check that Aerie was alright.

In the time that it took him to look back around, Minsc had already charged straight into the group of men and knocked one to the ground with a solid punch. Aerie winced, and then cringed when Anomen joined the fray, easily able to take more than he received when protected by his armour. It seemed that those drunken fools had not considered that he might be a little lighter on his feet than the armour suggested. And perhaps that they had underestimated Minsc's strength and speed as well, not to mention the spell that Elatharia was just bringing forth.


	34. A Fateful Decision

**With big thank yous to those following and reviewing this story! I am both excited and nervous to share this chapter with you, so any comments would be extra-greatly appreciated. ;D**

 **Warnings for brief references to gore/horror/violence. I realise that I had originally suggested this story become M rated much earlier, but it took on a life of its own etc and became much longer than planned. Anyway, for the foreseeable future the rating should just about stay at T.**

 **Onwards, to a chapter which could have gone by many names, including 'An Exercise in Poor Wisdom Scores' and 'Terrible Timing'.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33: A Fateful Decision**

* * *

"The…Vulgar Monkey?" Viconia inquired with some disbelief, pausing outside the town's only inn and tavern. She narrowed her eyes up at the sign creaking with each slow, windblown swing above the uneven awning of the tall wooden building. "Is that…a valid name?"

"As good a name as any I've heard!" Korgan disagreed with Viconia's disapproving tone as he and Jan trudged past her for the open doorway, through which filtered the sounds of clinking glasses, loud laughter and endless, boisterous chatter. Red-orange light bled out onto the dark street, promising shelter from the wind but little else to endear Viconia to it.

"Indeed!" Jan agreed, "Though I must wonder at what vulgarity is not inherent in the expectations brought on by mentions of monkeys, pre-adjectival inclusion. We had many monkeys back in Lantan…"

Ignoring the departing gnome, the drow twisted around to see her other allies in the steadily darkening street. Haer'Dalis was peering up at the sign also, brows furrowing as he tried to understand the peculiar creature painted upon the swinging board. Edwin was just walking around them, his red, gold-lined cloak anomalous for him these days. Beneath it he still wore his black Archmagi doublet, and its golden buttons glinted in the faint light as surely as did his numerous rings. Hardly subtle.

Lanterns had been lit with real flame along the narrow, winding, sandy streets, though their fragile orange flickering did little to veil the cramped little buildings they had passed from Viconia's darkvision. Everything here was made of wood, or compressed sand-concrete, or some combination of both. It gave the town a contrastingly smooth yet rickety appearance. And the whole place smelled of fish and salt, and the gusts of wind invariably brought with them stinging grains of sand. Why surfacers would choose to set up homes out here was beyond Viconia.

"Well? Could anyone explain to me what this means?" the drow priestess insisted, pointing at the sign.

"Must it mean something?" Edwin sighed, pausing just under the awning as Korgan entered the inn and bellowed some demand for dwarven ale. "Your sheltered upbringing in Menzoberranzan is so quaint." His drawled words drew a smile from Viconia – not even a Red Wizard could really mean them. "A monkey is an animal of the southern jungles. It prefers the trees (and holds far more intelligence than the majority of our party members…combined)."

"High praise from you, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis noted thoughtfully from behind the drow. "What is it that has you in such a contemplative mood?"

"Contemplative…" Edwin blinked at him through the gloom for a moment before shaking his head and sighing, heading in after Korgan.

A glance past the Red Wizard showed that the dwarf had already insinuated himself onto a high stool at the bar. Mazzy and Valygar were sitting at a table by the window just to Haer'Dalis's side – the halfling sent Viconia a faint nod as their eyes met through the pane. Although the noises from the tavern hall were substantial, the foggy glass showed that there were fewer patrons present than Viconia had expected – most of the clamour was coming from a group of perhaps ten drunken sailors gathered at the far end of the room, half of whom they had travelled with upon the Sea's Maid that day. A few aging men, scarred and craggy-faced, were slumped against the bar, and a lutenist had passed out in one corner. Jaheira was making her way across the tavern floor from the bar with only a cursory glance Korgan and Jan's way, her path leading her to join Valygar and Mazzy by the window. She passed Edwin, but neither acknowledged the other.

As with more of the men they had passed, the innkeeper bore the traits of one whose blood holds more than a hint of orcish heritage. Taller than Minsc, a little broader, strongly prognathic though without tusks, she could just make out a grey-green tinge upon his skin and the uneven spread of his coarse dark hair across his scalp. Saemon Havarian had not been lying when he said that orcs were a key demographic in the Nelanther Isles.

"I see no sign of Elatharia," Viconia noted, reluctant to enter the inn now, "Nor of those with whom she set out."

Twisting about, she seated herself on the low partition of the awning and preferred to watch the dark street. There was little movement here, but for the rustle of something in the trees or the darting movement of some small nocturnal animal across the road. They had passed a few drunken men and women on their way to the inn – it seemed that the town was half-deserted, however, and that the inn was not the locals' favoured haunt.

Haer'Dalis lingered also, nodding thoughtfully to Viconia's words and looking about himself for a moment or two before perching beside her. His arm brushed hers, a moment of contact that stirred something automatic inside her – even as her mind rebelled. It was one thing to bed someone, but gestures of closeness had never been Viconia's forte. Subtly leaning away from him, she turned a little to make out his expression and was surprised by the seriousness upon his face, his black eyes intent as they scanned the road along which they had just come.

"I suspect we were fortunate to come up against no resistance on our way," he noted softly, "Either those we passed were too drunk to care, or they preferred not to challenge a group which featured a drow and a quarrelsome dwarf. The Dove was both wise and foolish to suggest Elatharia stay with her. Two young females apparently under the guard of two young human men…well," he shrugged, "I would expect our Raven to throw enough spells to put them quickly in their place."

"If she has not killed them already," Viconia scoffed, "Any males foolish enough to attack in such a manner would deserve such a fate, regardless of what Havarian said."

"Hmm," Haer'Dalis shrugged again, "We will see when they arrive."

"But? And?" Viconia prompted. The absence of his arm against hers was as infuriating as its presence. It was doing nothing for her mood.

Unexpectedly, Haer'Dalis did not even acknowledge her irritable tone. He just continued to stare into the darkness. His deep voice was half a growl when he spoke next.

"The Cuckoo has disappeared from our flock, Viconia."

His use of her real name startled her, tugged at her. She caught his arm and at last he looked around.

"When?" she demanded. It was true. She did not remember the last time she had seen Yoshimo at their backs. What was it Elatharia had said of him? _Not a man to keep at your back_. The girl might have been brash, but she could be perceptive all the same.

"You do me wrong, friends," Yoshimo's voice flowed suddenly from the darkness behind them. Both whirled to see him standing under the awning, all in black as always. When had he been capable of such impeccably silent movement? A drow would have been proud of such stealth. "I was merely hanging back a little to scope the town, but I never lost sight of you. I went to look around the inn when you paused to consider the sign."

He smiled placidly, and Viconia's instincts told her plainly that this man was lying. Haer'Dalis was on his feet, hands on the hilts of his blades, a feral look on his face but Viconia rolled her eyes at him before looking back to Yoshimo. So, the man was lying. But whatever he was keeping secret from them must have been interesting indeed, and she found that she much preferred the unveiling of the truth over a fight in the street. And who would win, really, between Haer'Dalis and Yoshimo? The bounty hunter kept too much secret to allow an informed opinion, and she was not finished with the tiefling.

"Oh, very well," Viconia dismissed the bounty hunter, "Perhaps you could run along and find Elath…"

Her words were rendered a little pointless when Aerie's high voice fluttered down the street, accompanied by the sound of dragging feet and the clank of Anomen's armour. A moment later, and the four wayward members of their party appeared – Minsc was leaning heavily against Anomen, both of whom sported cuts and emerging bruises. The Rashemi was limping, bald head lolling. Elatharia followed in their wake, apparently unhurt and not particularly ruffled, though her eyes were watchful as they scanned the darkness with the aid of her enchanted mask.

Aerie was telling Anomen to bring Minsc to the awning so that they could pause long enough to cast a few healing spells. Yoshimo bowed to them as they arrived and moved inside after requesting that someone relate the tale in full later. Haer'Dalis watched him go with a frown, but he said nothing more on the subject of the bounty hunter as Viconia turned to Elatharia.

The Transmuter waved away the drow's questions before they were spoken, squeezing past Minsc's stiffly sitting form to go inside.

"I'll tell you after I've had a drink," she promised, "And then we need to discuss our next move."

* * *

The damage the street ruffians had done to Minsc was mostly minor, although the cut one had scored along his leg was cruelly deep. Aerie's spells soon healed them, however, while Anomen tended to his own scratches and bruises. Soon there was nothing to show for their previous fight, but for droplets of blood on Anomen's armour and the more substantial tear and telling red stain on Minsc's trouser leg.

"Boo says you are a very good and sensible companion, Aerie," the Rashemi noted as the last of his wounds closed under the soothing influence of her divine spells. Anomen was waiting in the doorway, evidently loathe to leave them when they had been so recently attacked, and he now sent a strange look to the back of Minsc's head.

Making to stand, Aerie smiled and patted the Rashemi's knee. The hamster in question had clambered out from somewhere under Minsc's thick leather jerkin to perch on his shoulder and sniff tentatively at the air.

"Boo is very kind, Minsc," Aerie promised.

She smiled back at him – and caught the hint of sadness in his expressive eyes. He was so tall that she normally did not have much of an opportunity to address the ranger on such level terms; his face was large and very masculine, purple warpaint spiralling over his bald scalp but failing to hide the deep scar there. He was much younger than his large physique and booming voice suggested – in his mid-twenties and no more.

"Is…is everything alright?" she asked of him softly, sitting back down on the step beside him and ignoring Anomen's gesture for them to go inside. Equally, he refused her wordless suggestion that he go inside.

"Of course! Minsc is a strong warrior and Boo is all that he has in the w…Boo is all that he _needs_ in the world," the ranger corrected himself with a confused shake of the head.

Oh! Was this sadness because of Dynaheir? Just as Elatharia and Jaheira had been even more tense and distracted of late, so too would it make sense for Minsc to be affected by the proximity of Spellhold, wherein all their sources told them that Irenicus awaited…with Imoen.

"I have…I have heard that Dynaheir was a good, strong woman," Aerie ventured, and Minsc's brow creased – although he nodded fearsomely.

"Dynaheir was a witch of great goodness! Evil cowered, and hid, and ran from her! Only not the evil wizard," his breath was a little ragged as he gasped involuntarily, his face crumpling more before he looked away sharply, one shaking hand searching for Boo and gathering up the small, docile creature for comfort. His voice broke upon his next words. "The…the evil wizard dragged her from Minsc and from Boo and forced us…to watch the death of one we loved."

"I…I'm sorry, Minsc," Aerie offered more than a little guiltily. How foolish of her! To bring such memories upon him now, when they must keep their focus. She patted at his shoulder uselessly as he fought his emotions, and he covered her hand with his much larger one, still not looking at her. "That…that must have been awful. I know how it f-feels."

"Small Aerie has been forced to watch a loved one die?" Minsc exclaimed now with a look of horror. Where someone else might have scoffed and assumed she did not know, he took her at her word. She nodded.

"My betrothed and I saw some slavers dragging a pair of orphaned children down a Damaran road. We went down to help, but they had made the trap just for us and they caught us with nets before we could fly away. My betrothed fought to free me, and when he turned his sword upon them they…they killed him." And her wings had withered. And she had felt the bite of the saw. Her back burned with the memory and she looked away quickly, shivering.

"Minsc will not allow harm to come to Aerie while he yet lives. She is good, and kind and noble. She is…also a witch…a wizard," he ammended when she opened her mouth to correct him. She did not know the ways of the Rashemi, whose witches were unique in the manner of their spells and wherefrom they gained their power. "Minsc was once shamed and guilty. Good Dynaheir should never have died before me. And now…there may be revenge. But…Minsc is nothing without his witch. He must have someone to protect – and Aerie is very worthy of protection."

"Thank you, Minsc…"

"Would Aerie become Minsc's witch?" he asked it fairly suddenly, though the hope in his voice was plentiful. It was echoed on his face, as well, and Aerie had to check her exclamation of confusion lest she offend him.

"I'm…I'm not Rashemi, Minsc. I th-think I've only seen your country far on the horizon from the eyrie of Faenya-Dáil…"

"Minsc will protect Aerie with his life! It will give Minsc purpose once more! And absolve his shame!"

Such hope in his eyes! Such…desperation. Aerie's heart swelled with the compliment, though the prospect of such a covenant also came with more than a little anxiety. Just what did this entail? Anomen stepped forward from the doorway at the sound of Minsc's insistence.

"Now see here, Minsc, I'm sure it's an honourable role in Rashemen…"

"Anomen!" Aerie stopped him short, frustration overtaking anxiety. Minsc twisted around to look between them as the avariel glared and the knight backed up, surprised. "I mean…I don't think being someone's witch is quite what you're thinking, Anomen," she added more softly, "It's a covenant of a protector and his leader, isn't it?"

Minsc nodded innocently.

"You won't…force her to marry you in any presumptive, shamanistic ritual?" Anomen sounded doubtful. Minsc blinked without comprehension, but shook his head.

"Alright then," Aerie smiled at Minsc now, though she could not deny a large part of this decision was born of an irrational need to do the _opposite_ of what Anomen seemed to want for her. "I'll be your witch, Minsc."

* * *

Saemon Havarian had warned that the seasickness which had dogged Elatharia's passage from Athkatla would manifest upon the land also for a time, but thus far the effects were slight. For a short while it had been a little disorientating, the ground seeming too close after every footstep and to sway beneath her, but she had nothing compared to the sea-legs shown by a number of the sailors drunkenly swaying about the tavern. Still, it seemed unwise not to take the potion he had proffered. It would not do to struggle more than necessary to sleep that night – she would need to have memorised all of her prepared spells and to be rested enough to function in likely fearsome combat the next day. If only it could cure the panic which had risen as they caught sight of Spellhold. And the resolution which that had brought – a resolution she knew she had to fulfil, not matter how foolish and impulsive. What did that matter, when it could be one's last night?

"Havarian's seasickness antidote won't react badly with alcohol, will it?" she enquired of Yoshimo as the bounty hunter joined her and Edwin at the table beside the one taken by Valygar, Mazzy and Jaheira.

"Not to my knowledge, leader," Yoshimo promised, eyeing the small glasses of wine in front of the two wizards as Edwin plucked the antidote from her fingers and held it before a quickly conjured light pensively. "Something wrong, Edwin?"

The Red Wizard ignored him, handing the vial back to Elatharia and frowning at her faintly.

"You have been taking these potions throughout the voyage? You have suffered no ill effects or tasted anything strange? Did he give you the list of ingredient…"

"He did, and they would be the ones needed to cast the spell, too. I've just not…got round to working out how to cast it yet," Elatharia added with a wince, "It didn't seem worth the effort since the potions worked."

"Hmm," Edwin caught her hand before she could put the potion back in her back, angling it to catch the light with the vial again, "I would suggest we force some upon the bounty hunter first all the same. He has been muttering closely with the captain of that ship since we left port in Athkatla."

His hold was surprisingly gentle, warm and harmless against her skin. _The barbs of the devil rending, shredding…blood blooming, screaming pain…the sight of her own bones, of her own torn organs…the brink of the end of life, dark and welcoming…and torn from her grasp just as had been her own skin._ Those memories of Irenicus's dungeon had swelled to a pressing mass of darkness behind her eyes since the first sighting of Spellhold, and the contrast Edwin's gentle touch against her skin was poignant. She forced her words out, though they sounded hoarse to her own ears. Yoshimo was smiling at them as if he thought he understood something that he surely could not. Edwin's eyes were trained on her, too, registering something thoughtful and intense.

"Alright. That seems reasonable. Empty your cup, Yoshimo."

"Saemon Havarian is a smuggler and a pirate, but he would never seek to poison friends of mine," the bounty hunter sighed as if she and Edwin were being over-cautious, but he finished his ale in a few quick, compliant gulps all the same before sliding the mug her way. "Remember to leave most for yourself, leader."

It was Edwin who unstopped it and Edwin who poured a small portion of the clear liquid into the bounty hunter's mug, his hand covering her own over the vial. He watched the bounty hunter closely as he drank the potion, and inspected the mug when he was finished. A few moments of silence passed, and then the bounty hunter laughed at their expectant expressions, slapping the table and standing.

"I must say that I am hardly flattered by your choice of poison taster, leader," he grinned – and Elatharia's did not fail to notice the blankness in his dark eyes as he said it.

"What exactly are you for then, bounty hunter? It is not as if you kept us from harm when last we needed you," Edwin reminded dismissively as Elatharia at last put away the potion. He was obviously referring to the assassination of Lord Roaringhorn, where Yoshimo had failed to notice the arcane wards on the man's door.

"As you say, Red Wizard," Yoshimo held his smile, and bowed, before moving for the bar to join Jan, Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Korgan.

"I think you may have just managed to offend him, Edwin," Elatharia sighed, sipping at her wine…and then deciding to take a proper draught when she felt the Red Wizard's leg against her own. _Irenicus waits at Spellhold, not half a mile from where I sit. He has Imoen, and gods know what she has suffered. Should he catch me again he will do the same to me; these could be my last moments of freedom._

Edwin caught her hand again when she suddenly decided that maybe the rest of the wine would wash away her thoughts. His thumb brushed her lip lightly with the action and she felt heat rise to her cheeks – regardless of how unintentional the touch had been – as he guided the wine glass back to the table. It was hard to meet his eyes when such thoughts reeled in her head.

"The bounty hunter is inconsequential," the Red Wizard answered belatedly, his words quiet and slow, as if really weighted with the meaning of some other words which he had not yet spoken.

After a moment more of thought, he caught the back of her chair and pushed her around a little to face him better, leaning closer to hide their conversation from the others. Their legs were forced to tangle; one of his between hers, one of hers between his. He seemed unaware of this, but the seat of his chair dug into her bare knee. Every muscle in her body seemed to coil and tremble. At last her eyes met his and she corrected herself – not unaware. He was all too aware. All too curious. Perhaps her new resolution was unwise.

 _But what if Imoen is gone? Dead? Destroyed? Lost? Broken? What if Irenicus is too strong, too ready? What if I die? What if I die screaming? What if I don't die, and live on in torture forever? What if he does the same to you? All that and I never…_

"What in the _Hells_ is going through your head, Transmuter?" Edwin hissed.

His eyes darted to the table beyond theirs, where Jaheira and the others might be watching. Elatharia found her eyes locked on him, on the dark lines of tattoos at his neck, at the way his lips moved when he spoke, the way his eyes slid back to hers now. She was panicking, she knew it. What was she supposed to do?

"I c-can't," she forced out, "I can't think," she fumbled for her wineglass again, and this time he did not stop her. His eyes followed her movements, watched her swallow, and her skin answered as if he had touched it. Expectation. Panic. It was her fault. "I have to…to stop thinking for a moment."

She forced the words out, and his eyebrows rose. Was he reading her mind? She looked away sharply. Perhaps it would be wiser to put these thoughts aside for now, in favour of something more immediately important. She fairly blurted out her next words.

"You told me before that you would need to know what Irenicus did to me in order to understand his methods and possibly to understand his motives. Well…I've decided to do it. To write it…" If only that were the only thing she had decided!

"Good," Edwin nodded, sitting back and watching her with a victorious satisfaction in his expression, sipping on his wine. He frowned faintly when Elatharia shook her head.

"No. I need…to be alone."

* * *

The party was tense. Even with Aerie, Minsc and Anomen entering fully healed after their encounter with the ruffians in the darkness, pulling up chairs to join Jaheira, Mazzy and Valygar, there was a sense of waiting for something awful. Just as well. With Irenicus in Spellhold with Imoen in his clutches, so close, so quiet, so dreadful, they were well justified to plan, and doubt…and fear. But Jaheira pushed all of this aside. Her mission was simple. Break in. Save Imoen – whatever that entailed – and rip Irenicus's heart out with her bare hands. Anything after that was inconsequential. Surely only the void waited beyond it, no matter what happened?

The place was full of cloying smoke, a scene of typical orderly destruction. Overlapping panels of wood, fogged glass, questionably healthy food and drink, rusted nails, chipped and peeling paint, moth-eaten curtains. Sweat and vomit seemed to have soaked into the floorboards and left behind their stink, no matter how clean the place was. The serving women were tired and surly – Jaheira did not blame them – with tanned skin chapped from poor diet and bruised from their undoubtedly exploitative employer.

How fitting that Irenicus drag them to this place, to wallow in the worst of humanoid civilisation before stepping into his brutal world of cold steel and crawling spells.

"The sooner we leave this place, the better," Mazzy noted softly, sipping on her water and wincing distrustfully, twisting about on her chair to view the tavern hall behind her. The sailors at the far end, by the closed door to the kitchens, were increasingly rowdy. "I am starting to think that it is only a matter of time before Korgan dives in for a fight."

It was true, the dwarf was jostling the men at the bar with his demands for more ale. Viconia was pulling at Haer'Dalis's arm to drag him back before Korgan's antics drew attention to them. Edwin was just standing from his seat by Elatharia, however, which was some relief. The way they leaned together whispering and searching each other's faces was altogether too familiar, too focused. It made Jaheira's skin crawl.

"Very true, Mazzy," Yoshimo noted, emerging to stand by Jaheira's elbow a step in front of the corner into which they had left their backpacks. "Although I fear there is very little that we can do about that – unless you would like to step in for us? I suspect you are in fact the only member of this band who could persuade our warlike dwarf out of his favoured pastime."

Mazzy's frown cleared at this consideration, and then with a look to Jaheira and Valygar that suggested she was about to make a mighty sacrifice, she pushed herself to her feet and padded over across the tavern floor to Korgan. He twisted about in surprise as she pulled herself the distance up to the stool next to his at the bar, but it seemed that Yoshimo's suggestion had been a good one – a great deal of Korgan's poorly hidden aggression vanished. Did he look a little starry-eyed?

Sick of the sights, Jaheira blinked down at her cup of water, ignoring Yoshimo as he urged Aerie and Anomen to move down to Mazzy's previous seat so that he might join them. A glance up showed that Viconia and Haer'Dalis had retreated to a table nearby, rebuffed by Elatharia, who was scribbling in her journal, her head bent low to the task. Jaheira could just make her out past Aerie's shoulder, alone at the table.

The avariel and Anomen were whispering together, Minsc a little less haunted than he had been before – leading Jaheira to wonder what it was that Aerie had said to him out there. Valygar was quiet to the druid's left, the only one amongst them who seemed to be openly considering the benefits of maintaining overt watchfulness. Everything grated on Jaheira's nerves. None of them understood. Only her, Elatharia and Minsc – but with the Transmuter so distracted by her journal, and the Rashemi no more coherent than usual, of course it all fell to Jaheira. And what a price some unwitting fool back in Athkatla had paid for this. And how much it hurt to keep the lie for Elatharia.

"We need to decide what we are going to do," Jaheira snapped into the lull, and all eyes turned to her. A little distance away, Haer'Dalis and Viconia looked up, and the tiefling urged Edwin to come with them as they stood to join the more populous table. The Conjurer glanced back at Elatharia, but followed after an unwilling moment.

"I…I suppose the first thing we need to think about is how to get into Spellhold," Aerie offered. Good, she was nervous.

"Indeed. Anything beyond that, however, and most of our plans will revolve around speculation – unless we can find someone in town with an inside knowledge of the place," Jaheira pointed out, and the comment sent a ripple of unease through the group.

"The captain Havarian might know," Haer'Dalis suggested, perching himself on an uninhabited stretch of table – much to Viconia's distaste. "Though it seems also likely that Irenicus's coup over the place may well have rendered much of that kind of knowledge irrelevant."

"Perhaps," Edwin sighed, keeping a step back from Jan's back, arms folded. "Though, in case you have forgotten (thanks to your predictably slow wits and poor observational skills), he warned us that the duke of this town still gives of the lawless to Irenicus for…experiments."

Behind him, Elatharia's quill snapped sharply. He twisted around to look – as did Aerie and Anomen – but she refused to look up, cursing and rummaging around in her bag of holding for a new writing implement.

"Then the duke ought to know someone who knows the place, or at least have some method of getting us in," Anomen nodded, "I am sure that, as the ruler of this town, he would listen to reason…"

"Perhaps you are mistaking his title for some kind of indication of personality?" Edwin drawled through a sneer. The knight looked up at him with a warning glare, but the Red Wizard gave no ground, "This place is, sadly, without any kind of shaping force or organised law. I would suspect the duke will listen to little more than a hefty offer of money."

Viconia muttered something irritable in her native tongue, but nodded by his side. Standing, their height difference was substantial, Jaheira noted.

"Does anyone have any better ideas?" Haer'Dalis enquired, altogether too at ease.

A silence hung in the air. Several participants at the table shook their heads. Aerie's face was registering more than a little uncertainty. Anomen looked fairly scandalised.

"A fair enough plan, I would say," Yoshimo put in at last, nodding past those across the table from Jaheira, in the direction of Elatharia, "What say you, leader?"

She blinked for a moment before looking up, then grimaced.

"It seems like we have little choice and likely that the duke would have a monopoly over who is permitted to pass into Spellhold. We should go to him," she paused when several pairs of eyes remained trained on her.

The Transmuter did not look away, meeting each of their gazes in turn; Minsc, Jaheira, Valygar, Yoshimo, Haer'Dalis, Edwin. To the Red Wizard she sent a faint nod, and a few hand gestures of drow sign language. Whatever it was, it drew a smirk from him. Which could only be a bad thing, as far as Jaheira was concerned.

"Whatever it takes," Elatharia added softly, before looking down at her journal again, "I'd suggest all of you wizards who can do so, memorise your best – and worst – Abjurations. The rest of you…sharpen your weapons. Or pray to your gods. We'll need everything we can come up with to face Irenicus. We of the wizarding profession ought to meet tomorrow at first light to discuss our tactics."

"Agreed," Viconia nodded, effectively speaking for all of them.

"Then it is settled. Perhaps we should find some rest while it is available to us," Valygar grunted, beginning to push back his chair. "Anomen, I take it we are rooming together, as usual?"

"Indeed," the knight agreed.

"I would like to request a chance to escape the mighty Korgan's thunderous snoring," Jan put in with just a hint of amusement, "Yoshimo, perhaps we might share?"

"Sensible, good Jan," Yoshimo laughed, "I am sure Minsc would deny that he has ever heard such a thing from our dwarf?"

"Minsc has never heard anything…" the Rashemi began to agree, and that settled things.

Aerie started to turn about to address Elatharia, but Viconia got there first. The Transmuter nodded to the drow's request, and the avariel twisted around with a defeated slump. Her eyes met Jaheira's. So much for trying to keep Elatharia from her bad influences.

"I think you, Mazzy and I will manage with the anomalous double room enforced upon us," Jaheira gritted out, and the avariel's smile was faint.

"Well then, my Sparrowhawk," Haer'Dalis grinned Edwin's way, "Twould seem we have been paired off once more!"

Edwin did not deign to respond, though gave no argument. All issues were settled now, at least. No sleep would find Jaheira easily, but at least the others were starting to filter off; Valygar, Haer'Dalis and Jan left first, and Viconia did not linger much longer. As one by one each of the party members departed for bed, Jaheira waited to see them all go. Soon few remained, with Elatharia still bent over whatever it was she was so determined to write, and Mazzy attempting to persuade Korgan out of another round of ales. When he demanded a kiss instead, the halfling refused flatly, hopped off her stool and strode away, ignoring his hearty laughter.

 _Silvanus_ , Jaheira thought, _Hear my plea, and my vow…  
_

* * *

Edwin had never seen Elatharia so agitated – and it was not like she had been in her best mental state of late in general. He did distinctly remembered her maddened fit upon seeing the barbed devils in Minauros. But he brushed it aside – there was little he could do about it. It had been a relief when she had given him that excuse to leave; the tavern hall stank of sweat and vomit – not to mention the ever-present reek of sea and fish in this town. The room was thick with smoke, too, all billowing out of the fire as if there were no chimney. Even so, he had lingered a little while to finish his wine and to discover just how this party was dividing itself for the night. Jaheira had been careful to acquire twin rooms. He resented having to share.

Needless to say, by the time he went to his room, the door was locked. Half a second of lingering had brought to him the sound of Haer'Dalis's low laughter and Viconia's voice. He had still been sneering disgustedly when he cast _Knock_ upon Elatharia's door and stepped into the empty room. The girl was still downstairs, wild-eyed and half mad, no doubt. Jaheira had agreed to stop her from drinking any more than that one glass. There was no way such a small amount of alcohol would affect Elatharia – she had been known to drink a whole bottle of spirits and walk away unharmed. Her Bhaalspawn blood rendered her nigh on immune to alcohol.

Yoshimo, Anomen, Valygar and Aerie had all retired for the night even before Edwin headed up the stairs. He wondered how long it would take before Jaheira forced Elatharia up as well. It would have been a curious sight to watch, had he not been so put off by the surroundings. So instead he closed the door behind him quietly and illuminated the cramped twin room with a cantrip; the wood panelling was unpainted and smelled faintly of mould, the beds narrow and rickety with barely space to walk between them. There was no window, just a small table at the centre of the far wall featuring a half-used candle.

Sighing, the Red Wizard who had been brought up the son of a Tharchion, reared for the first decade of his life in a mighty castle, tested the bed to the left. It creaked and then groaned under his weight. At least the sheets smelled of nothing and looked clean. Muttering to himself, he sat back against the wall, pulling his boots off out of habit before folding his legs beneath him to begin a perusal of his spellbook for the night. He could still heard the loud laughter and raucous songs of the sailors in the tavern, but it would have to do.

Perhaps an hour passed until the sound of footsteps thumped down the hall outside. Minsc's voice echoed with a merciless boom, and a door slammed shut. Jaheira's tones and Mazzy's passed the door. After a moment the handle squeaked slowly downwards, and Elatharia stepped through. She glanced at the conjured light first, gave a sigh, and turned the key in the lock rather mundanely.

"I take it Viconia and Haer'Dalis have failed to keep to the rules," she noted softly.

"And I take it you have recovered from your delirium?" Edwin asked. She turned to face him with a sneer, angrily tugging at the ribbon for that strip of enchanted cloth she yet wore across her face, pushing it into her bag of holding.

"Irenicus destroyed me," she snarled, her bared face all the more expressive for those dark tributaries branching beneath her eyes. "And when I say that he destroyed me, I do not mean it figuratively, nor do I mean it wholly mentally." She gestured angrily down at herself, green eyes flashing, "I mean it quite literally."

Taking in a sharp, angry breath, she strode the few steps to the bedside table, placing her bag of holding upon it from her belt and fishing out the vial Havarian had given her from one of the smaller compartments in the lining of the rim.

"I find that the room is spinning, after all," she sighed, unstopping the container and drinking the clear liquid in a few quick gulps.

Putting his book aside, Edwin watched her for a moment more until she turned to face him. Her voice was tremulous and quiet when she spoke again, everything about her – from her posture to her expression – showing that her previous aggression had dwindled.

"Close your eyes. I'm going to change."

She frowned when her tone drew an amused smile from him.

"What?"

"You spoke as if my compliance might spare me from something awful," he told her automatically, though his stomach lurched regretfully in the aftermath – a feeling with which the Red Wizard was rather ill-acquainted. Her eyebrows raised…and she blushed.

"Well…I…" she blinked for a moment or two, and then waved his comment away, "Just close your eyes, Edwin."

He did as he was told, listening to the rustling of cloth and the two distinct thumps of her boots hitting the ground. When he felt the bed depress beside him, creaking far more than the additional weight really merited, Elatharia gave a long sigh and nudged his shoulder with her own. Looking around at her now sitting by his left, he noted that she had chosen to dress in a tunic and leggings rather than actual nightwear.

"A more paranoid traveller might sleep in their armour," he told her.

Her hair was down now, the dark curls still tangled – unlike the band of gold which hung in a few silky waves to her left shoulder. She nudged him again, an irritating insistence that drew a frown from him. But her green eyes were wide, and he noted that her breathing seemed a little unsteady. She looked down anxiously when faced with his scrutiny – a response which surprised him, coming from her. She plucked at his sleeve, and he accepted the indignity with a martyr's tolerance.

"If Irenicus is going to attack us suddenly in our beds, then the time it takes to kill me will be so minute that it won't matter if I'm waiting at the door with my best spells ready," her eyes were distant as she said it, staring down without really seeing.

"…but?" the Red Wizard prompted.

"But something Aerie said to me today…it made me think. Irenicus wants us here, doesn't he? The Shadow Thieves and Bodhi all seem to be against him just as we are, but just like us I think they fell into his trap. There is no choice but to come to Spellhold – whether it be to face him, save Imoen or both. But he's still there, even though he knows it's an obvious target. He wants us to come. I just don't see what else there is to do."

"Then we will simply have to be swift, and cunning," Edwin noted.

"Yes," Elatharia swallowed as if nervous, her eyes flickering up to meet his as her hand plucked at the buttons on his doublet. Confused, he caught her wrist, but she continued. "We might fail. We might die. Or he might take me to be torn apart again," she said the words as if they ought to explain everything before picking her journal up from her lap and pressing it against his chest. "You said that we must both understand Irenicus's methods to better understand his likely responses. I did as I said I would; I wrote…I wrote it all down."

Her journal was a thick volume these days, dog-eared and rather too fortuitously recovered from Irenicus's clutches. Its binding permitted new sheets to be inserted as needed; and Elatharia had obviously needed to use this function in the space of time since Edwin had left her at the Friendly Arm. He opened the leather cover slowly, to the first page, but caught only the briefest glimpse of a note in an unfamiliar hand before Elatharia reached over and pulled the pages over, flicking through them until they came to her newest entry. _To Imoen,_ she had labelled it.

"This is not addressed to me," Edwin noted, turning his head to find her eyes, but she just grimaced, staring ahead into blank space as she curled up beside him, her legs brushing his and her body warm against his side. It was curious, seeing her dressed in a tunic and leggings. Without her boots or her longs skirts, her ankles were bare as well as her feet. They were dotted around with raised white scars, much like those on her wrists. The Red Wizard was momentarily struck with the desire to touch that bare skin, but quelled the thought just as quickly.

"Just read it," Elatharia said as she slipped her arm through his and hid her face against his shoulder. Her words came out muffled against him, and the manner of it irritated him far less than he would have expected. In fact, it drew a faint smile from him, though this other person had so unconsciously tangled herself against him; with her arms arounds his one, his elbow was pressed to her hip, her body's movements warm and rhythmic against his upper arm as she breathed.

"I believe I once swore an oath never to read your journal when you are not looking…"

"I give you permission, this once," she said against him, gripping him tighter.

Evidently this was not the time to tease her. Instead, he traced the page a moment, seeing her small, flowing script – both she and her sister wrote in this stylised, calligraphic hand, thanks to their upbringing in Candlekeep. It was decidedly beautiful, he had always thought. Unusual in these barbaric western climes.

A few words stood out to him as he considered the passage, a detailed description of Irenicus's torments. _Blood, pain, rape, death, Bhaal, screaming, barbs, tearing, shredding, dying…_ Edwin blinked. It had been a long time since he had read anything like this. Regardless, he began.

He read every word, with concentration and vivid imagination. Her prose was precise, descriptive…and removed. Decidedly _cold_. Matter of fact. Completely at odds with the way in which she had approached it, and the way in which she lingered against him, trembling. A good sign, perhaps. That she could yet learn the pragmatism that would save her in this world of backstabbing and malice in which she had joined him.

Elatharia did not stir until he eased the book shut.

"Did you read it all?" she asked softly as he placed the journal atop his own spellbook.

Edwin nodded, trying to think. What might Irenicus's motives have been? The practices he had employed had been akin to brutal lessons. As if he were preparing her…

"Does your experience bear any similarity to Imoen's?" he asked of her. Looking down at her face, he caught her wiping tears from her cheeks. It was a strange practice, crying. They beat it out of all the children who arrived at Thaymount, and Edwin could not recall the last time he had cried.

When she did not answer, he pushed her hands from her face and eased his own over her cheek, seeking to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. The pad of his thumb drifted over her markings, slightly damp from her tears. Her lips trembled and parted as she breathed in sharply, perhaps trying to reign in her own wayward emotions. As if embarrassed, she did her best to avoid meeting his gaze. How curious. He could not deny, it was tempting…

"Some, but mostly no," she admitted, "I think he was…preparing us for something, but doing it in different ways. He had to break me to make me compliant. He somehow…somehow knew us well enough to know that he could get to her emotionally, and to me through p-pain."

And oh, what pain she must have felt.

"He is a skilled Necromancer, but he has used Illusions upon Minsc to make him believe that it was I who killed Dynaheir. He used Enchantments upon Imoen (from what little you have deigned to tell me) but he also cast the elemental magic of Invocation," Edwin nodded, pleased that they had come to the same conclusion, "So he is not a specialist. At least not in any of those fields. He is a madman, but a cunning madman. He is a…virtuoso. Is there anything that he did _not_ do? We have evidence that he performed Conjuration, Enchantment, Necromancy, Transmutation, Invocation, Illusion, Abjur…"

"Divination," Elatharia said it suddenly, sitting up to kneel beside him, her hand catching at his shoulder, "He never cast any Divinations. His spells bored into my mind, pulling and scraping, but they always altered my thoughts, or left things behind. He didn't take anything. He didn't _Divine_ anything. Not that I'm aware of, anyway."

"Hm," Edwin grunted, surprised to be disappointed that this unseen wizard shared his specialty. He watched her face without noticing it consciously, his thoughts on other things.

A moment or two of silence passed, and then Elatharia spoke again, her voice half a whisper.

"I do not know if we have the power to defeat him. I don't…even know if we can get to Imoen. We only have it on faith that she is still alive. If we fail, and he captures me…I don't know what will happen. I…" she stopped abruptly, and he was only half-listening besides.

"Are you certain about this? That he has never cast a Divination…" Edwin turned his eyes back to Elatharia's face, where his hand yet rested absently against her cheek, his thumb still drifting over her markings.

Something about her expression made him stop. Perhaps it was the wideness of her eyes, or the unsteadiness of her breath. He ran back over the words she had just spoken, and everything started to make sense.

"Edwin." Elatharia whispered it as half a complaint even as her fingers tangled in his hair and his thumb moved to trace her lower lip, his heart starting a gallop as her action drew them closer, thoughts fluttering away on a tide of sensation. He was aware of the soft warmth of her skin, the rustling of clothes as they shifted, the brush of her breath and the tickle of her lashes as she looked down.

They shared a sigh as she leaned into him, lips meeting, brushing, meeting again…and his body responded with hunger before his mind could catch up. She stopped trembling as soon as their lips met, a soft sound escaping her as her fingers tangled tighter in his hair and she moved to kneel over him. His free hand found her waist, fingers fanning out across her ribs, while the other lingered at her face, clutching her closer. He gasped and dragged her back again when they parted for half a breath, his mind fighting to _realise_ while his body ignored it. She was warm and soft, her lips parting with his. She tasted of…

Oh no.

At last his mind won, and Edwin dragged himself back, keeping his eyes closed in order to find his thoughts and perhaps to avoid seeing her like that, gasping and flushed. She did not seek to kiss him again.

"What is it?" she asked instead, her voice high.

"Elatharia," he growled, pulling her up with him as he scrambled to stand – he had not expected his legs to attempt to deny him, though he hid it well. She looked up at him uncomprehendingly and he shook her. "Elatharia! The potion he gave you…it was not what it seemed."

"What? How do you…?" her hands flew to her lips, "Oh."

That was when the portal opened behind her, though there was hardly space for a third person in that narrow gap between the beds. The fizzing white light momentarily blinded both wizards, and the robed man who stepped through seemed to have been counting on it. He held a club of some kind in his hand, and as Elatharia raised her hands to cast – and inevitably failed, thanks to that damned potion – he smashed its end into her jaw. She reeled, and Edwin attempted to catch at her arm even as he tried the door. Which was locked. When he tried to cast, he failed too.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, too fast for either disabled wizard to fight back. Edwin could not get through the door without the key on the table, behind the man and his portal. His attempt at _another_ spell failed. Elatharia's back was to Edwin as the man's arm wrapped around her waist, raising her from the ground unceremoniously and brandishing his club threateningly as he backed up with two quick steps, back through the portal.

Thrashing, Elatharia yelped…and then screamed. She screamed his _name._ And then she was gone.


	35. You Came Too Late, You Took the Bait

**With thanks to those who have reviewed and who continue to follow this story. :)**  
 **Warnings for violence and generally dark themes.**

* * *

 **Chapter 34: You Came Too Late, You Took the Bait**

* * *

The scream woke the whole inn. It even carried to the ears of the drunken sailors and the innkeeper downstairs. Their songs stopped abruptly, and the momentary silence was filled by the crash of a door as it was flung open. Edwin's fluid Thayvian cursing followed, and then all of the other doors in that corridor were swinging open, too. Yoshimo hid his smile as he heard the clamour of confused voices, some fogged by sleep and others tellingly alert. Schooling his expression into one of concern, he stepped around the corner as the others started to stumble out of their rooms.

Aerie and Mazzy were both wearing nightclothes beneath their hastily pulled on cloaks, the former's eyes a little bleary. Jaheira, pushing between them from the room which they were sharing, was still dressed in leathers, though her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Minsc was bare chested and wide-eyed, his large form filling the next doorway along – though from within that room Korgan's drunken cursing was all too audible. Viconia and Haer'Dalis were both fully dressed, but for their shoes. They looked to Yoshimo's practiced eye like two people who had pulled on those items hastily, however. Only Edwin was entirely decent, and he was the one trembling with rage as he stumbled from the next room, his back to Yoshimo. Jan was the only one who seemed to notice the bounty hunter's approach, the gnome peering through his half-open doorway. If he considered his roommate's absence suspicious, it did not show in his curious expression. In truth, all eyes were trained on Edwin – apart from Jaheira's, since the druid pushed past him into the room he had just vacated as questions all filled the air at once.

"Where is Elatharia?" Jaheira fairly snarled through the clamour, pushing herself back from the frame of the door to round on Edwin. "Why is it that you were in her room at all?"

"She is gone," the Red Wizard told her, his voice low and quiet but shuddering with wrath. He raised his clenched fist to reveal the blessedly empty vial in his white-knuckled grip. "She drank of this potion, an anti-magic poison unbeknownst to her, and quite promptly a man stepped through a portal and dragged her hence."

A gasp rippled through the group. Aerie rushed forward, eyes wide, only for Anomen to stop her path.

"What have you done?" Jaheira growled.

Edwin turned to look down at her with a scandalised expression. Yoshimo noticed that the Conjurer held Elatharia's bag of holding in his other hand.

"What have _I_ done? I would not have even been in that room if it were not for them!" he gestured wildly in Viconia and Haer'Dalis's direction. Jan snorted and Mazzy's eyebrows rose, while Anomen and Aerie both turned interesting shades of pink. But if the two in question cared at all, it did not show on their faces.

"Then explain to me how she was dragged from you, a wizard who lauds over us your great skill and foresight, with such ease and speed?" the druid snapped.

"I was obviously poisoned also, imbecile," he snarled back.

Well, that was interesting. Since Yoshimo knew that he had not been. It hardly seemed likely that the self-serving Red Wizard would test the potion even for Elatharia – which left few options for explanation. Yoshimo bit back his smile, but he need not have. No one was looking at him, as usual. Just as well – because they really should have been.

"Oh, really," Jaheira's eyebrows were rising in disbelief, "How can I believe that?"

Edwin's hands rose at that, as if he expected to be able to bring forth some spell – either in warning, or speedy offense – only to snarl and stare down at his hands as if betrayed. The druid's hand was on a dagger at her belt, and her expression suggested that she was fully prepared to use it. Surprisingly, it was Valygar who stepped forward and took her shoulder. Twisted off balance, it forced her to take a step back, and to look the ranger's way rather than Edwin's. The Red Wizard backed off, too, blinking in surprise at Valygar's back.

"I hate to side with a monster like him, Jaheira, but I suspect he would have brought forth a spell just now if he were lying," the ranger glanced over his shoulder at Edwin with a look of disdain, "And I do not believe him capable of subtlety of the sort needed to double-cross you like that."

"Also, perhaps it should be pointed out that our Sparrowhawk would have the least to gain in this group from betraying the Raven," Haer'Dalis noted, leaning against the frame of his own door altogether too casually, "Since she is, really, his only protection against those like the Ptarmigan," he nodded to Jaheira, "And the Hounds," he gestured the way of Anomen, Mazzy and Minsc, all of whom bristled at his attention. "If he had betrayed her, he would not have lingered amongst us. The risk of death would have been too great."

"You are wrong if you believe I would kill him to avenge a creature like her," Jaheira spat, and that comment made Viconia's lip curl. The drow was unarmed, but that would be no problem for a priest of Shar at an hour past midnight. "But for worsening our chances of saving Imoen, I certainly would…"

"What...what are you all th-thinking?" Aerie exclaimed, wrenching herself from Anomen's grip and stumbling forward. Yoshimo would never have imagined she could look so outraged, "How can you stand there arguing over who…who is clearly _not_ to blame and _why_ you distrust each other? W-we need to save her! I don't c-care what _any_ of you think about her! What do you think Irenicus w-would do to her now?"

"And that is undoubtedly where she has been dragged," Edwin agreed, tugging at his doublet to straighten it and casting Aerie a long look. "(And I am more surprised than any of you to be agreeing with the avariel.)"

"Then we must charge forth at once!" Minsc proclaimed. Aerie turned to look at him, only to avert her eyes just as quickly at the sight of his bare and hugely muscular torso. He was reaching back into his room as if to pull forth his greatsword right then. "We must get to Elatharia!"

"Absolutely! No person, no matter how dubious, should suffer such an assault!" Anomen looked ready to join the ranger, but dressed as he was in a thin shirt and trousers – and nothing else – he seemed slightly less willing to blunder onwards so unready.

"We cannot go at once," Jaheira denied, stepping back around from Valygar with a glare both to him and to Edwin, "They may be expecting us to run in blindly. They may have an ambush prepared. And we are decidedly _unprepared._ "

"Sadly, I agree," Viconia nodded, gesturing to Aerie and Edwin, "What good will our wizards be without spells? Much as I hate to say it, the dawn would be a better time to move."

"And in that time?" Edwin demanded. He had spirited the bag of holding away somewhere by now, Yoshimo noticed. "I would expect you of all of us to understand me when I say that the methods of a man like Irenicus cannot be left too long to be used."

Viconia raised delicate white eyebrows at his venom. Between them, Aerie was staring at the Red Wizard in surprise.

"I repeat, what good are you without sleep, Edwin?" the drow asked softly, "And I must say that I find your words…odd. Do we have another doppelganger problem on our hands, just as we did after you left her at the Friendly Arm? Or is there something that you would like to share with the group, Edwin?"

Haer'Dalis laughed at her comment, evidently catching on to her meaning - a response which earned him disbelieving looks from Aerie and Anomen both. Edwin snarled something vicious in Mulhorandi, but Mazzy stepped up to join those clustered in the centre of the corridor, palms out and blue eyes bright. Her voice was loud, calm and clear – and in that moment she could have stood at seven foot, not just over four.

"Enough of this," the halfling paladin demanded, "The very thing about which we are arguing is the one thing that is holding us together. We cannot leave this a moment longer – who knows what Irenicus might do with her, or what he plans for Imoen now that he has both of the captives back in his grip. Edwin, Aerie – we have been travelling for several days. I would assume that you, neither of you, have cast any of the spells which you prepared last night?"

They shook their heads. It seemed she either knew the answer for Jan, or that the whole group had forgotten about him.

"Good. Then the problem is moot. I suggest we dress and arm ourselves. And that we meet in our room as soon as possible," she winced, and then squeezed Aerie's elbow, "Can you administer an antidote to Korgan? He is no good to us drunk."

The avariel nodded quickly, and flitted bravely past Minsc into the room within which lurked the dwarf.

Mazzy turned to the rest of them, and her blue eyes searched over Yoshimo in particular. The sight of him deepened her frown, and her gaze seemed to find him very much wanting. It left a cold trail in its wake, and his hands twitched with the anxious urge to grip his katana hilt. Instead, he manufactured his most open smile.

"Yoshimo – this duke, will he be able to get us inside Spellhold tonight?"

"I would think so," the bounty hunter nodded. Havarian ought to have plied him with enough wine to make the theft of the gate stone easy. "I will go to speak with him at once. Like I said, the captain's name ought to go a long way. I shall return shortly with our means of entry." He bowed, and turned on his heel.

As he left, no one disagreed. He heard the quick thumps of their newly purposeful footsteps, and the creaking of their doors. He shook his head wryly as he hurried down the stairs, flicking another gold piece the innkeeper's way for staying out of the way as he passed the bar. He was in such a good mood that he tossed another to the sailors. Their roar of approval for his paying their next round might go a little way to washing out the terrible crimes he was about to commit in the name of freedom. It was for the freedom of his soul, after all.

* * *

The anti-magic poison which Havarian had administered to her must have been powerful for Edwin's spells to be disabled after just a slight taste. It was believable – abducting a wizard would require a certain type of obsessive preparation and over-compensation of ingredients. There was a wretched, shameful irony to poisoning a Transmuter. In her own defence, Elatharia had always been better at turning recipes into spells than potions. Not all Transmuters were Alchemists, although nearly all Alchemists were Transmuters. And how much more ironic that the most _harmless_ impulsive thing she had done in a long time, kissing Edwin, had led to this.

It was the aching in her jaw that woke her from her delirium. The right side of her face felt twice as large as it ought to have been, a thunderous ache that suggested broken bones, or at least dislocation. Her eyes flew open when she felt something press against her jaw, and her attempt to flinch back was met with unyielding resistance. The ache became a fiery explosion as the little gnarled gnome standing upon a step ladder before her immobile form expertly and suddenly relocated her jaw. Her scream was cut short by the pain it brought her. She groaned, her eyes half-closing again. Oblivion would have been welcome. Her thoughts span, in lieu of realisation.

"That should be much better now," the old, white-haired gnome nodded, reaching up a little more and removing the metal plate from its brace across her forehead. It unscrewed from the smooth iron wall in this tiny dark cell with a few quick scrapes. With its removal her body sagged, and sharp prickles of pain erupted around her ankles and wrists sharply enough for her to jerk upright again. Spiked manacles, protruding from the metal wall behind her without chains to permit her any freedom of movement. Of course.

A wave of nausea threatened to engulf the Transmuter, but her retching produced no results. Her stomach just clenched and burned. The gnome backed up a little all the same, holding the headguard in his coarse hands and smiling up at her with glassy, white eyes. Ah, this one was charmed then. It made sense. From his simple white pyjamas he had been an inmate before he became her doctor. His lips were cracked from dehydration, his lined skin sunken. Images of wasted creatures floating in glass tanks flashed behind her eyes.

"How long…have I been here?" The words escaped her in spite of the pain in her jaw, the throbbing in her head. Her voice was hoarse and cracked. A flash of writhing, screaming pain – remembered – promised that this was only the beginning. She trembled, and forced herself to stand straight lest the manacles do more damage. Blood was trickling down her hands, tapping on the smooth stone floor. Her feet were half-stuck down with the congealed red mess.

The gnome just grinned at her words, sending an exaggerated wink as he displayed a row of blackened and rotting teeth. As he turned swiftly for the door, ignoring her demands for an answer to _something_ , she saw the long scar running down the back of his head. It looked old and very precise, cutting through his messy white hair and disappearing at his neckline.

The door opened with a gentle tug, swinging smoothly wide in the plain grey stone wall, and he hopped through readily enough. He did not close it behind him as he skipped away, muttering to himself, giving her a view of a crossroads; a long dark corridor stretched ahead of her, with another passageway running through it and past her door. A single ghostlight flickered beyond, and only her own chamber held a permanent source of illumination – a diffuse conjuration that appeared to have no source. It gave her a view of smooth stone, plain and clinical. The air was cold, and smelled of nothing. With the door open, she feared to shout – with the darkness looming, the promise of Irenicus set her to trembling in spite of her spiked manacles. It began to feel worse, having that door open, than it would have been to be closed in. She could hear her own shaking as her restraints clattered too loudly against the metal sheet to which she was pressed. How long would he make her stand here?

Time might have been immeasurable, but it was not long before she saw a change. At first she thought she had imagined it; a slight figure silhouetted by the flickering light ahead. But then that figure passed beneath the faulty lantern, walking through with measured steps. She would never be able to mistake that pink hair or those blue eyes; her sister might have been thinner, but she was still her sister.

"Imoen!" Elatharia gasped, lurching forward as her sister approached at that painfully slow pace. The manacles bit into her skin and she hissed, straightening up sharply. "Imoen, are you alright? Can you undo these manacles? I'm worried he'll…"

Her sister stopped in the doorway, impassive, and it took no time to realise that something was wrong. As if that were a surprise. Imoen was painfully thin, her state poorly hidden beneath overlarge grey pyjamas. Her skin, always faintly tanned from determined time in the sun, was pale and unhealthy, a scar that had not been there before running through her right eyebrow. Her eyes were still that vibrant silver-blue – but distant, sad. Lost. Her hair was a little longer than she had ever liked to wear it before, hanging straight and well-behaved past her shoulders. It was just as pink as ever, a startling shade in this grey-and-black place. The braid that hung by her chin was ragged, but still there. Did that mean…?

Somewhere in the distance a door clanged, and both young women jumped sharply. Imoen's eyes darted about the room before they came to rest upon Elatharia again, and her mouth turned down at the corners as if with some far-removed pity. There was no recognition. Nothing but sadness.

"Imoen?" Elatharia gritted the name out again, her heart squeezing with angry grief to see this, "Do you know who I am?"

"I don't know that name," her sister told her softly, her voice an empty, high monotone as her eyes fixed on a point above her head, "I don't…" her eyes widened as if in budding panic, "I can't know that name."

"What? Imoen! I'm your sister, Elatharia! Don't…don't you remember anything? Do you…"

Imoen shook her head sharply, backing up. She turned to look down the corridor to her left as a pair of quick, sharp footsteps rang upon the polished floor. _No. No!_

"You came too late," her sister said miserably, "You took his bait. His bait…I…I don't know…"

"Imoen! No…I won't…" Elatharia's mind went blank, her memories spilling into the present as she fought her manacles without thought for the pain. She heard a rip, and felt a gush of hot liquid…and one hand pulled free of the manacle. It refused to act with any further dexterity, however, torn as it was, and her fumble with the manacle forced her to drop and twist around with a scream of sudden pain. She sobbed and writhed and knew nothing of control, looking in the darkness behind her eyes and finding no comforting golden light waiting for her as the footsteps rang closer. When they stopped before her door she did not look up, only curled as much as she could around her torn arm, whimpering.

"You are tenacious, if foolish," Irenicus noted coolly, and she shut her eyes tighter against his clipped tones. His voice seemed to worm behind her eyes, and her mind scratched against her skull with daggers of bone. "Futility born of love is an interesting concept. I will remember it soon, I hope. With your help."

His footsteps rang closer, and Elatharia flinched back, refusing to open her eyes as cool fingers closed around her wounded jaw. He tutted, and a spellword later the pain was twice as bad, a writhing mass of fire that forced a scream from her – and passed just as quickly. In its wake, the pain was gone entirely, though it left her gasping and gagging as he stepped back. She stared down at his polished boots, and tried to think. Her friends. Her companions. They would know she was gone by now, surely? Had not the whole inn heard her scream?

"Please…" she hated to beg, but begging was an instinct. Her voice cracked, and she shut her eyes as if perhaps the fear would go away. He sighed, catching her shoulders before she slumped again.

"Child, your fate is sealed. But the pain will only be passing. You may even survive the process."

Elatharia's eyes found Imoen's rather than see _his_ ruined face. Her sister's eyes just looked back at her blankly, but for the sadness there. And that sadness was all she could hold onto. She poured all of her hope into the acknowledgement of that one emotion on her sister's face. _Hope is not lost. And I will save you.  
_

* * *

It was a tiring climb up to the duke's house, steps cut into the sandy rock of the island on their steep ascent to the top of the hill, from which firelight and the sounds of drunken revelry emanated with some significant force even at this time of night. The path was a reminder to Yoshimo that no lord of this island ever had grown old or fat. As soon as weakness or infirmity was hinted at from a leader in a society such as this, a new lord took his place. If you could not fight to keep your power then you would not live to keep it. The Nelanther Isles were an altogether brutal place, though their maleficence oozed beneath a surface of boisterous revelry.

Nearing the guarded gateway at the end of this climb, Yoshimo detoured from the steps, taking a moment to find a good handhold in the steep hillside, clinging to the rough clumps of grass that grew so tenaciously across its surface. The climb was a little difficult in the dark, but it was altogether too easy to scale the hillside, climb over the fence, and duck beneath the dark, sheltering shadows of the orange tree grove ahead.

The duke's house was appropriately vast, a stack of sloping rooves and gaudy stone architecture aglow with light and sound which filtered through numerous windows and an open front door, outside which waited another pair of ruffians. Yoshimo watched them closely, though they hardly seemed a threat, passing a wineskin between them and leaning back against the pillars of the portico. Still, he inched a few feet more around the side of the house, alert for any unseen guards.

A short wait later the air stretched and crackled, momentarily flaring with silver light as a portal opened just long enough for a short, stocky man to step through. Shielded by the house's bulk and a cluster of trees besides, this unsubtle spellcraft went unremarked. The man who was the _Dimension Door's_ caster was a familiar sight, since Yoshimo had briefly rendezvoused with him on the walk to the inn from Havarian's craft. Perth the Adept, once a Cowled Wizard, hardly fulfilled the stereotypes expected of his profession. Short and broad, well-muscled and tanned, he wore a truncheon on his belt and looked capable of wielding it quite effectively in those big, meaty hands. His blonde hair was thinning, and his eyes held a familiar, empty but hopeful shine. A mirror might have shown that look to Yoshimo several tendays passed.

"I have it," Perth whispered. He spoke with urgency the moment he stepped through his portal, moving so fast that his feet disobeyed him and he staggered to the side a little upon approaching the waiting bounty hunter. He held out a palm-sized token in one hand, a plain dark oval, and Yoshimo took it gingerly, surprised by its weight. "It is undoubtedly the stone you require. It will take you to the passages below," Perth explained with a faint frown, noticing Yoshimo's doubtful expression. As the wizard retracted his hand, it became obvious that his knuckles were darkened by bruises, his forearms scraped raw in places by long scratches.

"I see she fought you," the bounty hunter noted as he pocketed the heavy token. His tone was level, though he perhaps felt the slightest pang at the thought. How she had screamed!

"She did," Perth seemed to grit his teeth through the answer, eyes hard, "And though Havarian is a skilful intoxicator of the easily intoxicated, I would suggest that you take your leave of this duke's land, lest you be found out. Our master will hardly be pleased by another delay, or the potential of them discovering the other token. The one they might actually need to make their way through the _main gates_."

"Ah," Yoshimo could not help but smile at Perth's intent insistence. He wondered what kind of reward the Cowled Wizard had been offered. Or if freedom had been enough of an incentive. "I shall do as you command. The lower levels it is. I think Havarian and his mistress have explained the rest in appropriate detail."

"Good," Perth had already started to cast before any pleasantries could be shared. A shame, for they were inflicted just the same, and a little camaraderie might have lightened the load.

With a shrug and a smile, Yoshimo turned to the wall and headed off back the way he had come, fully prepared to lead Elatharia's group to their deaths ere the dawn.

* * *

"We must not trust the Red Wizard," Jaheira intoned firmly into the industrious quiet of preparation which had fallen upon their room.

Aerie looked up from the edge of the single double bed where she had been securing the ties on her backpack. The druid had been ready first, and once she had helped with the fastenings of Mazzy's armour she had taken to pacing by the door, her deep frown darkened further by the shadows of the flickering candlelight. The avariel opened her mouth to respond, but it was Mazzy who spoke first.

"As much as it may pain you to learn it, I am in agreement with Valygar," the halfling admitted, folding her arms as Jaheira turned about to face her. She had been sitting in the chair by the night-darkened window, watching the black sky and the narrow street below with unnerving calm. "As, in your heart, do you. Edwin has nothing to gain from staying here and risking his life if he is in part responsible for Elatharia's abduction. The way leads to Spellhold."

"Provided that Yoshimo can acquire the wardstone from the duke," Jaheira hissed, turned about to start pacing all over again, her worn leathers creaking with every sharp movement.

"Even if he does not, there will be a way inside," Mazzy disagreed, "Though it may be more difficult, or take longer. Perhaps both."

"W-we might not have 'longer'," Aerie pointed out, and the halfling inclined her head in agreement with a grimace that showed she wished that comment were not true.

A quick knock sounded on the door, and Aerie straightened immediately. As Jaheira swung the portal wide, it was to Minsc's beaming face – and by his side was Yoshimo. Jan was peering around the Kara-Turan's elbow, his bushy eyebrows raised in something that might have been concerned curiosity. Or perhaps just curiosity.

"Minsc and Boo stand ready," the Rashemi ranger promised, though there was currently no sign of the hamster about his person. He wore his backpack over his half-plate, and the handle of his greatsword reared up behind his shining bald head.

"Do you have the wardstone?" Jaheira demanded of Yoshimo as she ushered the three inside. The bounty hunter nodded firmly, handing over a plain blue-grey stone to the druid.

"Is this genuine?" Jaheira asked of Aerie, eyeing Minsc tolerantly as he plodded forth to stand by his new witch's side. The avariel only needed to touch the smooth stone to know that it was certainly heavily enchanted, its power sparking beneath her fingertips.

"I…I th-think so," she nodded, and her tremulous answer did little to assuage Jaheira's obvious doubt.

"I assure you…" Yoshimo began, but his words were interrupted by another knock.

This time it was Anomen and Valygar who waited outside, and as they entered with Korgan lumbering in their wake, calling for someone to hold the door for him, the small bedroom had begun to get very cramped. Mazzy subtly waved Valygar over to her side before the dishevelled – but fortunately now sober – dwarf could sidle up to her with an altogether too mischievous gleam in his eyes. Jan jumped up on to the edge of the bed by Aerie, sending her a wink and patting her arm as if she needed the reassurance. Anomen, mail clanking, squeezed himself between Yoshimo and Minsc. The avariel tried to smile his way when he caught her eye, but it was hard to summon niceties when such serious work awaited them.

Viconia, Haer'Dalis and Edwin arrived only once all of the others had made an entrance. They lingered in the doorway, watchful and poised, as Jaheira seemed to consider denying them entrance for a long moment. Edwin lingered by the door handle when the druid did finally step aside, while Viconia and Haer'Dalis kept close together. The tiefling was smiling, as always, but his wrists were resting on his blades.

"I take it we are all ready? Spells prepared – if possible – and our bags packed?" Jaheira called into the muted murmur of conversation. Silence fell immediately, almost as effectively as it had back in the Planar Sphere thanks to Elatharia's spell. Aerie bit her lip, and tried to will her nerves to calm.

Nods and quiet affirmatives answered the druid's stern inquiry. She held out the wardstone.

"This is our means of passage. I take it our arrival at Spellhold will be nothing more subtle than an approach of the front gates?" Jaheira looked to Yoshimo for that.

"Indeed, surrogate leader," he said, soft and measured as always. "To my knowledge there is no other option. The path leads around the hill of the duke's villa and rises into the high reaches of the island beyond. There is only once path hence – I do not think we will have any trouble finding our target."

"Good," Mazzy cut in, standing with the creak of leather and mail, "Our objectives are clear. We must find and save Elatharia and Imoen. We must stop the madman named Irenicus…"

"…And hopefully leave this wretched island as soon as possible," Edwin interrupted, scowled hatefully when all eyes turned to him. Viconia glanced up over her shoulder at him and failed to hide a doubtful smirk. Aerie felt a jolt of surprise – did the Red Wizard actually _care_ about Elatharia? Or did he just hate being so outnumbered by those who despised what he stood for? The avariel looked away from him quickly before his dark eyes could meet hers. It was perhaps more unnerving to acknowledge that, on some level, he clearly cared.

"…And we must stick together," the halfling paladin continued as if the Red Wizard had not spoken, "Regardless of our differences. A place like Spellhold will be heavily warded, and it is likely that Irenicus has some form of guard set up. If our enemy has the means to drag our leader from us without warning, then I doubt we will take him by surprise. Our best chance of success is through discipline, organisation and simple strength at arms…and magic," she allowed after a moment, with a nod to Jan and Aerie, her brilliant blue eyes settling sternly on Edwin after a pause.

"A rousing speech, fair Hound," Haer'Dalis remarked, "And now perhaps our flock should fly, ere the hour grows any later? I for one would like to see this Spellhold – and to save the Raven, or course," he added with a bashful look across those gathered in the room, most of whom had balked at his jovial calm.

"Agreed," Jaheira grunted, "We should leave now. Our path is set."

Valygar stepped up to clasp her shoulder and offer some words of support as Edwin opened the door without much acknowledgement of the others, stepping through and striding down the corridor with Viconia and Haer'Dalis in tow, Korgan pushing past the others. Aerie stood as Jan did, the gnome hurrying after the departing forms of Jaheira and Valygar. Minsc smiled down at the avariel, and Anomen lingered by the Rashemi, frowning faintly at the ranger.

"You are awfully sunny about this disaster, Minsc," he noted a little sharply.

"Our witch is anxious. We must be strong for her!" Minsc explained quite guilelessly, patting Aerie's shoulder with enough force to send her stumbling a little. Her heart swelled to hear the evidence of his empathy, at least. "And good will prevail this day."

"Well…" Anomen seemed a little taken aback by the ranger's thunderous optimism, rocking back on his heels with a clank of shining plate mail, "I…I am glad that someone in this group yet holds such stead in goodness and righteousness."

"Ha! Then we are well aligned, you and I!" Minsc's slapped the other's man's arm before striding between the knight and the avariel, still smiling with the certainty of a linear outset. Anomen watched him heading after the others for a heartbeat, a faint frown still on his face.

"I hope he is right," the knight sighed, shaking his head, "But I am starting to feel that nothing is ever that simple. We go forth to save a woman of ill temperament."

"And her innocent sister!" Aerie disagreed as they made their way from the room, feet thumping on the thin floorboards of the corridor beyond. It was difficult to look up at his face and walk at the same time. "And…and Elatharia does not deserve whatever fate Irenicus intends for her. She suffered at his hands before, and…and she won't again if I can help it!"

The words made her breathless with determination, and she almost missed the first step of the stairs down to the tavern floor. Anomen's humouring laughter was not the response she had hoped for, but he steadied her gently by her elbow.

"My lady, you sound like Minsc."

"Well…m-maybe a little optimism is what we need right now," Aerie suggested.

The half-orc barkeeper gave them a suspicious look from beneath his brows as they passed him. He was wiping down the bar, all patrons gone from the room. The fire was out, and the place was dark but for the candle flickering at his elbow. Anomen nodded to him cordially, but he just grunted and looked back down at his work.

Outside it was quiet and dark, the air cold and blustery, and Aerie had to catch at her cloak as it flapped around her. Most of the others were already on their way down the road, heading west through the houses, towards the hills. There was little light now, none filtering through the windows on the street any longer. The lanterns were dim, and the shadows they cast blended in with the darkness of the night. Aerie caught Anomen's hand reflexively as they joined Minsc and Jan outside the inn and headed after the others. He squeezed her fingers gently, and held on. She caught sight of his faint smile in the dull light.

"Perhaps we do need a little optimism," he allowed softly.

* * *

Elatharia had no recollection of Irenicus leaving, but when the pain once more woke her from her stupor it was to the same still, empty room, and to the door creaking open again. She was shivering, and her stomach roiled – she had been left where she half-collapsed, her right arm still free and useless at her side, her left pulled back tightly above her head by a lingering, spiked constraint. She groaned, and her knees trembled as she tried to haul herself to her feet, worrying fresh wounds further. The grey walls span around her, half in darkness now where before the light had been blinding.

As the door swung wide, the same withered old gnome limped in, a manic smile on his face. He carried a plate of food in his hands – awful grey slop. There were sounds of some kind of commotion down the corridor, the clamour of loud and unfamiliar voices. Something rattled and then smashed – it sounded like a plate. Were there other inmates still here, then?

"Not good children those ones," the gnome noted conversationally, "Always arguing. Always after our skin and blood. Screaming, tearing," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think they would wear my skin if I let them. And not in the metaphorical sense."

He stepped closer, and the keys jangled at his waist. A spoon gleamed upon the bowl. Elatharia's heart started a gallop, and her consciousness almost fled once more. But she gritted her teeth, and forced herself to stand straight, her free right arm trembling. Her fingers flexed, just a little.

"Oh, I think they might have good reason, really," the gnome continued, his glassy eyes not really seeing her as he approached, holding out that plate and that _spoon_. He caught her injured wrist, digging his fingers into the wound, and she screamed, pulling back only thanks to the slipperiness of her own blood still trickling over her skin. Trembling, she watching him warily as he continued to grin at her, holding the plate out with one hand. "Here. Master says you might as well have one more meal before he tears you up to shreds."

That gave her new purpose. What did Irenicus think she was? Some noble adventurer who would pity this geased madman who spoke of skinning and torture with such glee? And it was his glee that spurred her on, through her pain. That, and the pink-haired silhouette who flitted back from the doorway.

"He will not," Elatharia snarled, and the madman's eyebrows rose. "He will not tear me to shreds. Not again."

She snatched up the spoon before he could respond, and he pulled back the plate impotently as she did so, her wounded hand shaking with the effort of such dexterity. Before he could reel back fully, she jammed the handle through his eye, as fast and forcefully as she could achieve. The sounds, and gush of blood and gore, were something awful.

He only had half a scream in him, clawing at her arm, before the blunt end passed through the eye-socket with a faint crunch. A long, mindless moan escaped him, the air filling with a terrible stench as he soiled himself. His mouth hung open, and blood poured like thick red tears from his eye. Only the very tip of the spoon showed now. He swayed, and then began to shudder, toppling down to his knees and flopping on to his side, twitching.

Gagging from the gore and the smell, trembling from the pain of her wound, Elatharia crouched down as best she could and fumbled with the keys at his belt. Her hand was slippery with blood and hardly responsive to her wishes, but she managed at last to unhook the key loop. She almost dropped it twice as she tried the keys in the lock of the manacle at her wrist, and just when she thought at last she had found the right key, a tiny little toothpick of an instrument, the chain slipped from her grip and landed with a clatter, skittering across the polished floor.

A slipper-clad foot stopped its progress, and only in the following silence did Elatharia realise she had been muttering to herself. Her sister bent slowly and picked it up, her expression more than a little vacant as she stood straight again. But there was concern in her blue eyes, and she approached in a few quick strides, finding the right key quickly and releasing the manacles holding Elatharia's wrist and ankles. The Transmuter held her breath in hopeful disbelief as Imoen freed her, knowing in her heart that nothing of this sort could happen without Irenicus's knowledge. What was he planning?

Elatharia staggered and gasped as the spikes slid from her skin; her knees almost buckled but her sister caught her by the waist, just as she had all those tendays before. If she knew anything about the gnome still twitching on the floor, she showed no hint of interest. A sob escaped Elatharia as Imoen helped her forward, and she paused to pull her sister into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Imoen," she gasped, "And…and I'm sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner."

"It was his plan," her sister seemed to disagree, her voice still caught in that half-whispered monotone. She blinked as if confused when Elatharia drew back, and shook her head. "There is nothing to be thankful for."

"Well," Elatharia told her, twisting about to look down at the twitching gnome with a dark frown, "There will be if I can do anything about it. Irenicus might have intended all of this, but he doesn't know everything and somehow he _will_ regret freeing me."

Her sister tugged on her hand, as if urging her to leave, but Elatharia resisted. She continued to stare down at the gnome, who still lived in spite of his predicament. With a sigh, she stretched out her hand and looked for the Weave. A moment of blankness passed, and then she felt its familiar tingle against her skin. She reached out to its power, recalling the spell she needed. _Larloch's Minor Drain_. The spellwords clicked from her tongue, and the air took on a new chill for a moment. Then her damaged skin itched and shifted, irritating but not painful. The throb in her torn right arm eased, and her fingers regained their responsiveness. The blood stopped trickling from her other injuries, though little else could be achieved with such a minor spell.

"I don't think he'll miss his life force anymore," she muttered, turning to see that Imoen remained blank.

What had Irenicus done? What did he plan? Her sister tugged on her hand again, and for a few steps she permitted her to lead – out of the room and into the plain, rounded corridor of grey stone and dingy plaster. The light was still flickering ahead of her door, and it was this way that Imoen made towards.

"No. Not that way. You might be leading me to him, and I don't intend for this to be easy," Elatharia disagreed. A moment of resistance, and then Imoen followed her down the curving corridor to the right. Her fingers were thin and cold against Elatharia's hand – but at least she had her sister with her at last. At least there was some hope, however slim. As they walked, the clamour from the other inmates grew quieter. And her sister never spoke.

It was a short walk following the curve of the passage, bare feet padding on numbingly cold ground, heart pounding in her chest loud enough to thud in her ears. A set of stairs waited at the end of the corridor, and Elatharia hesitated only a moment before passing forward and turning down them, into the vast chamber beyond. The wood groaned under every step, echoed by Imoen's following weight. The slap of her feet upon the icy floor below echoed in a different manner, and bright light flared up above in response. She cringed back, bumping into her sister and hitting her heels against the edge of the stairs as the door above clanged shut.

A cold voice addressed her as this large room came into view, lined with glass chambers, its ceiling covered in a web of tubes – four of which hung down over a central runic circle, wherein two familiar figures waited. There was the scarred, pallid form of Irenicus, clad in a leather jerkin and cloth breeches as ever. No show. Only necessity. And by his side stood Bodhi, pale and brazen, wild black hair curling about her jaw as she smiled with those thick red lips, silver eyes dancing with menacing glee. She had dressed as if for a celebration, in a long black gown adorned with shimmering pearls.

"I was expecting something resourceful, child of Bhaal, although your brutality surprised me," Irenicus admitted as his _Wall of Force_ slammed into Elatharia, knocking the breath from her and wrapping her in its restraining power before she could do much more than raise her hands for a spell. Beside her, Imoen cowered but no such restraints were needed. He dragged Elatharia forward with his spell, her body pulled rigidly still, and Imoen followed, muttering high, frightened nothings to herself.

"You," Elatharia snarled even as she tried to fight the spell. She could taste blood in her mouth where the shock of the impact had forced her to bite her tongue. Her eyes trained on Bodhi, and the vampire mistress's smile never abated. "There are no words for treachery of this kind. What did he promise you?"

"What did he promise me?" Bodhi sounded altogether joyous, shifting impatiently beneath the tube by Irenicus's side. The chill of something like realisation spread through Elatharia as she came to realise that Irenicus waited beneath the second tube – and that she and Imoen were being herded to the ground beneath each of the two opposite metal cylinders. "But you of all people should understand the pull of sibling loyalty, Elatharia. I did what I did for myself – and for my dear brother, Joneleth – 'Irenicus' as you know him –, long-suffering victims that we are. It's nothing personal, really. Just a century of planning. And you two just happened to have the most promising souls, especially with a little encouragement…"

"Enough," Irenicus spat, slashing at the air to emphasise his point. Bodhi stopped instantly. Was that fear that flashed in her eyes? Her brother's face was as emotionless as ever as he waited opposite Elatharia, a simple gesture wrapping Imoen in a _Wall of Force_ now as well where she waited facing Bodhi. She yelped and shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut as if she knew what to expect. "We haven't the time for this. I suggest you prepare yourselves, children of Bhaal. And content yourselves in knowing that your suffering will have served a much greater purpose than any towards which you might have striven."

The runes around the four flared up with flame, crackling audibly in the open air as they consumed some spell component. Imoen began to cry. Bodhi fairly snarled in expectant glee, her fangs shining in the light. Irenicus made the necessary gestures, spoke the necessary words and remained impassive as power built in his hands, the tubes rattling above their heads. And though Elatharia fought, her insults and promises furious and heartfelt, her attempts at her own spells desperate and numerous, all her endeavours passed by in vain. When the golden power burst behind her eyes and blue-white light exploded from the tubes above, engulfing every inch of her body in pain for which no words would do, all she could do was scream, and writhe, and wait to die.


	36. The Beast Within

**Big thank yous to those who are continuing to follow and to review this story! Your continued support means a lot! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 35: The Beast Within**

* * *

The pain was sudden and overwhelming. The power of Irenicus's spell ripped through her – and for a moment, as it seeped from her and the light receded, engulfing the wizard and his sister, it left Elatharia shuddering and empty. She stared blankly, nerves jangling with such awful, remembered pain, and then she caught a glimpse of pink by her side. Starting at the sudden movement, she turned to see her sister swaying, her eyes ablaze with golden light a moment before she slumped to the ground. Elatharia did not have time to consider this phenomenon, nor the gleeful laughter of Bodhi as the brilliant spell seeped through the vampire and her brother, doing its work far more gently.

The golden light rose up from the back of Elatharia's mind, a tide swelling behind her eyes and filling her with a sudden, nervous energy – until it washed into her sight completely.

She left the present, and drifted in the golden ocean. It reminded her of all that had passed, of the injustices done to her by the mage Irenicus and his sister Bodhi. Of her father Gorion and familiar Ingaith – and of her spell, tearing their murderer, Sarevok, apart. It whispered of power, potential…and rage. At first the Transmuter trembled in the face of such might, but the longer she drifted, the more it warmed her. Through the golden light she caught glimpses of an island adrift in blackness, a curved globe of black and silver stone pierced by a needle of pure white-hot power. Before her eyes it unfurled like an opening flower, and in a stomach-churning rush it sucked her within before closing around her, plunging her into darkness.

Elatharia felt no pressure as she landed upon the hard ground, and the lack of sensation – no smells, no temperature, no texture – all reminded her that this was a dream. She could hear the rushing of the golden ocean outside, but for now she drifted in the darkness of this stone globe, and memories flickered before her.

She caught a glimpse of a woman with long red hair, a mass of well-ordered curls tumbling down to her waist, the glitter of green eyes and a smile too tight and crooked to be kind. Six black lines, each with a pair of tributaries, fanned across freckled cheeks; a golden flame flickered within her pupils, and she wore a crown of feathers. _Seven feathers_.

Elatharia recalled a hall of bones, a black chandelier formed of interlocking knives. The woman placed her upon an altar, cold and hard, and raised a knife above her heart. _Mama_ , Elatharia had said, afraid but far too young to understand, and for just a second the woman faltered. Long enough for a mighty crash to interrupt them, sending the black-robed watchers scattering. The red-haired woman snarled, tearing the headdress off and scooping her up with one arm. Knives flashed, blood flew, screams rang out.

A great battle ensued, and when the fighting was over only the toddler Elatharia and a baby with a tuft of pink hair remained of the congregation. _Imoen_. A tall woman attempted to comfort them, scooping each up in one arm. She could have been the kindly sister of the first, her face similar in shape, also freckled but without the dark lines, her hair shorter and a few shades paler, her eyes large and blue and very gentle.

The murderous congregation had been overrun by men and women who dressed in silver, grey and brown, and who wore identical harp pins above their hearts. At their head stood Gorion, and though he must have surely been panting and covered in blood Elatharia did not remember it that way. She remembered the woman passing her into his strong, warm arms, and the memory of it rang with a sense of safety, and not of fear. He had smiled down at her, bouncing her on his hip, and she had burst into tears, and would not stop crying until the red haired woman who reminded her of the first was gone and they had left the vault of bones far behind them.

"You were not alone then," a quiet voice breathed, "And you are not alone now."

The darkness receded in a blink, illuminating a circular chamber of smooth plain stone. Imoen was just pulling herself up to her feet beside the Transmuter, looking around with eyes once more of silver blue. She frowned when she saw Elatharia, as if distrusting her senses, but when her expression cleared they rushed into each other's arms, an embrace born of fear and confusion – and relief.

"Where are we?" Imoen asked as they parted just as swiftly. It never was a good idea to become distracted in an unknown place. Her eyes were wide, and bright with something terrible and nameless. "Am I dreaming?"

"I think we both are," Elatharia nodded, "I think we're sharing it. This must be Bhaal's…"

"Bhaal's realm," the quiet voice agreed, and the sisters turned around to face the speaker as it materialised from a swell of light. Both recoiled to see a huge figure aglow with blue-white radiance draped in a grey robe that did nothing to help determine its gender, its colour almost washed out by the glow pouring from the creature's skin. The eyes that met Elatharia's were brilliant blue, azure like the sky above Faerûn, and the wings that unfolded with a rush of air behind it were speckled with the same colour.

"Who…who are you?" both sisters asked, and the solar inclined its head.

"I am a projection. Half recollection, half prophecy of things to come. This place is a manifestation of your father's power, now long dormant, and I am its keeper. All that you see is but a copy of the truth – for as you did say, all that you see is but a dream. You may pass through here corporeally one day, if you find your strength."

"Then why are we seeing this now?" Elatharia demanded. She was overcome with the sudden urge to push her sister behind her, dream or no dream.

"Great sacrilege has been committed," the solar explained, "Your mortal souls have been torn from your bodies and passed on to those who have as much need of them but no right. They sought your father's power. You must see to it that they do not find it."

"How can we stop them? They've already done it!" Imoen exclaimed, and it hurt Elatharia to hear her so utterly without hope.

"Look to the power of your father. _Embrace_ it. Know that you are both children of Bhaal, lord of murder, and that nothing less than death may await Joneleth the 'Irenicus' and Bodhi now. Together, you may give it to them."

Bhaal's golden light filled Elatharia's eyes, and Imoen's yelp beside her suggested that her sister experienced the same. When their vision cleared, the solar was gone and in his place stood a twisted version of Sarevok – that was his armour at least…but through it protruded blood red spines. His eyes blazed gold _and_ red, his face half scaled and half human beneath the gaping maw of his spiked helm. A long, spiny tail lashed behind him, and he held a huge greatsword, glimmering with blood and ready to swing their way.

Both sisters shrieked and made to run, full of the fear special to nightmares, each pulling the other in an opposite direction such that the first swing of the sword almost caught them. The Sarevok-devil laughed a thunderous bass laugh, his sword scattering sparks across the brown stone of the ground.

"We have to…fight it," Imoen gasped as she twisted about, away from the momentarily lodged sword, tugging at her sister's side. "The solar said…it said to fight together." She shook Elatharia when the Transmuter failed to answer, her thoughts filled with scratching knives and blinding panic. "Elatharia! It's just a dream! If we can't defeat a dream…if you won't help me…"

The words cut through her fear, and rage poured into its place. Elatharia tore her stare from the monster just as it pulled its sword free and lumbered their way, slower than Sarevok had been, much slower than the barbed devil had been. Imoen was pale and gaunt, her blue eyes shining with fear – but she was determined. And right.

"I'll help you," Elatharia agreed, setting her feet and turning back to the monster as she gripped her sister's hand, "And you'll help me."

Her smile was manic as she met the eyes of the monster and permitted the power of her father to engulf her in a flood.

* * *

"At last!"

As the power of the spell receded, bringing the hall back into view once more, Bodhi could feel the difference even before her first habitual (if unnecessary) in-breath. Had the world always been so colourful? There must have been a hundred shades of blue and grey alone in this hall, which had seemed so dull to her soulless eyes before. It was still rather drab, of course, just a pile of human-hewn stones arranged into a cold and rather unmemorable prison.

The vampire stumbled as the spell's hold on her body fully receded also, the pipes above her and her far more composed brother rattling as the magical energy left them. A glance Joneleth's way showed that he was blinking down at his scarred hands, turning them palms up, then down. The long sigh that escaped him rattled with the surge of emotion that coursed through him, an alien feeling after so long. Watching him, Bodhi grinned even more widely – sympathy had never been her strong point, but empathy was something she could just about manage in this case. She certainly knew how he was feeling.

"It worked," her brother murmured at last, his brow furrowing a moment before he turned his icy pale eyes Bodhi's way. "And you are glad."

"Of course, brother!" the vampire crowed, fairly skipping towards him in the giddiness of her excitement and relief. His forearms were warm and ridged with scars as she gripped them, shaking him a little. "We are cured! We are saved!"

He seemed put out by her glee, if anything, pulling back sharply from her grip and eyeing her warily before his gaze slid past her, to the two forms slumped beneath the pipes opposite those which had fed to him and Bodhi such glorious power. Sighing again, the man who had been named 'Irenicus' by his own people set his expression, that ruined mask of a face hardly suited to smiles of the kind currently ruling Bodhi's own visage.

As she looked upon the two slumped girls, taking in the smell of their surging, hot blood, the vampire's eyes widened. Hunger such as she had not known almost overcame her, Joneleth bringing out an arm to stop her sudden advance of the unconscious pair. Such smooth, living skin! So young and fresh and alive! Though they were still as if in sleep, their eyes darted beneath closed lids, their chests rising and falling with breath. She could hear the endless thumping of their beating hearts. She longed to rip open their arteries and drink the life from them.

"I have not seen such colour since I left Ellesime's garden," Irenicus said softly, his eyes fixed upon the fallen form of Imoen, advancing on the unconscious girl as if in a trance.

It was true – the soulless hell in which they had lived had deprived them of the true range of the visible spectrum. Imoen's hair – soft, sweet pink – was arrayed in a fan around her head. A brilliant bruise was blooming on her temple. Beside the aasimar, Elatharia was tantalisingly spattered with some significant amount of blood; it had dried in her hair, upon her cheek and her neck, down the front of her plain grey tunic. It was not hers though, not all of it. The fresh blood decorating her ankles and wrists – _that_ was hers. It smelled glorious. Perhaps this was the reason no vampire was meant to have a soul; with such heightened senses, combined with a mortal capacity for perception and enjoyment, how was Bodhi supposed to avoid draining every living thing she saw?

"I take it we may kill them now? We have their souls, and our freedom," Bodhi pointed out, "And I imagine you have a further 'plan' to set in motion, dull brother mine?"

Irenicus's eyes flashed with momentary anger at her mocking tone. She took half a step back, remembering his methods of old and how he had once dealt with those who bored or irritated him. But the moment passed, and he shook his head to her great consternation, kneeling slowly and touching a fingertip to Imoen's bruised scalp. She shifted and murmured something, but for the time being did not wake.

"Then what do you propose, brother?" Bodhi demanded, folding her arms and struggling to contain the writhing force of annoyance and disappointment that surged within her. It had been a long time since she had experienced such nuanced emotions. "If we leave them here they will starve to death before they can find their way out. And surely you do not intend for them to live? Give them to me and they will die quicker – perhaps more uncomfortably, but quicker. And at least I will not starve."

"Enough!" Irenicus snapped, waving her words away, "It is highly unwise to perform a spell of this type and kill the owners of our current souls so readily. We must wait a little while, to see if the transition is complete. I doubt we will find any more children of Bhaal whom we may subdue, so caution is well warranted."

Well, that was true enough. The high priestess who had pointed them to Elatharia and Imoen had hinted that few remained of Bhaal's children – and that those who did were mighty powers in their own right.

"At least let me have a little fun then, brother," Bodhi hinted slyly, attempting to keep the disgust out of her tone as she watched him caress the aasimar girl's hair before standing to face her with a decidedly bored look. "There are dungeons beneath this one. Let me drop them into the maze below…until the time is right and I can kill them, or someone else can."

Irenicus watched her coolly for a moment, glancing down at Elatharia as the girl stirred a little, groaning as if in pain. As she turned over, the floor beneath her head was stained dark and for a moment Bodhi wondered if the girl had another injury. But no, that did not smell of blood. How peculiar. It looked like ink.

"Very well," her brother allowed after a moment, flinching irritably when Bodhi laughed in delight, leaping up and clapping her hands excitedly. "You may have your fun." He looked down at Imoen, his head tilting thoughtfully. "They will have to die eventually, I imagine. Whether we leave them or not. And do not take too long about it – a few more hours and we will know whether this spell has truly worked. Then we must move on. The matron is waiting, and so is my vengeance."

* * *

The darkness was comfortingly deep on their journey to Spellhold, though the wind was bitterly cold and relentless. Viconia kept to the front of the party with Haer'Dalis, seeking to keep their interfering conjured lights behind her. Haer'Dalis did not seem to scorn the light as she did in spite of his equally good nightvision, but on this journey through the dunes and low hills of Brynnlaw he kept by her side. His closeness set her nerves jangling, her skin prickling. His distance made her just as irritable. And his watchfulness kept her on edge in a different way – a good thing, with so many potential enemies at their backs and so many in front. Not to mention the loss of Elatharia.

The drow priestess suspected the wizards of the group had been hasty – and arrogant, unsurprisingly – when they had promised that their memorised spells would be sufficient for this venture. Perhaps Aerie, weak creature that she was, did not favour spells of great potency or aggression (and the evidence certainly favoured this theory) but Edwin was a different matter. He may have been an impulsive and oft times foolish wizard, but he was also a paranoid one. He might start a fight with an impossible foe, but he would only do it if he had all of his very best spells memorised. Viconia knew him better than he realised, or even than many of the others realised. She had travelled with him for as long as had either Elatharia or Jaheira. She was not clouded by emotion in regard to him. And she knew that it would take a great deal to make Edwin forego his best spells and any tactical considerations against a foe as worrying as Irenicus.

Sentiment. Viconia glanced at Haer'Dalis with a grimace. It was probably going to get them _all_ killed one day.

Viconia sighed as they finally reached the last of the stairways cut into the hills, slippery with sand, and saw the flat road ahead cut through the rock. It narrowed into a bridge about a hundred feet away, barely better than a causeway, its low walls smoothed off by countless years of crashing waves and buffeting wind. Its grey stones were slick with sea spray, and the world smelled of brine. Beyond that loomed the dark mass of Spellhold, a series of towers arrayed around a lower, broader building – which still stood many floors high. Its huge front gates were flanked by two massive statues of robed men, arms folded beneath voluminous sleeves – much like the figures that flanked the Cowled Wizard headquarters in Athkatla.

A glance over her shoulder showed to Viconia that the others were only a few feet behind them, and a quick consideration of the low, watery bridge ahead led to her hesitating, eyeing the darkness intently behind the rowdier main group and their orange conjured light. They passed her, a few sending her suspicious glances, but only Edwin and Haer'Dalis paused to look back at her as she turned around and made to follow in their wake. While the bard peered at her curiously, the Red Wizard watched her with a deep frown, his brown eyes flashing with points of red that proved today he had favoured darkvision over a light as ostentatious as Jan's.

"What is it that has you lingering, drow?" Edwin demanded.

"If you think I am any less inclined to recover Elatharia, you are mistaken," Viconia sighed as she reached the gap between bard and Conjurer, gesturing at the trudging group ahead of them in a suggestion that they follow. "She has saved me many times, and it makes sense to return the favour – I am hardly willing to linger alone on this island. I would suggest instead that your own paranoia is borne of fear." She smirked when his lips twitched irritably. "And perhaps a wish to seek out that which led to your earlier temporary loss of magic, hm?"

"I told you before that they poisoned me as they did Elatharia," Edwin insisted, his fearsome glare too intense to be broken by Viconia's knowing smile. She rolled her eyes Haer'Dalis's way as the Red Wizard turned his back on her and went after the others.

"And why _did_ you linger behind, my Blackbird?" the tiefling inquired softly as they followed a few steps back. His elbow brushed hers, and she flinched away automatically. She felt his eyes on her, but if her response bothered him he failed to show it beyond this long look.

"I would rather the bridge were tested by others first. If someone is going to slip into the sea, I would rather it were not me."

Haer'Dalis laughed at that.

"There is something untrustworthy about this place; island, town, sea and prison all," he agreed softly, eyeing the approaching hulk of Spellhold with far less mirth.

"Almost as unpredictable as the group into which we are forced," Viconia agreed, "I wish very much that we could have killed most of them before we came here, for surely they will turn on us one day."

Haer'Dalis nudged her, much to her irritation. He raised an eyebrow when she looked up at him, a string of drow insults coming to her lips.

"It is always better to watch the chaos unfold in such situations, to permit it life, rather than to halt it – or create it before its time. I am sure far too much danger awaits within the walls of Spellhold yet, my Blackbird. We will need our unlikely allies."

It was a reminder rather than a lesson, but Viconia sighed and gave a half-nod all the same. Perhaps Edwin was right. The more fireball fodder they had, the better.

As it turned out, the bridge was slippery but not impassable. Minsc barrelled forth first, his steps swift and fearless…and nimble, to the surprise of a few onlookers. Korgan went with him, far less graceful but just as daring, head down and footsteps heavy. Yoshimo flitted after them, dodging the spray of one particularly ferocious wave. All three reached the closed gates, dwarfed by the flanking statues of robed wizards, and waved the others over.

"Oh…" Aerie gasped nervously, her voice trailing off before she could find any complete words. She was shivering in the cold wind, wincing against the salty spray from the sea. Gaping a little, she blinked up into the darkness, probably only half-seeing the monstrous hulk of Spellhold. To Viconia's temperature-sensitive eyes the place was limned in a faint orange. It was too bright to be retained heat from the day – more likely, she was seeing the shine of some internal workings.

Valygar and Jaheira shared a long look of equal disbelief at the avariel's anxiety.

"We should hurry," the ranger grunted, stepping forward and gesturing pointedly ahead.

"And why does the druid linger behind? (To watch us fall to our deaths, no doubt)," Edwin muttered. Jaheira's eyebrow quirked slightly.

"As satisfying at that would be, Red Wizard, it is sadly inaccurate. I hold the wardstone. It would be unwise for me to go first, lest the rest of you be left behind," she told him coolly.

"My lady…" Anomen took Aerie's elbow and they shared a lingering look. A hint of steel found its way into the avariel's expression and she nodded firmly, extricating herself from the knight's hold – much to his apparent confusion. Was that a little hint of hurt Viconia saw in his face? She hoped so.

"Let's…let's go," Aerie said, matching Mazzy's smile.

Thus knight, paladin, ranger and part-time mage all went forth – and after a moment, Jan skipped after them. A twist of some little contraption in his hands, and a shimmering dome bloomed above the five of them, protecting them from the thunderous waves. Seeing this, Edwin hurried to catch up and almost lost his footing on the wet ground with a snarled Mulhorandi curse.

Jaheira turned to Viconia and Haer'Dalis pointedly when they laughed at the Red Wizard's theatrics. That cold glare soon dampened the drow's mirth and she turned to meet the druid's grey eyes with a sneer.

"I will not have you alone at my back, _darthiir_ spawn," the priestess denied her. "We will keep by your side, and avoid a spear in the back."

"Only the guilty fear vengeance from a Harper, drow," Jaheira told her icily.

"Then perhaps you ought to turn your vengeance upon Irenicus…and Yoshimo, Ptarmigan," Haer'Dalis suggested, his tone harder than Viconia had heard it – aside from his interactions with the bounty hunter. She turned to look up into his face with surprise, and saw how serious he was.

"Yoshimo?" Jaheira's expression twisted into disbelief, "If you knew something, why did you say nothing?" When he failed to respond, she scoffed, "In the absence of evidence, it would seem your attempts at distraction have failed, tiefling. The bounty hunter did at least bring us the wardstone. You made no effort to stop him."

"He has not given me any outright evidence, tis true," Haer'Dalis agreed, "But watch him closely. Keep him in your sight. I have known those held in thrall before, and a thrall to someone the Cuckoo surely is."

They spoke no more, too tense to discuss such vagaries. Instead they passed the bridge – and though Jaheira staggered past a crashing wave, almost slipping once or twice, Viconia was served well by her drow heritage and upbringing. She had watched the course of the others who had crossed, satisfied in the walkway's safety, and needed little concentration to easily keep her footing and pass through almost untouched by the sea's spray. Haer'Dalis found the trip quite entertaining, laughing at Jaheira's few struggles and unbothered by the water his shirt took on. His feet never faltered though, his form a brighter hue to Viconia's darkvision in spite of the cold spray. She need not touch him to know that his tiefling blood ran hotter than those of the Prime Material. Still, he caught Viconia looking and sent her a crooked smile which she did at least _pretend_ to scorn.

At last the group was united once more at the other side of the bridge, sheltered from the Sea of Swords by some lingering enchantment of the Cowled Wizards. As soon as they gathered in the space between the statue and the featureless, smooth iron doors the crash and rush of the sea dwindled along with the prickle of the spraying water droplets and even the smell of salt in the air. The rushing wind eased, as well. Viconia might have breathed a sigh of relief, had she not been in such company…and in the shadow of such a dangerous prison.

"Generally speaking tis wiser to break out of a prison than into one," Haer'Dalis noted cheerfully enough from behind the drow, as if reading her mind. She could feel his arm against hers, a strong reminder that the tiefling was the only member of their present group whom she would permit at her back.

The others eyed the tiefling with looks ranging from disbelief, to unassuaged anxiety, to derision. Jaheira strode amongst them, the wardstone in her hands. She eyed Yoshimo's placid visage for a moment longer than necessary, her frown almost as deep as Edwin's. The bounty hunter just smiled at her expectantly.

"I believe a passphrase must be spoken to activate the item," he explained, gesturing to Edwin, "Perhaps one of our wizards could help?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, I think we should all make some physical contact with the poor fool who must activate the wardstone – or with someone who manages to do so," Edwin sighed, stepping forward and plucking the wardstone promptly from Jaheira's grasp, eyeing it critically before nodding thoughtfully. He sent a derisive glance around himself, at the group in general, before meeting Viconia's eyes. "It would seem that poor fool is me," he admitted.

"Poor us fer havin' t' touch ye, more like," Korgan commented. Valygar failed to hide a faint grunt of amusement at that observation. "But I'll take some amusement in seein' ye suffer from the pawin' o' yer haters, wizard!"

After a moment of uncomfortable shifting, the group formed up around Edwin; Jaheira curled her lip but touched his sleeve, Mazzy and Jan each one of his elbows. Korgan grinned at the halfling, and she cringed away from the dwarf though he touched her wrist only lightly, instead of making contact with the Red Wizard. Valygar preferred to put a hand upon Jaheira's shoulder, squeezing almost imperceptibly as if in support. She glanced at him, and the grim expression they shared was as impenetrable as an unfamiliar language to Viconia. Aerie dithered a little before Mazzy found her hand with a forcefulness that spoke of sternness and something softer, like concern. Anomen gripped the avariel's other hand, frowning uncomfortably at Edwin. Minsc's expression was much the same as the knight's as he settled a hand protectively upon Aerie's shoulder.

Viconia jumped when Haer'Dalis grasped her hand, pulling them both forward lest their reluctance be noted, and putting a hand upon the wardstone, his fingers just barely touching Edwin's as he reached over Jan to achieve this.

Had she not been so distracted – by the moment, by Haer'Dalis's fingers holding hers so pointedly – Viconia might have smiled to see the group arrayed like this. It was an arrangement that spoke of alliances and necessities. She took a moment to consider it, and all that it told her of her companions' interrelations and characters.

Edwin spoke the command words with little preamble, grimacing at everyone settled around him. Instantly, the surge of powerful magic engulfed Viconia, bright light filling her vision, and she lost sight utterly of the others as the ground vanished from her feet. Haer'Dalis's hand slipped from hers; panicking with an immediacy that shocked her, she reach out blindly for him and felt their fingers tangle for just a moment before being wrenched apart again.

The magical energy of whatever this spell was rang in her ears like the aftermath of a gong rung by her head. It lingered as the weight of the world settled once more upon her and she felt flat ground beneath her feet. As the ringing eased and bright light faded, she found herself in darkness far deeper than that of the outdoors, engulfed in a silence more profound than the muffling spell by Spellhold's doors. It lasted only a moment before she adjusted to her surroundings, noticing immediately that the forms of Jaheira and Mazzy were stumbling into her view while all of the others were absent. They seemed dazed.

"Is anyone there?"

"Mazzy, is that you?"

"Yes! Jaheira…I don't hear any of the others…"

"Whatever the wardstone did, it separated us," the drow noted levelly, and the others stopped stumbling in this small, dark chamber at the sound of her voice. Of course, both were blind in this deep dark. "It has taken us _somewhere_ at least. I see…three corridors we might take," she offered helpfully. In spite of the situation, she smirked at the power imbalance and how right it felt.

Jaheira cursed colourfully, pulling off her backpack and rooting around in it blindly for a moment or two. Mazzy stopped where she stood, palms out flat as she felt the still, faintly musty air. There was little to make out beyond this uninteresting box of a room, only one of its four walls unbroken by an opening. Rounded corridors curved away from the three available archways.

Mazzy flinched when Jaheira found a peculiar little strike a-light, slamming the contraption upon the flat, tiled floor with probably unnecessary vehemence and bringing forth an undoubtedly magical flame. The halfling blinked away sunspots as the strike a-light banished the darkness, flickering brilliantly in Jaheira's outstretched hand once the druid had shouldered her pack. Viconia had spat a few curses of her own as the awful light robbed her of her darkvision and blazed mercilessly into her sensitive drow eyes. Though she had been careful to avert her gaze, pain still shot through her head.

"Well," Mazzy managed at last, "I would just like to remind both of you that we need to work together to find the others."

"Assuming we are in fact in the same place, and not lost in some wizard's _Maze_ spell," Viconia pointed out. The halfling frowned at her.

"Having suffered one of those, I can say quite certainly that we need not fear that possibility at least," Mazzy offered unexpectedly. The halfling shifted her glare to Jaheira, too. "Likely we are in Spellhold. Am I going to have problems with either of you?" The paladin's eyes blazed with the unspoken righteous command behind that question.

Viconia's lip curled to be treated like a foot soldier, but at least this insistent leader was female. Had a male spoken to her in such a fashion, they likely would have met a swing of the Flail of the Ages. As it was, she just inclined her head. It was wise to stick together, as the halfling had said before.

Jaheira just grunted some affirmative.

"Good," Mazzy nodded, "Because I have a bad feeling about this and the last thing we will need is you two trying to kill each other."

* * *

Haer'Dalis, well used to sudden and inexplicable teleportation phenomena and unencumbered by a need to see in the light, had coped better than he suspected most of the others had with their current situation. His best guess placed him in Spellhold. Likely the wardstone had activated the wards rather than removing them, and thus sent the group careering into some maze within the wizard prison. Clever, really – a defence mechanism which allowed for the righting of mistaken entrant identity, rather than a simple 'kill all' policy.

It was dark and still, damp and cold down here. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the walls, floor and ceiling, though the spiders who lurked therein were of the small, comparatively harmless varieties. The path seemed rather obvious; a quick perusal of the smooth, seamless grey stone walls had shown that there were no trap doors nor hidden passageways. There was but one way forward, through the passageway ahead, at the mouth of which Anomen was shivering, armour clattering with every quake. Honestly, it seemed ridiculous. In all that armour, beneath that leather jerkin and all that cloth besides, how could the knight be so cold? But then, Haer'Dalis was well adapted to extremes of weather. And, of course, to the chaos they brought.

"'Twould appear that we have been separated from our friends."

Anomen jumped spectacularly at the sound of Haer'Dalis's voice, spinning around and staring blindly into the darkness with pointlessly widened eyes. Not hiding his chuckle at the knight's helplessness, the tiefling stalked closer, making no effort to laden his light footsteps with sound. The knight jumped again as Haer'Dalis brushed past him, peering down the corridor thoughtfully, a hand on one sword hilt. Anomen backed up warily with a clatter of mail, and Haer'Dalis shook his head with a smirk.

"You seem rather wary of me, but altogether unbothered by your unseen surroundings."

"Unbothered?" Anomen's exclamation echoed, and the tiefling winced. Somewhere in the distance something groaned, like rusted metal hinges…and grinding bone. "I am wracked with worry for the fairer members of our group! And, indeed…somewhat apprehensive as to where we are and how to make it out!"

"Perhaps you should pray for a light, Peacock," Haer'Dalis suggested, standing straight now and backing up. The human would not be able to hear it yet, but the grinding sound was only growing louder. Had he been as cruel as the Red Wizard – or even as Viconia – he might have taken the opportunity to flit away and let whatever doom was thundering in the distance take the knight with it. But, really, where was the fun in that?

"And you do seem rather too confident of yourself," Anomen noted stiffly, oblivious.

"I am blessed with the sight of the demons, Peacock," Haer'Dalis reminded him, "And the darkness does not hinder me. I suspect we are indeed inside Spellhold's walls, and that some ward pulled us apart from our flock. Curious that it chose to place _us_ together."

Anomen held back any tense words in favour of a quick prayer to Helm, eyes closed and hands clenched around the chunky grey symbol hung from his belt. Soft yellow light spread around them as he opened his eyes, blooming from his pupils and spreading out in a miasma of illumination. The walls were plain and grey, as Haer'Dalis had suspected. The young human at his side frowned and blinked in the sudden brightness, looking around himself at the odd cuboid room.

"What manner of place is this?" he asked more softly now, his sight giving him fair context in which to be wary. Haer'Dalis fought the urge to roll his eyes, shifting his weight as the grinding sound finally became audible to the young knight. Anomen tensed, eyes fixing on the room's only opening and the dark corridor beyond. "Did you hear something?"

"Quite clearly indeed, my Peacock," Haer'Dalis agreed. "The pathway beyond us is trapped with several closely placed tripwires. I would suggest we stay herein until we can determine what kind of threat we might be about to face. Tis a fair gambit, would you not say?"

Anomen nodded thoughtfully.

"The land we know, a battleground of our choosing – unless we hear something that suggests otherwise," he agreed automatically, the drone in his voice suggesting that he was reciting some learned tactics. He hefted his shield, expression wary – and warier still as his gaze shifted to the tiefling at his side. "I think it would be disingenuous to promise that I have your back, when I doubt you have mine."

Haer'Dalis laughed at that, and held out his hand for the man to shake. He did so, firmly, no trust in his eyes.

"I am glad that we understand one another, Peacock."

* * *

Elatharia awoke to the sound of grating stone on stone…and to the crawl of _something maddening_ beneath her skin. She sat up with a yelp, slapping at her arms and legs and sides reflexively to bat away the writhing feeling. It failed. She was on her knees almost before her eyes opened…to see only darkness all about her. Her body trembled and bent against her will, golden light bursting behind her eyes…and flashing across the room. Momentarily her surroundings were illuminated; a long, deep hall of cross-vaulted grey and black stone, smooth and cold. The icy form of Bodhi stood adorned in glittering black at the high balcony many feet above her. She was smiling smugly, hands gripping the railing before her as she leaned forward to watch Elatharia.

"You bitch!" the Transmuter gasped it through the pain that wracked her body, and her burst of magic missiles must have come unexpectedly; as the darkness enveloped them both again, the blue-purple orbs of power zipped from her hands and crashed into the balcony, illuminating Bodhi's unbothered form a moment or two longer as they activated a shimmering wall of protective force around the vantage point. Elatharia slumped forward onto her palms, snarling against the pain in every inch of skin, muscle and bone. Her heart was thundering, and her breath was coming in fast pants. What had the vampire done to her? Was this poison?

"Blame me all you wish, Bhaalspawn. I am going to enjoy watching you wander into your doom before I leave," Bodhi crowed into the blackness.

Again came the rumbling of stone, a long grinding as if an impossibly heavy boulder were being pushed along the hard floor. With it came the sound of chittering, clattering _creatures_ , and the thump of many feet. Only anger filled Elatharia, a crawling rage that somehow felt manifest in the agony wracking her body. Perhaps she ought to have been surprised by her own lack of fear, but surprise was absent also. Just rage, filling the dry blankness in her heart.

"Where is my sister?" the Transmuter snarled, dragging herself to her feet as the thundering of monstrous feet filled her world, accompanied by the growls and chatters of inhuman voices. "Imoen!"

"Look more to yourself, child," Bodhi suggested, half-heard through the clamour.

Something hard and cold slammed into the unseeing Transmuter's back. It knocked her with a huff onto her knees, both impacts which should surely have wounded her. Instead, they only fuelled the wrath begging to break free. She found herself on her feet once more, and when the next impact came, her rage exploded with it. Her world went white, and then blood red.

* * *

The _Darkvision_ spell had been a stroke of genius. Not knowing that the wardstone was a fake of some kind (at least something other than what the Kara-Turan had claimed) Edwin had cast the spell to avoid illuminating himself along the dark walk from town to prison. Better any potential enemies see the blundering, armour-laden fools who carried torches than him. Now, of course, the ability to see in this dark labyrinth of cold stone corridors without a torch was a blessing. Wherever the others had been swept off to, few would have such a luxury.

Two things were fairly certain – this was no wizard's _Maze_ spell, nor was it some tomb far from Spellhold. The wardstone had not possessed power enough to teleport the group; it had activated some protective energies in the doorway, separating them off from each other to give the prison time to determine whether or not they were intruders. And whether or not they deserved to die. It was a familiar method, a crude version of the wards around certain parts of Thaymount…and his own father's castle. Thoughtfully, Edwin touched the red jewelled torc resting against his collarbone. It felt cool, the enchantment-abjuration sparking beneath his fingertips.

His footsteps rang too loud in this echoing network of pathways even as he crept like some guilty thief upon his tiptoes, back pressed to the wall. Never turn your back on an open, dark corridor. A lesson hard-earned in Thay. As he neared the end of this first passageway – an arcing, rounded tunnel through the stone from the room into which the spell had thrown him alone – Edwin paused at the sound of grinding stone, the rumble that followed it reminding him of the herds of wild horses that roamed the hills and grasslands around Lake Mulsantir. Brought up short by uncertainty, Edwin eyed the crossroads ahead warily, painted in grey, white and black by _Darkvision_.

There were few sconces in the walls for torches, a few tripwires he had fairly tripped over, and only endless stone – no windows, no doors thus far. The ground was flat, even. It did not look worn down by water or more horrible fluids. It looked made for walking upon. Which meant that, wherever people were meant to be there out ought to be some kind of exit. Corridors ended in dead-end rooms, not simple dead-ends – some definition probably rendered this place as _not a maze_. The air was cold, dry – but not stale. There was a faint draft, thus some supply, and nothing of note had died down here lately. Which probably meant the place had an easy exit, or it had been cleaned recently. And – either way – thus there would be a way out.

The grinding and rumbling stopped, and for a moment all was still. Edwin let out a long, slow breath, frowning as he tried to consider his options. Then a roar – of fire, rather than some monster – shook the very ground upon which he stood, jolting him back from the wall rather rudely. A monster's roar followed, a long raw sound. Not a dragon. No. But something _angry._

Peering at the crossroads anew, Edwin decided movement might be wiser than lingering. Shrouded in darkness with eyes that could see through it, he peeled himself from the stone and stepped forward, flexing magic-ready hands as he strode ahead with greater, swifter purpose. A straight line was better than a curve in these circumstances…

"Which way, Boo? The evil wizard sent us careering into the equally evil dark of the wizard prison, and all without our witch! We must not let any ills befall the noble Aerie! We must…must…"

The Rashemi's voice boomed out from an adjacent corridor, and Minsc's huge, heavy body collided with Edwin's before the Red Wizard could even begin to avoid it. The ranger exclaimed something righteous and wrathful as they staggered apart, his greatsword sliding free of its sheath on his back with a long, ringing scrape. Cursing, Edwin scrambled away further, fire blooming from his hands automatically. _Oh, Kossuth be damned!_ There went the cover of darkness.

"You! You… _dare_ to presume…"

"Dynaheir's killer! Evil, shameless _Red Wizard_!" Minsc roared, and the wildness in his eyes showed that he was well past the point of no return and lost to his berserk rage. Had he not made a promise to Elatharia? (And _gods_ where was she?) But then, what was a promise worth to a barbaric Rashemi?

"I am not Dynaheir's killer, you baboon!" Edwin snarled, hurling flame at the ranger's unprotected face and wishing it would bite. Sadly, Minsc's reflexes were orders of magnitude faster than his foolish brain.

"Murderer! Evil! Minsc will have your head!"

Cursing again, Edwin let his fire magic sputter out and spat out the words for a _Haste_ spell as he ran into the darkness, Minsc's threats and roars following him through the labyrinth. If he were to fight the fool, it would be on ground of his choosing.

* * *

Perth's maps should prove adequate enough in navigating out of this labyrinth. It was a shame about the others, but at least freedom waited at the end. Irenicus and Bodhi had what they wanted – Elatharia caught, used, and no doubt cast aside. A shame, really. She was probably dead. Still, the memory of her cutting that man's throat in cold blood was hardly something Yoshimo would recall fondly. Only…Irenicus and Bodhi were likely even more monstrous than the girl they had captured. There could be no pride in all that had passed – but he, Yoshimo, was hardly responsible. A prisoner of the soul, if not the body.

The bounty hunter had not been creeping through these cold, dark tunnels for long when he heard the roar of Minsc's berserk rage, followed by the rush of fire consuming air. On cue, the crossroads just beyond this narrow ledge were momentarily alight with flame-red light, a burst of magic that must have come from the Red Wizard. The illumination momentarily showed to Yoshimo a narrow passageway angled almost out of sight at the end of the ledge along which he walked…and the long drop down into the hallway stretching outwards as a dark abyss from his right side.

The light died a moment later, and the halls of Spellhold's labyrinth rang with running footsteps. The minor enchantment Perth had given to Yoshimo showed to him the form of Edwin skidding around the next corner, hands flying through the motions of a spell. He did not look _frightened_ …just wrathful. And as a sheen of magic settled over his form, imbuing him with speed enough to zip forwards just as Minsc rounded the corner, still roaring Mulhorandi threats, Edwin accelerated out onto the ledge. His eyes alighted on Yoshimo's stilled form, and then to the map he held in his hands.

A chill of concern curdled the bounty hunter's blood. He flinched aside to let Edwin pass – for really the Red Wizard was as caught as he – and half-hoped that the Thayvian would continue on into the darkness. He did not, taking advantage of Minsc's blindness as the Rashemi lumbered one way and then the next, sword out.

"What in the Hells are you holding, snake?" Edwin snarled, catching Yoshimo by the elbow and pulling him around with far more strength than the bounty hunter would have expected. Obviously he was augmented with a number of spells – haste, strength…and something else, a protective shimmer over his skin.

"I…" Yoshimo was surprised to find that he did not have a lie ready. Hope had stolen from him that which had kept him alive – a ready skill for deception. The Red Wizard pulled from him the map which was supposed to be his salvation, blinking down at it with magically augmented eyes.

Edwin's frown deepened, and this time he stepped back, glancing behind the bounty hunter to the frothing mass of rage that was currently Minsc. Something else seemed to catch his eye, too, and his expression cleared suddenly. With a rattling gasp, he stepped back. To Yoshimo's increasing surprise and confusion, the wizard now brought forth a globe of light, and sent it drifting across the ledge. Minsc answered with more angry Rashemi exclamations. His feet pounded the ground as he charged.

Whirling about, Yoshimo winced to see the Rashemi bearing down on them like that. He considered dodging aside, but Edwin was too quick-witted for something so petty. What else? Try to diffuse the situation? That would have been amusingly ironic. In the end, it was Edwin's words that made up his mind, and almost distracted him from the slight form that shifted in the angled passageway at the end of the ledge.

"We have a fellow 'mistress' do we not? Whatever it is you are doing here, I will keep your secret – if you aid me now."

It was a conclusion which no one ought to have been able to fathom with such certainty so quickly, but few people could boast Edwin's intelligence – the Red Wizard did plenty of that on his own. It seemed he had considered the course of events, Yoshimo's familiarity with Bodhi _and_ Havarian, the map in his hands…and come to the truth. He must have assumed that they followed the same mistress, and could not have realised the whole, terrible reality of what lay ahead…but it was enough. They understood each other, at least.

So Yoshimo gritted his teeth, wincing a little in the bright conjured light, and stepped out on to the middle of the ledge as Minsc continued to advance. The Rashemi wavered a little to see the bounty hunter standing there with palms out in a gesture of peace, a crooked smile on his face. Though still tense, wild-eyed and panting, the Rashemi did screech to halt on the slippery-smooth ground. The tip of his greatsword clanged to the stone between them, and his gaze slipped from the bounty hunter to the Red Wizard waiting behind him.

"Step aside, hunter of bounties," Minsc warned, "That Red Wizard is an evil traitor! And one responsible for the separation of us from our friends. Justice must be done! No matter what Elatharia demands!"

Yoshimo affected a nervous laugh, even as that slight figure standing in the passage stepped into view, shadowy and only half-seen in the gloomy edges of the conjured light. Something bright and feral glinted in silver-blue eyes. But, currently, Minsc was the greater threat.

"Now, friend," the bounty hunter tried, "Collect yourself. Edwin may be an arrogant bastard, but he is not responsible for…"

"No more words!" Minsc denied him, over Edwin's affronted snarl. The Rashemi raised his sword, and in his berserk rage it looked set to cleave Yoshimo in twain just to reach the wretched Red Wizard!

Gritting his teeth, Yoshimo sighed even as he pulled free his katana, skittering forward under the swing of the greatsword. Really, the Rashemi was making this too easy. As Minsc staggered forward, Yoshimo braced himself against the impact, knowing that the force of the collision would do what he could not have alone. They crashed together, the bounty hunter staggering even as he dug in his heels – but the angle had been just right. Edwin's breathless, disbelieving laugh proved that to be true.

The chamber rang with the clatter and scrape of Minsc's greatsword as it dropped to the floor of the ledge. He wheezed, and trembled, and hot red blood spilled in a torrent over Yoshimo's hands, soaking his sleeves, splattering upon the floor. Edwin laughed again, the sound grating against Yoshimo's nerves.

"M-Minsc?"

A high, unfamiliar voice cut through the rattling of the Rashemi's breath and the big ranger tensed even more, trying to turn in spite of the enchanted katana impaling him through stomach and lungs. The action tore him more, horribly, and he gurgled half a groan, sinking to his knees as Yoshimo slid the blade free, glassy eyes meeting impassive ones for a confused, betrayed moment before Minsc fell back, turning his head to see the owner of that voice.

Yoshimo looked up too and saw a girl approaching – vaguely familiar, she must have been close to twenty, no older certainly. Thin enough that her collarbone stood out starkly at her neckline, her shoulders sharp beneath a thin grey shirt, her skin was pale beneath the bruises, pale in the manner of one who has been trapped away from the sun for too long. Her mop of straight pink hair fell to her shoulders, framing a face now gaunt from malnutrition, a brilliant bruise blooming over a bump on her temple. Her eyes were shining with tears, and behind the liquid they shone with something else – a sheen of silvery iridescence over brilliant blue. Her brow was scrunched up with horror and disbelief. Her chin trembled. She fell to her knees by Minsc's fallen, twitching form and tried to turn him onto his side, to stop him choking on his own torrent of blood as Yoshimo watched. The girl would have to die as well.

A glance over his shoulder showed that there was no sign of Edwin. Slippery bastard.

"Im…" Minsc coughed, and spattered the girl's tunic with red droplets. "Im…Imoen." And the wonder in his voice, the relief, the _happiness_ was evident in spite of his imminent death. She sobbed in answer, holding his blood-slicked hand to her face when he brought it to her cheek.

Their reunion was short lived, and Yoshimo was taking a step forward, his katana still trailing ill-gotten blood upon the floor, when Minsc's breath rattled and his hold on Imoen slipped. His life left him, and he fell back, flopping half over the edge of the walkway. Imoen's head snapped up, tears streaking her face even as her expression twisted into one of rage – a rage that looked altogether ill-fitting…and inhuman. Her eyes sparked with golden light, and then flared with it.

"Why?" she snarled, and the teeth she bared were sharp and lengthening as she stood, her skin splitting around her eyes to reveal ridged ebon hide beneath.

Yoshimo ran two steps before the creature caught him, his katana rattling on the floor. He caught a glimpse of Edwin's eyes watching him from the shadows of the corridor ahead and the wizard's dark smirk as the Kara-Turan was dragged back. Yoshimo's attempt to pull free only tore him through his leathers as the girl shed her human skin like shredded clothes, her hold on him cutting him even unintentionally. He screamed, and pulled, and screamed some more as pain exploded through his stomach.

She dragged him back to Minsc's fallen form, and he could not bring himself to look back at the horror that loomed over him. Wrongness rolled from the beast, an unnatural horror beyond any he had experienced. He trembled at her feet, half-fallen over Minsc's dead body, gasping and twitching from the pain.

"Why?" she snarled again, and when he did not answer she flung him over the ledge, her word becoming an inhuman growl as she lost hold of her humanity entirely.

Coughing blood, crying with fear and agony, Yoshimo toppled over the side. He scrabbled for a hold, instinctively grabbing at Minsc's arm – but he only succeeded in pulling the ranger with him, and both fell into the darkness.


	37. The Trials of Spellhold

**A belated Merry Christmas/winter festival/wintertime to everyone!  
And, of course, big thanks for reading. Your comments are hugely appreciated. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 36: The Trials of Spellhold**

* * *

As spontaneous plans went, few could top that one. With Minsc gone, there went one less prejudiced fool to threaten him. And, after Yoshimo and Bodhi's involvement with Irenicus had been betrayed – by having that map and by giving them a rigged wardstone – well, Yoshimo just had to go too. Sadly, Edwin had not factored Imoen's sudden metamorphosis into consideration.

And what a metamorphosis! Her skin had peeled from her and lay in gruesome strips upon the floor, bloodless and dry like the shed skin of a snake. From her had unfurled a gnarled, ebon beast of spikes and spines, impossibly long fingers melded seamlessly into needle-like talons, so thin as to appear like hairs but sharp and strong enough to leave sparks upon the walls and deep furrows in the stone. A thicker spine protruded from each vertebra, glimmering with venom of some kind, while the creature's head was little more than a broad, needle-toothed maw, the tongue within red and double-forked. Its body was very thin for its height, stretched as if the girl's mass could not be increased. Black bones protruded from outside the thick, leathery skin and its movements were inhumanly fluid and fast. But the eyes were silver-blue, just like Imoen's. And they seemed frightened, which strengthened the hypothesis for this being the transformation of the real Imoen, not the return to the true form of a monster. It also suggested that she would return to her true self. A permanent change would surely leave her without any hint of _Imoen_.

Out of curiosity – and perhaps necessity – the Red Wizard had waited just around the corner, shimmering with Abjurations and encased in a _Stoneskin_ just to be sure, determined not to shake from the tension (and certainly not the fear) of having that creature lashing back and forth upon the platform. It did at least not seem too interested in rampaging quite so ferociously as Minsc (and probably had a far greater intellect). If anything, over time its clattering walk had slowed to steady pacing and then, growling and moaning, it had stopped entirely. After a little longer, all was quiet but for Edwin's own breathing…and then the sobbing started. That was Imoen, he knew that voice! Though…the girl had never cried in his experience. And just as well, for he would surely have given her no sympathy for such weakness!

Now though, that sound drew him forward. He was curious, after all. And something in it reminded him of those moments before Elatharia was dragged away. It made him angry, though he refused to contemplate _why_.

Edwin rounded the corner to see that the conjured light he had summoned to uncover Yoshimo to Minsc had lingered upon the ledge, its globe not reaching down into the abyssal darkness over the unprotected edge from which bounty hunter and Rashemi had tumbled. At the centre of that light Imoen was curled up, bare and shivering, hugging bruised sides that showed every rib starkly. Her hip bones jutted out too, and her feet were covered in blood, just like her hands. She looked to be made of twigs and paper, not bones and flesh.

She looked up as she heard him approach, a frightened gasp escaping her as she scrambled back against the wall, clutching the scraps of her clothes to her bared body. She blinked up at him as he unclasped his cloak and trembled as he draped it over her, too frightened or disturbed to acknowledge him until he stepped back. Disbelieving, Edwin watching her as she wrapped herself more tightly in the deep red cloak, its gold lining soaking in the blood from her hands and the ground readily.

"Imoen?" he asked it with open confusion. Her brow furrowed as surely as his did when he spoke her name, and her mouth worked as if she were trying to recall how to speak. "What in all the Hells just happened to you? And where is your sister?" He waited those brief seconds, not sure what more to say or do for once in his life – and gods, the floor here was a bloodied, sticky mess!

With the space once more allowed between them and his cloak cocooning her, Imoen's expression cleared a little and even began to register something like recognition. She took him in from his boots to his face, trembling until she met his stare. And then she gasped, and gaped, and her eyes widened as if she had only just seen him there, standing at the centre of the brilliant conjured light on this red-slicked walkway with the dark abyss at his back.

"E-Edwin?"

He did not expect her to leap to her feet and throw herself at him. He raised his hands for a spell to paralyse her, but before he could she had wrapped an arm around him (for the other yet held his cloak tightly around her) and crushed her face against his chest. He might have been less horrified if she had turned back into that creature and attempted to shred him alive. However, the beneficial information which he could glean from this was that she had not seen (or at least comprehended) his part in the death of Minsc. She had no wish to kill him, and the monster in her showed no signs of stirring.

"Agh! Were you expecting anyone in particular? I imagine _any_ familiar company would be a surprise," Edwin noted, his hands raised above her to avoid any more unnecessary contact. Imoen stilled against him at that, even stopping her sniffling. She pulled away from him sharply, curling her arms around his cloak tightly and turning away, pink hair falling across her face.

"Do you…do you have any more c-clothes I could use?" she asked, her voice high and only half-familiar. That did not sound like the overly exuberant creature he had known on the Coastway.

Edwin opened his mouth to deny her, considering that perhaps his cloak would do, when he recalled that he had taken Elatharia's bag of holding and it yet hung from his belt. A few quiet moments of rummaging (in which Imoen did not interject, not once) and he produced Elatharia's green Traveller's Robe, wincing when he realised that it had fortuitously been bundled up around some relevant underclothes. He yet recalled too well his time wearing that dress.

Imoen took the clothes wordlessly, and Edwin stared out into the darkness while she dressed. This was not the way he might have imagined meeting the girl again. Not naked, certainly. Not shivering, emaciated and silent. Not without Elatharia.

"Have you seen your sister? Do you know what this place is?"

He spat the words out sharply, and Imoen jumped at the sudden sound as she was tying the robe's sash around her waist, his cloak now clasped about her shoulders and trailing on the floor. She turned to face him then, fully dressed – though still barefoot – and still looking half dead. Her mouth was down-turned, her blue eyes very large. Gods, was she a doppelganger?

"Not since…n-not since…" she looked away, fidgeting with that section of hair which she had braided before, "I think they…I think they stole our souls. For themselves. He…he lost his soul. It was t-taken from him. And his sister, too. They done took our souls and l-left us here 'til they knew it'd worked. Now they done left us here to die."

"Irenicus stole your _souls_?" Edwin surprised himself with his exclamation. Imoen jumped again, then nodded, staring at the darkness behind him, still twirling that lock of hair. "And you have not seen Elatharia? Nor know what this place is?"

"She must be in here, like me," Imoen's eyes slid slowly over Edwin, a faint frown coming to her face, "But you should keep away. We should all keep away. The monster took her _fast_. And she's _angry_ ," she blinked, her eyes focused on the red jewel of the torc around his throat, "And this place…it's the testing arena. For inmates who might be allowed to leave. Minsc…do you think…" her voice caught, but she shed no more tears. The darkness found her stare, over Edwin's shoulder.

The girl sounded like an insane seer at a fair! But the words rang in him as too true. He still frowned at Imoen, watching her looking about herself for a moment before she bent and rather gruesomely rifled through the shredded remains of her previous humanoid self. After a moment she stood straight again, and between finger and thumb glinted a jewel-tipped lockpick. It was harder to tell what was more off-putting – her nonchalance, or her actions.

"What in the Hells is that?"

"We called it Khalid's Lockpick," Imoen told him as she clenched it tightly in her fist, her voice still high and empty, every word dragged from her with a heavy breath, "He bought it for me before we went to Durlag's Tower. After you done left her."

"After I left all of you," Edwin corrected, more sharply than he had intended.

"After you left her," Imoen denied him, too blank and monotone to be her recognisable self – but then, her soul had been torn from her. "And now we need to find her."

Whatever state 'she' was now in. A shudder threatened to run up Edwin's spine, but he just nodded and straightened himself imperiously before turning to go and gesturing for Imoen to follow. When she proved too weak now to walk without support, he endured her faint weight against his arm.

* * *

"I have some training in avoiding traps, but you should know that we would be far safer with the gnome or the bounty hunter to scout for us," Viconia noted softly, her hands itching with the need for sign language instead of this whisper – which echoed in spite of her low tone.

Jaheira's brow twitched irritably, the druid holding out the glowstone more ferociously as if that might help rather than hinder the drow's eyesight – and Mazzy just acknowledged the words with a firm nod, her shield raised and her footsteps surprisingly quiet and well-measured as she brought up the rear of their trio, watching the shadows behind them with a faint frown.

They had been walking for a time, and Viconia had only needed to warn them away from a few suspect tiles and half-seen trip wires. All of this had required a technique of avoidance rather than disarmament, and many of those 'traps' she found may well have simply been imperfections in the surface of these winding stone tunnels. For a while all had been still and dark, except for the light they carried, but as they walked further from the room of their emergence in this place a faint grinding had become audible. The next passage they took only served to dim this noise, and the drow priestess was about to turn around and suggest they go back the other way when she heard raised voices. Jaheira stiffened too, stopping abruptly and raising her hand needlessly for Mazzy to follow suit.

"That is Minsc's voice!" the druid hissed, grey eyes glinting coolly in the strange light.

Viconia's stomach clenched unexpectedly, and she reflexively looked ahead into the darkness. She saw the faintest hint of heat wafting in the air. Fire?

"Edwin is with him," the drow said immediately, "And they are in combat."

"With each other, or some shared foe?" Mazzy inquired astutely.

Viconia could only shrug, unwilling to show her concern to her untrustworthy companions. She thought of Haer'Dalis, and Elatharia. She wondered at their fate, and her nerves jangled with an unfamiliar sensation. Why did she have the most intense need to _attack_ the tiefling for _daring_ to be swept off elsewhere by that wretched wardstone?

"Minsc swore an oath not to interact with the Red Wizard," Jaheira noted, gesturing for them to pick up their pace again, heedless now of traps as Minsc's voice rang out more loudly this time – and was cut short. "He has not been well known for keeping to his oaths…"

"…and the events with the wardstone would seem, to an addled fool like the ranger, to be the wizard's doing," Viconia spat. What would Elatharia do if Edwin were allowed to die at Minsc's blade? Recalling their closeness in the tavern back in Brynnlaw and the girl's rather volatile temper, Viconia had to hope the Transmuter would only tear a swathe through the more righteous section of their group. Then again, it might also be quite nice to be rid of the ranger.

A long, ear-splitting roar – half-scream, half-bass rumble – tore through the chill darkness and shattered the quiet far more effectively than the ranger's previous howl of rage. The sound almost sent Viconia to her knees, all three adventurers clutching their ears and wincing against the pain. It brought them up short, and left a chill in its wake far greater than that brought by the cool air.

"Do you still want to run headlong to save your friend?" the drow inquired in disbelief, pointing back the way they had come, "Perhaps a dragon awaits that way? I think I would prefer it to whatever waits ahead after hearing _that_."

"You are a coward then, Sharite," Jaheira snarled, shouldering past her to take the lead, "Minsc is worth ten of you."

"Even dead?"

"If he dies, it is because you left him."

"Neither of you are helping this situation," Mazzy interrupted, her face as ever the picture of determined calm, "We do not know what is behind us, nor what lies ahead – but that we have a friend that way, and it is our duty to save him."

The words grated against everything Viconia had ever experienced or been taught, but these two fools were set on venturing onwards. It would be more dangerous to flit off alone, however tempting the thought was. So after a moment, waiting for the light to move on with Jaheira, Viconia followed, a shadow in the dark, listening to the snarls and growls of the unknown creature ahead. They heard no more of Minsc, and a more caring person might have grown worried for his safety. Again Viconia's thoughts turned to Haer'Dalis. She shivered.

As they rounded the next corner the growling ceased. The corridor ahead ended in a plain archway, hopefully unwarded; Viconia had started to believe that the place was a maze without variation, and now her curiosity sparked along with wiser trepidation. Jaheira had at least slowed her pace, crouched a little in the vain hope of quieting her movements. The druid may have been capable of startling stealth in the wilds of the surface world, but here amongst cold stone she was no better than Korgan with her heavy footfalls and creaking leathers. Not to mention the brilliant lightstone she held out before her, a beacon in the darkness to warn of her approach.

Once they reached the archway, a quiet, pained groaning was audible, words muttered softly and bitterly in the fast tongue of Kozakura. The bounty hunter, was it? He did not sound _healthy_ , to be sure. Not after that wet, rattling cough.

Hearing the same voice, Jaheira gave up on her slow advance and hurtled through the archway, her lightstone illuminating the fair-sized hallway beyond. It was at least a less cramped space, with a ledge up above much closer to the arched ceiling, joining two passageways on some level above theirs. A light was just dwindling through one opening – and on the floor of this hall, far beneath the ledge, was a scene of gore that Viconia had not been expecting, though she lingered in the archway entrance while Jaheira and Mazzy rushed forward with shouts of alarm and horror.

Two forms lay twisted amidst a glistening pool of blood, dark red in the bloom of Jaheira's light. Minsc lay on his side, contorted in a manner no living being could maintain, his armour slick and his skin pale, eyes staring blankly into the darkness behind Viconia. Yoshimo was just flopping onto his back beside him, blood streaming from a gory wound in his stomach – though it looked as if his broken legs were the primary cause for his failure to move. His face was ashen and twisted in pain, his dark eyes more wary than hopeful as they met Viconia's.

"No!" Jaheira exclaimed, rushing first to Minsc and crouching beside him, cursing when she shook his shoulder and he flopped further into that gruesome position. Bones, blood and innards were visible through the rend in his armour; even Viconia considered a grimace. "What happened here?" the druid's words were half-growl, and she showed far less concern for Yoshimo's state than that of her dead friend.

Mazzy's response was more constructive, her hands glowing with the blue-white light of Arvoreen's healing power as she brought them to Yoshimo's terrible wound. He flinched and then sighed, leaning back as the pain ebbed just a little. His legs would be harder to fix – if indeed he merited such attention. Viconia did not much like the evidence before her. Where was Yoshimo's katana? Was that its red tassel, hanging over the ledge above?

"The…the Red Wizard…" Yoshimo coughed, only to double up and wheeze instead against the pain.

Jaheira's head whipped around, her grey eyes cold steel boring into his temple. She bared her teeth like a feral thing, and Viconia was almost impressed by the druid's ferocity. What a Matron Mother she could have made! Had she been a drow, of course.

"What did he do?" Jaheira snarled.

By contrast, Mazzy was very calm, her limited healing powers flowing into the bounty hunter's stomach wound and avoiding the complicated breaks in his legs. Seeing this, Viconia approached while Yoshimo wiped blood from his lips, again attempting to sit back against the wall. She folded her arms once she stopped a few careful paces away, watching.

"He…he is working for Bodhi. She has…betrayed us…" Yoshimo grimaced as Mazzy stilled, the halfling drawing back with a deep frown of confusion. Jaheira waved her questions aside angrily, and the bounty hunter continued. "She has some…hold over him. I came upon him as he was battling with Minsc for a girl…your Imoen. He summoned some creature and set it upon us. First it felled Minsc, and then me. He disappeared with her – that way," and he pointed up at the ledge above, to the corridor down which the conjured light had diminished.

Jaheira seemed lost for words, looking down once more at Minsc's fallen form, her hands resting surprisingly gently upon his thick arm. Was that a tear leaking down her angular cheek? She appeared to be waging war with herself, gaping and snarling and shuddering until she pulled herself together visibly, closing her eyes and muttering a prayer to Silvanus.

"Can we not save him?" Yoshimo asked, cutting across Mazzy's questions. The halfling seemed rather taken with this idea, a righteous enough thought that it failed to raise her indignation.

Viconia sneered.

"The male was weak of mind, if not of body. He is probably better off here," the drow pointed out coolly, rolling her eyes when Jaheira and Mazzy both rounded on her. The halfling's hand even went for her blade. "But no, we cannot. His form is too broken, too much blood lost. Unless you wish me to raise for you a zombie, we cannot bring back Minsc."

"Your words are awfully smug, drow," Mazzy noted, and the use of her heritage as an insult on the halfling's lips surprised her. Viconia did nothing to hide her smirk of disdain at this – funny, how anger brought out the truths of prejudice and hate that these righteous fools so loved to hide.

"The Rashemi never did anything to hurt me," Viconia denied, surprised by the pang of…something that caught at her. A little like the sudden realisation of having left something behind which could not be regained. "In fact, he was rather…welcoming to me, unlike others. But he is dead, and he cannot be brought back. Darkness presses in on us all, and it would be more prudent to move on."

Her softer tone eased Mazzy's posture, though it seemed her words had still been a sight too practical for the halfling's taste. Jaheira's shoulders were rigid, her back to Viconia – rather pointedly, no doubt. Yoshimo coughed again, and at last the druid stood with a harsh sigh, stepping in front of him as Mazzy shifted aside.

"We will need to heal your legs, unless you wish to be left here, bounty hunter," she noted sternly, voice quavering just slightly.

Yoshimo's expression cleared, his eyebrows raising in surprise of all things. Or was it relief? And why would that be?

Viconia approached at Jaheira's sullen request; this healing would take both of them, lest he never walk properly again. Nor would it be comfortable for their charge. And the more she saw, the more Viconia wondered, only half-listening to Jaheira's patronising instructions. Minsc's wound – what she could see of it – was smaller, more strategic and more _mortal_ than Yoshimo's. It looked like a blade wound, and no other marks adorned him – save for a blister or two on his cheek which hinted at fire. The Red Wizard had been fighting with him, certainly. Yoshimo, by contrast, appeared to have been gored by some beast, not pierced by a blade. His legs were broken, and Minsc's attitude in death looked more as if he had been dead before landing.

The drow's eyes wandered back up to the tassel of the katana hanging over the edge, and the trickle of blood running down the wall beneath it from its blade, darkening and congealing. Summoned monsters did not bleed with human blood.

* * *

"I say we just smash the lot an' kill the thing that's fer killin' us," Korgan insisted as the doors shook from the heavy impact of the monster lurking beyond.

Aerie flinched, her back pressed to the far wall, nerves too frayed to speak. Whatever had gone wrong with the wardstone, it had teleported them into this room of statues, each furnished with some sort of riddle, the graven figures holding offering bowls into which, it appeared, one was supposed to place the assorted items waiting upon the central table. With both the gate behind her and the battered doors ahead locked, it seemed that they would have to complete the riddles correctly to be permitted any kind of escape.

This might have been all very well had there not been some ravening beast snarling and roaring behind the doors; from the thunderous sounds of battle beyond it seemed as though it had been fighting a host of other creatures, heavy footed and aggressive – but that this one monster had prevailed. The keening screams, the sickening crunches and the wet, gurgling sounds of dying had attested to that.

"Now, I would say that isn't the wisest idea you've ever had, my bloody minded friend," Jan put in from where he stood picking through the little carved stone items on the central table calmly.

Korgan grunted, throwing an irritable but not altogether disbelieving glare the gnome's way, hefting his axe all the same as the doors shook again from the eager creature's impact. Aerie yelped, cringing away and almost banging her head against the coloured plaster of the wall behind her.

"W-we need to solve the riddle," she agreed, clenching her hands in her tunic skirt and finally forcing herself to stand straight, though her knees were quaking and her heart thundering.

"We do indeed, Wingless," Jan agreed as she reached his side. He smirked faintly when she turned to berate him, only for the doors to shake once more and render her voiceless.

"Well, be quick about it!" Korgan suggested. "Might 'a been easier if we'd a' had some o' the more sensible folk of our team with us."

That was definitely true. Though Aerie was fairly certain none of the riddles written in metal plaques above each robed statue was objectively all that difficult, especially not with the items to prompt them on the table. But with that battle just finished and the monster trying to get to them too, it was hard to concentrate. The corridor visible through the gate was taunting, for it showed a clear – if dark – pathway from this scene of fear. It looked as if this room really had been created as some kind of test, perhaps as part of a theme, for its colourfully painted walls and smoothly cross-vaulted ceiling were at odds with the corridor's plain grey stone. And to spur them on, blue-black blood of the creatures just newly slaughtered was seeping sluggishly beneath the gilded doors across the circular chamber.

"Wh-what was the first riddle?" the avariel asked shakily.

" _At night I come without being fetched, by day I am gone without being stolen,_ " Jan recited readily.

Aerie blinked down at the items, which he had arranged into three groups. In front of him, the gnome had arranged the oddities: two miniature boots, a jar of water, a mirror, and a figurine of a gagged man. Between them sat a tiny sundial, an hourglass and a grinning skull. In front of her were two medallions: one depicted the sun, painted gold, and the other a star, painted blue and white. That was it! Aerie snatched up the star medallion.

"It's this one!" she insisted.

Jan muttered the words to himself once more, then grinned and nodded.

"Of course it is! Off you go then, get it in that bowl!"

As the doors shuddered and screeched from the claws of the beast, Aerie stumbled to the first statue on the left, dropping the star medallion into the bowl outstretched before her. Instantly the grinding of stone rumbled up from the statue and Aerie leapt back as it slowly retracted the bowl, turning about upon its platform until its back faced her. She glanced back at Jan nervously, and he nodded encouragingly even while Korgan muttered to himself and shook his head.

"I think that was a good thing, Wingless," the gnome promised.

Hoping he was right, Aerie inched towards the next statue along and peered up at the riddle gleaming above it in the light of the chandelier.

" _No beginning, no end. I am a symbol of the world's cycles,_ " she read, stumbling over the words a little as the Common Tongue and its script was far from her first language.

"Too vague for now. It could be the circle or the sundial," Jan mused, ignoring the shudder of the door, "Next one."

" _Two brothers we are, great burdens we bear, all day we are bitterly pressed; yet this I will say – we are full all the day, and empty when we go to rest._ "

"The boots," Korgan put in.

It seemed reasonable, so Aerie ferried the little stone boots over to the bowl, and watched with less nervousness this time as its statue spun about. She was just stepping towards the fourth plague when the grinding of the stone ceased and the doors boomed with another heavy impact, this time bursting one of the hinges, sending the little brass fitting soaring past her head to clang off the far wall hard enough to send out a spark of two.

"By Moradin's hammer!" Korgan cursed as Aerie attempted to right herself.

"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" Jan agreed amiably as one door now rattled worryingly. His calmness seemed altogether unnerving – was he hiding his fear, or did he intend to vanish the moment the beast burst through, leaving Korgan and Aerie to distract it? After a moment, the gnome looked up, glancing towards the gates at the other side of the room. "Sounds to me like we have more company. I suppose we couldn't be much more inaccessible from _other_ enemies."

"My would-be Sparrow, is that your voice I hear?"

Haer'Dalis's irrepressible humour echoed down the corridor beyond, accompanied by the clanking of mail – a loud noise that must have been hidden previously by the grinding of stone and the monster battering at the doors. Aerie's gasped, eyes widening hopefully as she fairly leapt towards the grate. Peering down the corridor ahead, she saw two tall, familiar forms heading their way; Anomen doubled his pace when he saw her, squinting against the bright light as he slipped his torch into the empty sconce opposite and squeezed her outstretched hand as she extended it through the bars.

"My lady! I am so glad to see you safe…"

"Anomen! We are…are not safe," Aerie winced as the doors thundered with another impact, this time accompanied by the sound of splintering wood – and the grinding of stone as Jan completed another riddle. "Is there a….a switch in the wall? Any ward phrases written in the stone that you can see?"

Haer'Dalis leaned around Anomen curiously as she spoke, eyebrows raising at the sound of her panicked tone. He glanced at the walls of the tunnel just as Anomen did, but both returned with shakes of their heads. Another statue twirled about thanks to Jan – that left them with seven riddles.

"It looks to me as if you need to complete those riddles, my Dove," Haer'Dalis noted with just the faintest smile, eyes glinting black in the orange light, "Inconvenient as that may seem with such a beast endeavouring to reach you. There is no lock on this door; 'tis a portcullis of sorts."

"Oh, Baervan," Aerie groaned, extracting her hands from Anomen's and turning quickly, hurrying over to the door and feeling both wretched and foolish for hoping that these two new arrivals might be able to succeed where she had _assumed_ she would fail.

Meanwhile the top section of the door had splintered a little, revealing darkness beyond – and the flash of sharp, needle-like talons ahead. Korgan was planting his feet firmly, axe readied, a rumbling growl coming from him as he prepared for the berserk rage which might save all of them.

Aerie blinked down at the objects on the table as Jan solved another riddle; six to go. The medallions were all gone, as were the boots and the jar of water. She picked up the wheel symbol, turning it in her shaking hands and looking between it and the sundial.

" _I have seen the mountains rise. I have seen the fall of Netheril. You shall die but still I march on,"_ Jan read.

"What was the second one?" Aerie asked. It was Haer'Dalis who answered, squinting to make out the words from the door.

" _No beginning, no end. I am a symbol of the world's cycles._ "

"Hmm. Hard, that," Jan mused, and moved onto the next riddle.

Aerie turned about to face Haer'Dalis, holding out the wheel in one hand and the sundial in the other with a questioning look. Beside the tiefling, Anomen's frowned in worried puzzlement, all three jumping a little as the doors groaned alarmingly, splinters flying, and the creature beyond howled.

"A symbol versus a description of time," Haer'Dalis summarised.

"Oh!" Aerie might have grinned, had she not been so frightened, "The wheel is the second riddle and the sundial is the fifth!"

She tossed the latter to Jan and hurried over to place the wheel in the appropriate bowl. Both statues shuddered, but in the meantime the hinge on the other battered door pinged free. Now both sides were shuddering, and the beast beyond became more visible; a long-limbed humanoid thing with a pitch-black exoskeleton covered in spines and talons like rapiers. The eyes were a deep green, however. And full of blind rage. Aerie faltered, thinking of Lavok.

The avariel spared a moment to bring up a few protections; _Strength_ rushed through her, and with its onset some of her trembling fled. _Stoneskin_ came next, settling as a deceptively thin and flexible sheen of silver over her skin. She felt a little safer, at least. Meanwhile, Jan had just read out another riddle and Korgan was pacing before the splintering doors. Behind her, it sounded as though Anomen was bringing forth some spell.

"The mirror," Haer'Dalis said firmly in response to whatever Jan had just read.

And thus another riddle was solved.

" _Name me and so shall you break…_ "

Jan's words were cut off by a blast of splintering wood and Korgan's answering roar. The whole top section of the door broke down and for a moment Aerie's vision was impeded by a cloud of inward-flying splinters. Crying out, she was forced to duck and cover her face. She heard the monster snarling and Korgan's answering curses, the scrape of its spines as it clambered past the wood, and the whistle as the dwarf swung his axe in warning.

When she looked up, both Jan and Anomen were casting, and the beast was in the room with them. Seeing its thin, extended body, its silvery ribs protruding from its hard black skin and the hissing furrows its spines had left in the ceiling as it climbed through the doors, Aerie was momentarily frozen with fear. Its movements were fast and sinuous as it rounded on Korgan, dodging his swing readily enough before lashing out and sending him stumbling back against the table, scattering the remaining objects. Its green eyes were oddly human – oddly _familiar_ – and utterly wild. Its maw was wide and gaping, full of rows of needle-like teeth which snapped hungrily towards Korgan.

Anomen finished his spell, the air filling with warmth and hope, bolstering the group. Korgan found an extra burst of strength, not quite reaching his berserk rage, and charged beneath the monster's legs. Rounding on it from behind, he roared his approval as he brought his axe around and buried the blade in the monster's side. It did not sink deep, but the strange beast howled all the same, a strangely human scream, and the blood that poured from the wound was fluid and red, not anything like the viscous blue sludge of the monsters it had fought beyond the broken doors.

"Aerie! You must finish the riddles!" Anomen insisted. He was fairly hopping with the need to get through the gate, mace in hand now. Haer'Dalis was poised also, though still, his short swords gleaming.

Her hands were shaking as she gathered up the remaining items; the skull, the figurine of the gagged man, and the hourglass. Meanwhile, Jan continued to layer himself in Illusion, hardly visible now but for a faint blur in the air. It looked as if he _might_ be about to raise his crossbow. Korgan's next furious swing came with the assumption that the monster was sorely wounded, off-balance and in pain. It failed. The creature spun about cannily, jumping back and ducking before surging forward and catching the shaft of the axe mid-swing. Korgan's eyes widened as the beast's greater strength bore down against him, slamming the end of the shaft between his eyes and snapping his head back sharply, sending his helmet clattering to the ground and adding another chip to the remaining horn. When the axe was wrenched from his hands and the flat of the double blade crashed into the side of his stunned head he followed the helmet with all the rigidity of a rag doll, accompanied by a spray of spittle, blood and a cloud of beard.

"Korgan!" Aerie heard herself shriek. However much she hated the dwarf she would never wish such violence on any of her companions!

"Aerie!" Anomen thundered her name as the creature rounded on her. It was a number of feet distant, but the thing could move at a terrifying speed. "The door!"

Jan's crossbow projectile – too round to be a bolt – shattered against the monster and for a moment it staggered, shaking off the paralytic magic. Aerie backed up for a pace or two, eyes fixed upon those of the monster. Its irises were a familiar shade of green, inset as if another being lurked beneath the surface. Again, Aerie thought of Lavok.

The avariel dropped the figurines and began a spell, ignoring Anomen's shouts for her do otherwise. She closed her eyes. She fought the urge to run, and when the creature screamed again – a sound that was both human and _familiar_ – she knew she had done the right thing. Unexpectedly, a new power surged through her, her movements doubling in speed. Jan's _Haste_ would certainly help her stay alive in these few precious moments before the creature reached her.

" _Azka: sízre!_ "

She spat the words out as quickly as she could, and still felt the heavy, scraping impact of one of the creature's talons against the _Stoneskin_ protecting her upraised arm. Opening her eyes and staggering back with the force, Aerie bore witness to the spell which had frozen the creature just as it reached her. It was still trembling, no doubt fighting the incantation, its green eyes twitching and following her as she stumbling back further, gasping in nervous disbelief.

"M-my lady…are you alright?" Anomen exclaimed.

"Yes…y-yes…I'm fine," Aerie nodded, seeing the knight gaping at her from behind the bars.

"Then you must let us through so that we might finish off the beast!" he insisted, only to gape at the avariel further when she shook her head. "By Helm, the thing is unnatural!"

"Maybe, but good Korgan will require your aid for the time being. I do believe Wingless has had an epiphany," Jan noted, grinned when Aerie frowned yet again at his nickname while he plucked the figurines that she had dropped from the ground at the monster's feet. "Were you planning on a _Remove Curse_?"

"I don't think it's as simple as that," Aerie admitted. "But…but I have an idea."

"What are you talking about? The beast may break free any moment and gore you both!" Anomen was horrified.

Jan just rolled his eyes and went over to the complete the riddles in peace; Aerie sent a tremulous smile the knight's way. Beside him, Haer'Dalis was frowning for a change, considering the situation as the avariel squared her shoulders and stepped up once more to the monster. It was hard to concentrate when the thing was looming before her, impossibly long-limbed and wiry, bleeding a torrent from the wound at its side. But the green eyes were pleading, and that was good enough for Aerie. There was no time for explanations; she needed to end the threat, to make the area secure so that Korgan's head wound could be seen to quickly.

Aerie had just found the correct spell component, the appropriate words coming to her lips, as Jan completed the riddles and at last the gate rose. Haer'Dalis stepped through and came to her side while Anomen dutifully went to see to Korgan after a long, concerned look her way. Just as Aerie completed the words and gestures of the spell, the dust she held puffing forwards and drifting over the beast, the tiefling gave a surprised laugh.

"Ah. My good would-be Sparrow and Dove, you are a most careful and observant pair! What a shame, if we had killed her."

As he spoke the spell took effect, just as Aerie had hoped – elfkin, even half-elves, ought not to be susceptible to _Sleep_ but she recalled the events in the Planar Sphere when just such an incantation had permitted her and Edwin to stop Elatharia's fit and drag her from the Viewing Room.

Now it worked even more effectively, though something about the change broke the _Paralysis_ spell also. The monster slumped to the ground, and before it landed it began to warp, limbs shortening and thickening, black exoskeleton hardening further and then cracking, flaking and sloughing off around the thin female form beneath. Elatharia was utterly bare, curled up and trembling even in her enforced sleep. She looked pale and clammy, and the wound on her side was a terrible thing.

To make things stranger, where once her hair had been dark and unruly but for one broad streak, now it fell about her face in a smoother, straighter _s_ heets – and beneath the predominant dark brown was a continuous layer of deep gold. Aerie had always believed the Transmuter was dying her hair to keep herself less recognisable, having been dogged by assassins in the past. It seemed that the horrific metamorphosis had reversed the process further.

"Oh, sweet gods," Anomen breathed in horror, not knowing where to look and tinting a bright shade of red with bashfulness that might have made Aerie smile had she not been so _worried_ , "How did you know it was her?"

"Her eyes," Aerie admitted as she rushed to the Transmuter's side, calling her strongest healing magic to her hands. If the axe blow had been any deeper it would have been a difficult task indeed.

Haer'Dalis draped his cloak around Elatharia's shoulders as best he could, his eyes lingering curiously on her changed hair, and Aerie smiled up at him for the surprisingly thoughtful gesture. If anything, it would hold back Anomen's blushes and Elatharia's own embarrassment once she woke.

The healing spell required a lot of energy, and a great deal of will, to stop the bleeding and knit the wound closed; throughout it all Elatharia remained unconscious, mumbling and groaning feverishly until the gaping horror was just a broad pink scar on pale skin. There were other injuries just starting to bleed, as well – rips in the skin around her ankles and wrists where once there had been scars. Aerie did her best to channel some of her healing power into these wounds also, at least enough to stop the bleeding, and the effort left her shaking. Something about the Transmuter's heritage seemed to fight against healing spells – it always took a lot more effort and time to utilise them effectively upon her.

Afterwards, Aerie wrapped Elatharia more fully in Haer'Dalis's thick black cloak, wondering at what had happened and how much the Transmuter had been aware of her actions in that nightmarish form. It seemed unlikely that she had taken it deliberately – if that had been the case she would surely not have fought her friends. There had been a mad rage, a fearful mad rage, in her green eyes. It had been starkly familiar, the exact expression which had wracked her as she screamed and writhed in delirium at the sight of the barbed devil in Minauros.

"How is she?" Anomen called as Aerie sank to sit fully on the floor, narrowly avoiding the pool of blood by the fallen Transmuter. In truth, the avariel was just too weary to care about the mess. She could not recall the last time she had been required to expend so much energy – though it had surely been for a good cause.

"She…she'll be fine," Aerie promised softly, pushing back the hair which had fallen across Elatharia's face. The Transmuter twitched and muttered, frowning, but stayed unconscious for now. The action revealed the dark, indented markings branching beneath her closed eyes; the contrast of those rough ebon lines against Elatharia's pale skin put the avariel in mind of the beast's black exoskeleton. She shivered. "How about Korgan?"

"Better than the lass, that's fer sure," the dwarf groaned in answer.

Aerie looked up in surprise to see Korgan dragging himself into a sitting position against the far wall, his face bruised and blood dried in his hair. Anomen was sitting back on his heels nearby, his healing work done to the dwarf's satisfaction apparently.

"And a deal better than the beasts arrayed in here. The Lady of Pain, the cold tyrant of Sigil, would be proud of such a show," Haer'Dalis noted softly from where he stood leaning over the broken doorway, his extra-planar heritage permitting him sight within the dark hall ahead. "I remember not a day when I have seen so many umber hulks fallen at once. The things must have come at some summons to face the beast which the Raven became." He looked over his shoulder at the fallen Transmuter, something surprisingly like worry on his face. "I fear the thing she was at first was far worse than the rendition which you endured in here."

"And I know none of us would enjoy meeting _that_ again," Jan noted. Korgan grunted agreement, wincing as he got to his feet and staggered across the room to recover his helmet.

Sighing, Aerie looked back down at Elatharia, and saw now as the Transmuter shifted in her enforced sleep restlessly that the left side of her jaw was patterned with a bright red bruise, the skin raised prominently over a worrying amount of swelling. A quick perusal of the injuries to her wrists and ankles reminded Aerie that these were wounds created before Elatharia's monstrous form clambered through the doors to attack them. They seemed too specific and minor to be thanks to the slain umber hulks. _Irenicus._ It was painfully obvious – and a reminder that the man who put such terror into the Transmuter and all those who had survived his dungeon was probably still somewhere in this Spellhold complex. Perhaps he was yet watching them, and plotting.

Concerned for Elatharia but unable to offer further healing aid, Aerie decided to give her some more space – her questions could wait. Organisation and survival was surely more important at present. Instead, she found her backpack where she, Korgan and Jan had left their belongings whilst dealing with the riddles, and pulled out some clothes for the Transmuter. They might be a little small, but Elatharia would surely manage.

A sharp gasp had Aerie spinning back around, in time to see the Transmuter's eyes flying open – and for just a moment, where once the irises had been green now they were overcome by a blaze of golden light.

* * *

The rage had been a terrifying and powerful thing. Whatever that shared dream had been, it had awakened something in Elatharia – the beast which had been lurking beneath her skin, crawling like madness throughout her being at times of stress and anger. It had filled the void which now yawned within her, that space torn open by Irenicus's theft of her soul, and where once she might have felt fear, or doubt, or even concern…now there was only the rage.

"Quite the hit ye gave me there," Korgan chortled over his shoulder as she came to join the others in the chaos of the next room. "And ye were a sight more pretty as that beast than the bare, curled up girl ye turned back into, ha!"

Elatharia did not answer, pulling Haer'Dalis's blessedly thick cloak more tightly about herself as she stepped up to the doorway which Korgan had just managed to hew down in full. Aerie had lent her some clothes, though there were few to choose from and fewer still that could fit her. The avariel's blue and white dress was too narrow to pull on, and the same problem had been met with her spare tunic. The Transmuter had settled for a woollen vest, a sleeveless thing apparently intended to be worn over Aerie's tunic in events of cold weather, and a pair of grey leggings which left her feet and much of her calves bare. There was nothing with which she might cover her face, however.

The scene ahead, now filled by Aerie's _Light_ spell, was one the Transmuter only half-remembered creating, recalling it with the blurred, fading quality of a dream. Still, the floor of the entire hall was littered with monstrous dead, their blue-black blood congealing into thick sludge across the cold tiles, and where she was forced to tread upon this with her bare feet it was still warm. The creatures were huge, half as tall again as Minsc and many times wider, bipedal beetle-crabs with tiny, beady eyes protruding from shining black carapaces upon little fleshy stalks, arms knotted with surprisingly human-like muscle and ending in huge pincers. Their backs were covered in reeking spines, their mouths made up of numerous venomous mandibles.

"Umber hulks," Anomen agreed at last with Haer'Dalis's assessment, teetering upon the threshold into the hall as if afraid to spatter his shining armour in the blood and gore of the creatures. His eyes were wide, his lip curled in disgust at the scene.

"Such creatures are often used as guard beasts – when the owner of a place neither cares about how much mess they make, nor about offering intruders any escape," Jan pointed out thoughtfully from somewhere across the echoing hall, out of sight in the darkness.

"No minor foes, my Raven," Haer'Dalis noted from a little closer, just within the perimeter of Aerie's conjured light. The tiefling was peering down at one of the fallen creatures, nudging it with the toe of his boot to Anomen's disgust, "Whatever it is that you became, 'twas truly formidable."

"And that's an interesting point you just raised there, Haerry," Jan nodded, stepping into the sphere of light from somewhere further into the hall, small eyes glinting a little too perceptively, "I think we might have a good reason for wanting to know what happened to you, oh glorious leader."

All eyes turned to Elatharia at that comment – even Anomen's. The knight had been avoiding her entirely since he saw her naked form, and he could not bring himself to meet her eyes, his gaze lingering on the markings beneath them. Upon hearing Jan's prompt, Elatharia found herself lost for words. Where once emotion might have told her what to say, or at least how to intone it, now she felt…absent. Disinterested. Clearly not all human faculties were lost to her – she still felt the weight of expectation upon her in this ringing silence and recalled the awe of meeting the solar in her dream. Of course, she still had the rage seething within her as well.

"It was…" she frowned, concentrating, "I…I do not know exactly 'what happened'. Irenicus and…the creature which he names 'sister' have stolen from Imoen and me our souls, to fill voids within themselves…" Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

"Your…your _souls_?" Aerie gasped, her small hand feeling startlingly hot against Elatharia's clammy skin, even through the cloak between them. "N-no one can live without a soul!"

Elatharia nodded, running her hands through her hair and looking away from the others.

"The beast that crawled from me must have been a response to the theft. They obviously did not succeed in taking everything from me, else I would be dead. It must have…awakened my heritage in some way."

"And surely it has," Haer'Dalis agreed, sounding faintly amused, "My Raven, you are changed."

Elatharia looked the tiefling's way, uncertain, but Aerie's anxious nod proved to her that his words were literal and not figurative.

"I know that you have been dyeing it to…to avoid being recognised. But…I think the change – whatever happened to you – it took more of the dye away," the avariel suggested as Elatharia frowned in confusion, patting at her own hair. The Transmuter quickly came to the conclusion that her hair was _still there_ , but it felt…smoother. Straighter.

"What…" It did not seem the time to point out to Aerie that, after everything, it was rather impressive that she still thought Elatharia's hair had been _dyed_. The Transmuter already had a strong suspicion of what had happened even before she sought to investigate further.

Many more of the strands which she pulled before her face were of the golden hue previously brought on by the deaths of her Bhaalspawn siblings, though most of her hair did yet remain dark. A chill filled her, at once a relieving reminder that she could yet feel _something_ and the realisation of a truly horrible concept that she feared might waken the beast curled within her. Her stomach clenched with nausea, her skin crawled.

"Imoen," she breathed. "Imoen was with me. Irenicus stole her soul for his sister." It was hard enough not to name Bodhi, to spit out the word like a curse. But that would demand explanations from Aerie and Anomen, and might cause strife amongst her companions at an altogether inconvenient time. "The last time I saw her…she was alive."

Did this change in her hair now mean that her sister was dead? Elatharia clenched her hands into fists, gritting her teeth against the writhing of the creature beneath her skin.

"Then we will find her, my lady," Anomen promised, still struggling to meet her eyes. She forced herself to nod, and to thinking logically, constructively.

"Irenicus's sister taunted me from up there," she pointed in the direction of the balcony, just visible within the conjured light, high above them and still shimmering with magical protection. There was no sign of Bodhi there now. "So I think it would make sense to head in that direction, if possible."

"If…if the others were trapped here too, hopefully they will find s-some evidence to lead them in that direction as well," Aerie agreed.

That led to a brief summary from the avariel of all that had passed since Elatharia was dragged from them. She listened with impatient silence, every twist of the plot filling her with greater concern. It seemed that most of the others blamed Edwin for their bringing them to this place, but that seemed altogether unlikely. He had been affected by the anti-magic poison she drank (in a manner that she simply refused to think on at that time, half-frightened of what it might mean and half-frightened that her current state might make it mean nothing). Though the spell would probably have worn off, a paranoid wizard like Edwin would never have permitted himself to risk such a thing, not to betray _anyone_. It seemed much more likely that he would have been teleported into this labyrinth just as the others had been.

"You do not blame our Sparrowhawk as they do," Haer'Dalis noted softly as he joined her side, both keeping to the back of the group as the others forged through the gruesome carnage of the dead umber hulks, only Aerie glancing at them over her shoulder as if she had something to say, large eyes anxious.

"No," Elatharia agreed. "But it does seem likely that the others are in this place with us." She winced as her next step pulled on the healed wound dealt to her by Korgan's axe, the pain great enough to merit her acceptance of Haer'Dalis's offered arm. "And this place has all the hallmarks of a testing arena. They…do use them in Thay, most famously in the towers of Thaymount, to judge unknown – and unexpected – entrants. It would not be enough to simply use the wardstone, one would have to be known to those within, or at least expected, so that they could remove the other, inner wards. The way it separated you off…it seemed to judge who you would be least compatible with, testing your resolve and need – and also thus likely filtering out potential enemies to Spellhold." Elatharia paused, thinking, and then stopped just as the others reached a door in the far wall, Jan slipping ahead to check for traps and enemies. "Haer'Dalis."

"Yes, my Raven?" there was a seriousness in his black eyes which suggested he was at least halfway to the same conclusion.

"It was Bodhi. _She_ is Irenicus's sister. She plotted with him to bring us here, set us up – presumably with Havarian's aid – to ensure that I was captured and that the rest of you were brought here, ideally to either destroy each other or be destroyed by the maze. Quite likely she and Irenicus plan to be gone from this place soon now that they have what they need. So even if everyone escapes alive, they will have long left us behind…"

"If what you say is true, my Raven, then I would sincerely suggest that we will not _all_ survive this place," Haer'Dalis told her with unexpected solemnity, "Think on it. Our Dove was left with Korgan and Jan. I was placed with the Peacock – and I _was_ entertaining ways in which to leave his righteous worryings far behind me ere I heard the would-be Sparrow's voice. Our Blackbird was at odds with the Ptarmigan ere we arrived here. Perhaps Mazzy and Valygar are harder to predict but…"

"Minsc and Edwin," Elatharia groaned, the sudden rush of emotion feeling entirely ill-suited to her current state. It thundered through her, leaving her breathless, but left behind not a hint of how to dissemble it. "Minsc will believe Edwin has betrayed us." Her hand gripped Haer'Dalis's arm more tightly. "One will kill the other – and if Edwin survives, it will only make him guiltier in the others' eyes." She sneered, shifting uncomfortably against the monster's anger stirring in her body. It did not stop her realisation however, and Haer'Dalis paused when she looked up at him.

"Yes, my Raven?"

"Haer'Dalis…it was Edwin who used the wardstone. Who brought it to the group in the first place?"

The tiefling's smile was nowhere near amusement when he thought on this, a baring of teeth in truth. He did not need to say Yoshimo's name aloud to mean it.

"Oh, my Raven," he told her, "Your mind will be invaluable in this place of chaos and betrayal."


	38. Friend or Foe?

**Big, big thank yous to those who are reading - and extra-especially to those who have reviewed. Real life has been conspiring to catch up with me of late, and your kind words buoyed me into refinding my confidence. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 37: Friend or Foe?**

* * *

It was gruesome work – even for a drow – to heal Yoshimo's mangled legs. Crouched fairly in a pool of Minsc's blood, with the ranger's cold body still close by, Viconia was forced to work with Jaheira – and it seemed both priestess and druid had come to the same conclusion. This place was a dangerous, unpredictable unknown. Some monster was still at large – most probably more than one – and somewhere in the corridors stalked Edwin, probably blinder with rage than a berserk Korgan. They had little time, and that meant the process was far less comfortable for Yoshimo than a soft-hearted fool like Mazzy might have hoped.

The halfling, usually so calm and strong, had been wincing empathically with every curse and groan of Yoshimo's. Eventually, looking a little sick, she excused herself under the pretence of scouting the area. Any other paladin might have been branded a fool for attempting such stealth, but Mazzy was a halfling and it seemed that however much atypical she was with her logic, sternness and strength, she had at least inherited a knack for quiet movement.

Mazzy had been gone for some time when Jaheira and Viconia's work was complete, both rocking back on their heels as Yoshimo slumped against the wall with a sigh of relief. His hands, clenched into fists for most of his healing ordeal, now unfurled to reveal bloody palms. Viconia had to give him a little credit – he was not weak of spirit.

"You should be able to walk as before now, bounty hunter," Jaheira told the Kara-Turan stiffly, moving as if to rub at her face before realising that her hands were covered in blood. She sighed, and wiped the mess away with her cloak. Her expression was rigid, her eyes fixing anywhere but on Minsc's still form.

"I thank you both, friends," Yoshimo nodded, beginning to pull himself up gingerly and glancing sadly in Minsc's direction, "I mourn for the fallen Minsc also. He fought bravely and…"

"Silence your empty words," Jaheira snapped, standing also and twisting about sharply. Viconia smirked to herself as she moved to the doorway through which Mazzy had disappeared, wondering at how spectacularly unlikable the druid's tone could be. She would contend easily with a matron mother when she spoke with such wretched, hard callousness.

"I believe our druid is content to leave her 'friend' here to rot," Viconia suggested, glancing over her shoulder in time to catch Yoshimo hopping cautiously from foot to foot – and Jaheira's icy glare.

"Keep your smug evil to yourself, drow," the druid spat, "You hold too high an opinion of your worth."

"I do?" Viconia bit back a laugh, turning her eyes again to the dark corridor ahead. If the druid made to attack her, she would hear her approach. "Then you would have been able to return Yoshimo to full health alone, would y…"

The sound of voices and the scuffing of feet brought her words up short, and stole the smirk from her face. Squabbling set aside for the time being, Jaheira and Yoshimo formed up behind Viconia, all three with their hands on their weapons – though the Kara-Turan only had a small dagger left to him. His bow lay broken where he had fallen.

After a moment of anxious listening, two familiar forms rounded the corner ahead, illuminated in a number of infravision's red-to-white shades of warmth. Viconia breathed a sigh of relief; it was Mazzy, struggling to support the much larger form of Valygar. The ranger was swaying and staggering, holding his stomach with his free hand and grunting with each step. The liquid running through his fingers was pale in the infrared spectrum, a shade hotter than his skin at the source. Blood.

"Valygar!" Jaheira rushed forward to help as soon as her weaker infravision showed her the scene. Viconia rolled her eyes, shooing Yoshimo aside as Mazzy and the druid helped the ranger to slump against a wall by the doorway. The paladin doubled up, panting, hands braced against her upper legs as his weight fell from her shoulders.

"I…found him at the foot of the stairs up ahead, just…conscious. He…has lost a lot of blood," Mazzy gasped out, eyes full of concern.

The ranger was breathing shallowly, probably just from the pain – he looked to have been stabbed clean through the stomach either from behind or in front – but the injury was not minor. Nor was it fatal, with the druid fussing over him like that. Healing magic came to her hands a little less readily than it could have before, but it still eased his pain swiftly enough.

"What happened, friend?" Yoshimo inquired – to Viconia's hearing he sounded more curious than concerned. An admirable trait, if she had not been so _suspicious_ of him.

"I…don't know. Someone…attacked me from behind and left me…for dead," Valygar gritted out, his eyes ceasing their pained roaming of the magically illuminated hall as they found the Rashemi's still, broken form, "Minsc…is he…?"

Viconia rolled her eyes for a second time as the others shared the ranger's grief-stricken look, retelling the story which Yoshimo had given them – of the monster that Edwin had summoned to slay Minsc, and of how Yoshimo had gone to the Rashemi's aid only to be similarly wounded and flung off the ledge along with him. Thinking on the evidence she had seen, Viconia decided to keep quiet for the moment. These surfacers were so driven by love and grief that they would be unable to consider her logic, if they bothered to trust her at all. It was easier to hate Edwin, if they did not already, and to believe Yoshimo's story out of prejudice. Better evidence would be needed.

It took a little time for Jaheira to heal Valygar's wound adequately, but once it was done he insisted on hauling himself to his feet, wincing and struggling but capable of unaided movement. There was a tear in his leather armour, revealing the tender-looking remnants of the wound on his stomach and back. When Jaheira stepped away from him she was at least frowning at the sight of this neat wound; it did look nothing like Yoshimo's, which had been messy and much larger. The druid's gaze slid back to Minsc's form, her frown twisting into a pained grimace, and when Mazzy put a hand on her elbow she shook the paladin off.

"You did not catch anything of this person who attacked you?" Jaheira inquired sharply, "No voice, no smell – no strange sounds?"

"No," Valygar shook his head, his stare also struggling to pull away from Minsc, "Whoever it was, they were utterly silent – and very fast."

"You seem very certain that your attacker was human," Yoshimo noted, "Could it have not been a monster similar to the one which Edwin set on Minsc and I?"

"Valygar's injury is conducive with a blade wound, unlike Minsc's," Viconia informed curtly, quirking her eyebrow when the Kara-Turan's eyes only flickered her way.

"Could it have been Edwin?" Mazzy suggested doubtfully. Jaheira scoffed even faster than did Viconia.

"Of course not. Edwin, silent?" the druid barked a laugh that sounded closer to a sob.

"Edwin carries only a small dagger," Viconia added, sneering when Jaheira turned dead eyes her way, "So unless he used Valygar's own blade on him, then the wound could not have been dealt by him."

"Then we have another hostile force in this maze," Valygar grunted, rolling his shoulders and wincing again but shaking off Jaheira and Mazzy's offers of further assistance.

"If we are all ready we should leave," Viconia put in now with some irritation, "The others could be anywhere in this place, and we still have Elatharia and Imoen to find."

"Painful as it is to agree with you, drow, I must," Jaheira allowed tersely as she shouldered her pack again, raising her glowing strike a-light between them. Viconia made a point of turning back to look into the darkness.

"Edwin and Imoen went that way," Yoshimo gestured across the room, to the left end of the ledge, "But I see no way of getting back up there…"

"There is a set of stairs just by where Valygar had fallen," Mazzy informed, the ranger nodding in verification.

"Then our plan is set," Jaheira said, already heading for the corridor, "And we should make haste. I dread to think what Edwin plans for Imoen, especially if he is in league with Irenicus as such an act of murder would suggest."

"Are we not going to…say something for Minsc?" Mazzy called after them.

Jaheira stopped abruptly, shoulders tense, and Viconia was forced to dodge around her or collide with the druid.

"We do not have time," Jaheira gritted out.

"But it seems so…"

"No! We must move on. Success is the best way to…to honour him."

Mazzy did not look so certain, and Viconia caught her whispering a few words to Arvoreen before the paladin followed. For her part, the drow's prayers to Shar were for strength and victory, not the memory of one long past help.

* * *

Edwin had been the last person Imoen expected to see looming over her in the darkness of Spellhold's maze. But then, she had not intended to warp into that uncontrollable monster, either. Whatever that had been, it had risen with her anger – to see Minsc for the first time after so long, to know that he must have come with Elatharia somehow…only to have him robbed from her by that Kara-Turan! Of course she had been angry, but not angry enough for that! Not in that way, not without explanation! Either way, she still had blood on her hands and feet, slippery at first and sticky after a short while.

Perhaps, in a way, these thoughts were a good sign. Her mind was clearing of the _Charm_ used on her to lure Elatharia into that hallway of tubes, too. But how much was a magical daze, and how much was thanks to her soulless state? What did that really mean? _You will learn_. The words drifted through her thoughts, whispered in the voice of Jon Irenicus. She shivered, and chafed her arms through the red cloak.

Imoen narrowly avoided colliding with Edwin when he stopped abruptly in front of her, raising an arm like a general signalling to his troops. His conjured light bobbed ahead two steps more, for her benefit since his eyes yet glinted with _Darkvision_. A little alcove waited ahead, and beyond it a barely perceptible indentation in the stone. Trap. Imoen blinked, taken aback that she recognised such a thing after so long in the dark.

Edwin twisted about to look down at her with a faint frown – in truth, just another frown of many. _You disappoint me, Child of Bhaal_. Imoen shuddered, and looked away. She sensed his frown deepen all the same, as if he was displeased just as Irenicus had been wont to be of late. When he turned to face her, she cringed back from him, almost tripping on the long trailing hem of the cloak wrapped around her.

"We should stop here," the Thayvian explained in the hollow, slow voice of one who did not expect events to unfold as they did. Perhaps he had expected her to ask him first? "The…murderous bounty hunter left us a map before he toppled into the dark. I would like to consider it." He did not wait for her response this time, plucking the scroll from a pocket and striding to the alcove.

Imoen watched him cautiously for a moment as he went, taking the light with him. She remembered that Archmagi jacket, bought in High Hedge near Beregost. She remembered him balking at its cut – for it was fashioned in the smart, tailored style of a nobleman's frockcoat rather than the looser Houppelande he had seemed to think would make him less conspicuous in the Western Heartlands. He had balked also that it was black, and not red. But when he had learned of its protective magics, its hidden compartments and _seen himself in the mirror_ he had relented. Though he had still oft favoured all red in those days. Distantly, she remembered teasing Elatharia about it, and how her sister had blushed.

The warmth of the past flitted by and left Imoen shivering in the dark.

Edwin was crouching against the wall to read the map, muttering to himself, but he did raise his eyes as Imoen passed him, kneeling by the indentation in the floor. It took a practiced hand, pressing it in at one corner to slip a finger beneath and find the catch of the wire embedded beneath the floor tiles. A whirring hum followed as the trap lost its tension and rewound, disarmed.

"Hmm. It would seem there are more immediate uses to having you with me," Edwin noted as she turned back to him. His faint smirk looked strange to her, used to the cold world which Irenicus had maintained around her.

"And what're the other uses, besides disarming the traps?" her words sounded stilted to her own ears, her voice a little raw, and she stayed on her feet, her back to the wall…eyes straining against the darkness of the corridor. The red jewel at the centre of the torc around his throat glinted in the bright light, fairly dazzling her.

"Your sister will be grateful with me for reuniting you," the Red Wizard answered without inhibition, the crinkle of paper suggesting that he had turned his eyes back to the map in his hands, "And, should we come upon the others, you will be able to inform them that it was not I who killed Minsc, but the bounty hunter, Yoshimo."

Imoen nodded, relieved to feel blank. It was safer to deal with logic than emotion. Though once upon a time that would not have felt so comfortingly _familiar_.

Still, Edwin's words unnerved her for other reasons, her skin crawling at the memory of the Kara-Turan pulling his blade from Minsc's dying body, of the mad golden light which had burst behind her eyes to feel the death, to see the murder…and because of her own rage. Shivering, she huddled further into the folds of the red cloak. Was it really that cold here? Edwin was sitting there with just a red shirt beneath his Archmagi jacket, his deeper red trousers fairly thin though they were tucked into polished boots. He seemed unbothered by the temperature. But another comment of the Thayvian's was too important to ignore.

"The others? You…you've others with you?" she twisted about to look at him, and for a moment or two he watched her thoughtfully, as if contemplating what to tell her or perhaps how little she knew.

"Those who escaped from Irenicus's dungeon in Athkatla have been plotting to come for you – and to avenge the druid's husband (though gods know why). Your sister has amassed a larger number of faithful hounds to aid her even than she had with you near Baldur's Gate."

"Jaheira's here?" Imoen gasped, a little shaken by the sense of _hope_ that shot through her. "Really?"

Edwin gave her a strange look, nodding wordlessly.

"You may expect Viconia also. Elatharia found her tied to a stake at the mercy of a baying mob in Athkatla," he blinked down at the map, then sighed. "(The cities may change, but the fools within are always the same.)"

Viconia, Minsc, Jaheira, the treacherous bounty hunter _and_ Edwin all with Elatharia? Imoen's eyes filled with tears, and she did not know whether to jump up and down or slump to the floor. Not trusting the image of the Thayvian twisting beyond her welling tears, she looked away instead, feeling more hollow than she once would have realised she could.

"You came to rescue me? All of you?" she asked it in a small voice, and wondered why her heart felt so broken at the thought.

"…Yes," Edwin agreed irritably, staring at her as if she were stupid, "Though where our potential companions may be is another matter. If my hypothesis is correct, they should be scattered throughout this complex…"

"You came from…outside? _Into Spellhold_?" Imoen frowned, confused. For once in his life, Edwin seemed to understand the problem.

"This prison stands upon the island of Brynnlaw, west of Amn. It was, logistically speaking, much harder than it ought to have been to take a ship here. (And the captain should be skinned alive for his treachery…)"

Imoen had stopped listening before he started muttering to himself, recalling the maps she had studied and copied and recopied back in Candlekeep. Her eyes slid back to Edwin's frowning visage.

"We're in the Nelanther Isles?" Her heart sank. Once she had longed to travel here as a pirate herself, before adventuring had proven to her that nothing was ever so simple, or so glamourous.

"Yes. And you are not helping," Edwin shook the map between them, "I had hoped that this scrawl might hint, by dint of its layout, where your sister has been left – as you seem to believe she has been – for the amusement of Irenicus…"

"And his sister," Imoen corrected. The sudden spark of potential wrath that flared in Edwin's eyes pushed her back a nervous step; heedless of her fear, the Red Wizard stood to his full height once more.

"His sister? Bodhi, is it?" he grunted impatiently when she blinked at him, too dazed by fear to answer, "A vampire; black hair, pale eyes…" He seemed to be fishing for a more individual description, but Imoen did not need it. She nodded, this time trusting that his sneer and the hate in his eyes were aimed at this 'Bodhi' and not at her. "Oh, Kossuth!" he spat it with venom, peering into the darkness behind Imoen with a new sense of urgency, "Why must we have only an old map to guide us? (That creature lurks about us, set to whisper lies and secrets…)"

"That map's not old," Imoen corrected, plucking it from his grasp. She had seen Irenicus perusing it once, a tenday or two ago. It was hard to judge time and days without windows, but for the odd glimpse she had of his diary. "See? These rooms here – correspond with those doors, down there," she pointed down the corridor, wondering at Edwin's bout of poor spatial awareness. That was so unlike him.

An explanation came when his brow furrowed, his eyes searching the wall of the adjacent corridor just visible within the globe of his conjured light. Imoen's cheeks ached with the need to smile victoriously, but somehow the feeling felt…hollow. Her chest ached, too.

The Red Wizard hummed understanding, and for maybe a second or two Imoen could glimpse what her sister saw in him. He had a _very_ fast mind. The thought filled her with unexpected unease, and she thrust the paper at him rather than have him looming over her, so close like that. Muttering irritably to himself, he took it as she stepped away. Again, she rubbed at her sides to fight off the permeating cold.

"Illusions," he surmised, "This place is ferrying each of us in a different direction." A moment of rustling paper followed, along with the flow of half-audible Mulhorandi before he spoke in Common again. "Ah! Then if this place is what you say it is, a testing arena for lobotomised imbeciles, and indeed if it is also now being used as a maze to filter out potential enemies as I believe, then we should expect to find ourselves cornered in any of these three large rooms. This one…it must be the scene of the bounty hunting snake's treachery and your idiot ranger's death."

Imoen did not even wince at his phrasing. Once she might have chided him good-naturedly, not really believing he meant it. Now…disagreement or correction of that kind filled her with fear out of habit. Meanwhile, Edwin continued to think aloud.

"Had we followed that path, and gone down those stairs, we would have likely met some of our companions, whether for good or ill (most likely ill). The whole place is a knot of paths around this more central area of 'testing chambers' and store rooms. These smaller, outer rooms are all empty. This one must be mine, that one would have to be Minsc's. But you…you were in that store room. I saw…"

Imoen cringed, wringing her hands as he looked back to her with curious eyes, brows raised. Her head buzzed with the very idea of remembering her two periods in that monster's form. Unwillingly, she peered down at the map from as far away as she could. She pointed at the larger room on the level below the scene of Minsc's death, several corridors to the right. This long rectangular chamber was surrounded by many doors, most leading into shallow alcoves, though at one end stood a circular 'room of riddles'. At the other was the balcony, from which Imoen had seen Bodhi taunting Elatharia.

"We were both dropped there," she explained, "By Irenicus's sister. Elatharia…seemed to know her. And the vampire made her angry, and I done ran when I saw her startin' to change. I just knew what was happenin', though I sure don't know how I knew," her words tripped out faster, and with it came her old way of speaking, "The walls done closed up behind me – must've let me bypass that," she pointed at the other, large room of riddles with its gate leading to a flight of stairs and a long corridor lined with ominously titled 'testing rooms' or 'reassignment rooms'. "I hid in here, or wanted to, while I heard her screamin'. But there were servants waitin' in there, goblins – the w-wizards…" her voice caught, "The wizards who ran this place before, they kept the things to clean up after them. They drew their swords at me and I…turned into that _thing_. I was just recovering when I saw…Minsc…"

Edwin nodded as if all of this made perfect sense. He did not even balk at the idea of her first metamorphosis – if anything he seemed to think this new information made what he had seen make _more_ sense. And perhaps it did. She may well have become the beast a second time so involuntarily because she had not yet recovered from her first change.

"Then Elatharia cannot be far," he agreed with her unspoken thought, "Though we have been led astray by this place and the traitor in our midst." He glanced back the way they had come, but shook his head. "She will not remain as that beast forever, but I would much rather we make our way to the logical meeting point now that our minds are both free or illusions," he pointed at the circular chamber at the very centre of the map, where some note suggested there was a way back up to the less hostile levels of Spellhold, "The others may take a longer road, but I would prefer to watch and wait whilst they stumble through the dark. Much safer to see what happens and then act."

That did not sound like Edwin. He must have been far more afraid than he was showing to act so cautiously.

"A-alright," Imoen agreed after a moment, though she wished she could just run blindly through the corridors shouting for her sister and Jaheira until she found them both. A lump in her throat formed at the thought.

Planning and wisdom had never been her greatest strengths, but Imoen could understand that when Edwin was cautious _everyone_ should be cautious. So instead of tearing off, she nodded, drawing herself up in spite of her shaking and her shivering, in spite of the hollowness in her stomach and the aching in her heart, and even the blankness in the back of her mind which whispered of death and memories in the voice of Joneleth the Irenicus, once of Suldanessellar.

"Alright," she said again, forcing herself to meet Edwin's too-curious dark eyes, "You can count on me."

* * *

Past the scene of carnage, a series of narrow corridors wound deeper into this labyrinth of Spellhold; seemingly endless cold bare stone littered with traps which made Elatharia acutely aware of how lucky they were to have Jan with them. Without him, it seemed few of this group would have survived to reach the second room of riddles, a gaudy place of crystal and coloured tiles where stubbornly sealed gates showed a tantalising set of stairs beyond.

Too alert or anxious to argue, a joint effort had seen the group through the gates. Jan proved himself a particularly keen solver of riddles, hopping from one stone face to the next, reading from the words graven there and shouting back the answers.

Still, even with Jan to clear the way their path through the maze was slow; Elatharia's bare feet were cold and sore by the time they ascended those stairs, the barely-healed wound in her side pulling with every step. There had been no sign of their other companions, nor of Imoen…until they reached the higher level. Up here there was a faint, cool breeze – and it brought with it the smell of blood.

Though the corridors themselves were similar, Aerie's conjured light casting long shadows as they passed, there were also doorways up here – and the things glimpsed beyond them made Elatharia's skin crawl and the beast within her stir. There were chambers of all sizes filled with surgical implements beyond description, things which she had only seen before in Irenicus's dungeon – and for which only Haer'Dalis had names, words from the Abyssal tongue of hisses and clicks. Other rooms were dominated by cells, cages and the frames of beds decorated with ropes or chains.

Elatharia could not decide which was worse; Korgan's derisive, inflammatory remarks or Aerie's haunted eyes which turned ever more her way, the avariel no doubt linking whatever horrors had passed in this asylum to the nightmare of Irenicus's dungeon. Indeed, perhaps Haer'Dalis's unaffected curiosity was worse; his eyes held no amusement, but he did not seem surprised or unsettled. Even Jan, normally so unflappable, had an uncomfortable look on his face as they passed these rooms of torture. And perhaps Anomen thought himself capable of stoicism, but he was no better at hiding his emotions here than was Aerie.

At the end of this corridor was a sharp turn; the group waited anxiously while Jan trotted ahead with a conjured light at his back. A few moments of tense silence passed, in which no one seemed to want to meet each other's eyes, and then the gnome's voice rang out clearly through the echoing stone.

"Ah…friends? You might want to see this." But something in his tone suggested that 'want' had no part in it.

Elatharia rushed ahead, darting past Anomen as the knight attempted to 'go first'. As if he could protect any of them better than they could protect themselves! She wondered, not for the first time, how in all the hells Aerie could bear him.

The corridor ahead ended in a crossroads, bisected as it was by another passage. At the corner of the left turning, just within the bright sphere of Jan's globe of light, the corner was singed black. Recognising that sign, Elatharia's stomach clenched nervously – though this thought was quickly pushed to the back of her mind when she focused on Jan, out on the ledge straight ahead past the bisected passage. He was just peering around into an angled doorway, his arm drawn up across his face to block out some bad smell. And just ahead of him, further out on the ledge, the floor was awash in a pool of blood, dark and sticky now, disturbed and smeared in places as if many feet had trodden through it. Within the stone were deep grooves, especially along the wall, just like those left behind by Elatharia in her monstrous form back in the Room of Riddles. Not far from the gore was a scattering of shreds against one wall, some grey and thick enough to be cloth, a great deal thin and pale, and from some there sprang a spray pink hair.

That brought the Transmuter up short, several feet closer to the scene of strange horror than the majority of her companions. Anomen was gasping in horror, Aerie asking a string of panicked questions. Korgan was grunting something, too. None of it mattered – for where they saw something fearful, Elatharia found hope. The shed skin, the furrows in the wall and the lack of a body all suggested that her sister was alive because it meant she had been that monster but that she must have moved on. The scorch mark further back proved that Edwin must have been here too.

"I find myself at a loss, my Raven," Haer'Dalis admitted softly at her side, "I see our Red Wizard has passed this way, and I see some…horror unnameable. The others ask and fear – but you are silent."

It was Jan who spoke next, pushing himself back from the angled doorway with a look of mild distaste.

"A dozen dead goblins in there," the gnome remarked, "Dismembered. Rather effective murder, I think, but also quite shocking – so I really wouldn't recommend Wingless take a look. There's another lot of shed skin in there, same pink hair. No shreds of clothes though."

Korgan stomped up to take a look, though, and whatever he saw within had him grunting in admiration rather than disgust or shock. Meanwhile, the information Jan had given only served to strengthen Elatharia's conviction, at least for Imoen. But if Edwin had been here too, and there was all that blood on the floor…

The Transmuter reached into the Weave, plucking one-handed through its threads until she had commandeered Jan's conjured light – easy enough, given that he had little interest in holding onto it once he recognised her intent. She sent it bobbing over the edge of this pathway, into the dark abyss of the hall beyond. Haer'Dalis crouched beside her and followed her line of sight into the large room now illuminated ahead; its left entrance had a smear of blood by its frame, and a spattering of the red liquid now congealed on the floor as if someone had walked in bleeding. It took a moment or two for her to see what lay directly below them, but when she did much was explained.

There lay Minsc, pale and glassy-eyed, contorted by a heavy landing. Blood had pooled out around him, again smeared as if other feet had waded through it. There was a red mark on his cheek, and a clear tear in the stomach of his leathers. A bow lay broken nearby, amidst another pool of drying blood. She knew it for Yoshimo's, though there was no sign of the bounty hunter. But no Edwin, and no Imoen.

For a long moment, Elatharia stared down at the body of her dead Rashemi companion, the cheerful and unfailingly loyal ranger who had followed her from Nashkel to Baldur's Gate and been dragged with her to Irenicus's dungeon. Who had lost his Wychlaran, Dynaheir, because they had been with Elatharia when the cold wizard found them. Minsc, who had not blamed her, nor ever doubted her, nor suspected her. It felt…wrong for him to have died so suddenly, so gruesomely. And she knew she should shed a tear, or swear revenge. But all she felt was the wrongness of it, and the guilt that no sadness could find its way into her heart.

"And thus fell a bird who could not fly. Alas! Alone and friendless he did die," Haer'Dalis sighed, half a breath before Aerie shrieked, having come up to the edge to join them.

Elatharia winced, the tiefling shaking his head mournfully beside her while Anomen clattered over to stifle the avariel. Korgan's cursing continued even as her brief scream ended in a few gasped yelps, muffled against Anomen's chest.

"Shut 'er up afore I take up yer duty in a more interestin' way ye snivellin', blushin' Helmite!"

"A shame," Jan offered over Korgan's ruder exclamations, peering down over the ledge from across the pool of blood, "I did rather like him, in a way. A total fool, but a nice one."

"One o' the few worthwhile fighters among this sorry lot," Korgan acknowledged, stomping over to the edge and leaning on his axe to get a better view. "Not worthwhile enough though, ha!"

"How _dare_ you speak ill of the dead!" Anomen snapped, only just relinquishing his hold on Aerie as she peeled herself back from him, face already streaked with tears.

"Ye think they care what I say? Dead's dead – and it's deaf too," Korgan chortled, though his dark eyes watched the young knight closely. Anomen huffed, drawing himself up with a red face as if he planned to thunder something hateful and judgemental right back, but Elatharia stood with a sigh, blocking his view of the dwarf and pointing down into the room, speaking over Aerie's sobs.

"Yoshimo's bow is broken down there, but I see no matching bounty hunter," she told them. "Either he was up here when Minsc fell, or he was down there. Somehow, he has gone from here. We need to be watchful – I think we have at least one traitor stalking the shadows with us."

"Then we should be movin' on," Korgan insisted, thumping the ground with the handle of his axe for emphasis, "If that slippery bastard's out there I'm not waitin' with me back t' anythin'!"

"I must agree, my Fearsome War Dog," Haer'Dalis said, standing. His black eyes fixed upon the darkness beyond the dwarf and, stalking around the gruesome mess on the floor, he moved ahead on silent feet without another word, a dark look on his face which might have been anger. Jan shivered as he passed.

"Brr. My Celestial ancestors would be shocked by the company I keep," the gnome noted as he flipped through the lenses of his goggles, still looking at Minsc's broken from, "Nothing like a bit of rebelliousness to make you feel individual, until everyone joins in and makes a _rebellion_ out of it…"

"Enough! Can you not see how insensitive your words are?" Anomen insisted. When Elatharia stepped towards him, about to speak, he pointed an accusatory finger her way, his face ashen but eyes dry. "And you! You blame Yoshimo because you will not see the truth! Edwin was in league with Irenicus all along, clearly! He was the one who cast the spell to bring us here, and the scorch mark on the wall that way is proof enough for me. He is clearly responsible, and you refuse to see it for the same reason that you have permitted him to lead you close to acts of pure evil. You should," he shook his finger at her, voice ringing in the hall over which they stood, eyes wild with anger, "You should set aside your childish infatuation with the Red Wizard and follow a more righteous p…"

" _Follow?_ " Elatharia snarled, "You think I follow _anyone_? You think that Edwin led me to the vampires – of which I know Aerie must have told you? You think I promised to thieve or kill to save my sister under his _guidance_? I did what I had to do, I chose from two bad choices lest my sister be lost to me forever. I did it all, and he followed _me_." She was shaking with rage, and for just a moment her skin writhed violently enough to stop her speech, the darkness tinging with red and gold. Anomen paled further and took a sharp step back, his hand on his mace hilt.

"Then you are as evil and profane, as wretched and weak as he," the knight told her in a voice that carried too much fear to hold much weight, just as Aerie appeared from around the corner – none had noticed her disappear, in truth. Something small was cradled in her hands and her large eyes widened further.

"Anomen!" she gasped to hear his hateful words, and Elatharia turned away sharply to hide her sneer. It would not do to alienate all of her companions in this place. Although, if the knight continued to goad her, she may have no choice.

"My…my lady…can you not see the truth of my words?" Anomen sounded shocked.

"This is a t-time for us to p-pull together, not start blaming Elatharia for things that she n-never did!" Aerie scolded him, and Korgan laughed heartily to hear it.

The Transmuter met his eyes sharply when he looked like he might be about to speak and correct the avariel. Tipping his helmet Elatharia's way mockingly, he just laughed more – but said nothing. Meanwhile, Aerie was not finished, her voice choked with tears but her tone fierce all the same.

"Th-there are things that we might need to each admit to, and b-be held accountable for when we get out of this. B-but right now, we have friends to find and I won't fail them!" A high, familiar rodent's squeak had Elatharia turning around again to see that the little thing in the avariel's hands was in fact the furry form of Boo. Anomen was staring at the animal, apparently unsure as to whether he should be looking aghast, ashamed or confused.

"I always thought that creature would outlive its master," Elatharia sighed, drawing a sniffled half-laugh half-hiccup from Aerie. When the Transmuter looked to Anomen, her eyes were hard – as, to his credit, were his. "And as for you, when we get out of this I will expect you to leave our company before you are run from it." She turned about before he could answer, though his sputtering suggested he had intended to fling some rebuttal after her. As she passed Korgan, she leaned a little towards the dwarf long enough to add her next words in a whisper. "Assuming he survives that long."

Korgan barked a laugh and bared his teeth the young knight's way before following.

* * *

Life as a liar in the midst of one's victims was unenviable. Until they had stepped aboard that ship to Spellhold, Yoshimo had felt safe in his cocoon of lies. Now, they felt as dangerous as the truth. Or…his presence within the group, unplanned as it was, felt altogether ill fated. It seemed unlikely that Bodhi had intended them as lambs to the slaughter, but she had certainly hoped they would be able to tear each other apart in this place long before they reached the centre, wherein she no doubt waited and watched thanks to her brother's spells. Minsc was dead, and if all went exactly as planned – if they found Edwin before whoever else had survived this far did – then there would be at least one or two more dead before the final show.

It was a shame about the loss of the map, though this place did seem to be ferrying them – albeit through a multitude of traps – to the centre, wherein he had seen upon the parchment that a balcony led up into the freer levels of Spellhold. He had noticed that the map showed a number of rooms, turnings and doorways which did not seem to be present. As it happened, he only realised their absence for the Illusion that it was by pure chance…and far too late.

It came about from a mistake, an overhasty stride which almost had him stepping through a trip wire whilst scouting ahead to clear the way for the hapless rest. Stumbling aside to avoid triggering the trap, Yoshimo reached out to brace himself against the wall…and staggered _through_ it into a previously invisible corridor. This corridor was a short one, with a small alcove halfway down its length, and there was at least one disarmed trap that the bounty hunter could make out along its floor. At the other end, visible now that he had recognised the Illusion veiling this place, was Haer'Dalis crouched to inspect another disarmed trap.

Yoshimo had been hoping to lead them to the umber hulks kept in these levels as guardians (and eaters of carrion) but Edwin's movement in the opposite direction had meant that Jaheira was utterly adamant they go after the Red Wizard whom she was so ready to blame for all of her problems.

"Yoshimo?" Viconia inquired, the intrigued tone in her voice suggesting that she had already recognised the Illusion through which he had had just fallen. The drow had been a shadow at his back constantly, never letting him get ahead of the others by more than a few paces. He had been hoping to rig an appropriated trap for them and flee in the direction of the complex's centre, which he only roughly remembered from the map, but she had thwarted him at every turn.

As the bounty hunter hopped back beside her, Haer'Dalis turned to peer at the wall with a faint frown, as if he had heard the drow's voice. He took a step towards the illusory wall before him, reaching out to it with narrowed eyes as Viconia, who was just out of line with the corridor, took a curious step towards it. How unfortunate to be caught here, straight faced and thus obviously lying, by those two amongst the group who were most likely to detect the Illusions for what they were!

"Ah, how cunning," Viconia was saying, gliding past the bounty hunter as she approached the previously hidden corridor, the hushed voices of the others growing louder as they came to investigate, still out of sight around the last corner, "This place has been hiding paths from us, to lure us at its own pace into whatever horrors it has hidden away…"

She stopped as she reached the corridor, her eyes alighting on the tiefling, her back to Yoshimo. There would be no other opportunity, and time was running out. So the bounty hunter pulled free his katana – recovered as they passed the sight of its loss shortly before – and sprang forward. The drow was too well protected by her mithral shirt and shadow dragon scale for even the enchanted blade of this ancient sword, and the angle was not right to reach her neck without facing the speedy wrath of the others. So instead he crashed the pommel into the back of her head, sending her staggering forward.

Haer'Dalis shouted something as his eyes dismissed the Illusion of the wall, but whatever he said was drowned out by the drow's cursing and the running footsteps of the others as they heard a commotion.

" _Rothé iblith_! Traitor!"

Yoshimo jumped back just as quickly as he had leapt forward, dancing over the tripwire and backing up. Viconia reacted speedily too; she had regained her balance and whirled about with the Flail of the Ages poised in her hands all before the others made it around the far corner or Haer'Dalis reached her side through the previously hidden corridor, black eyes wrathful. She spat some more vitriol the bounty hunter's way and he ignored it, thoughts set on his task.

As the others pulled up in surprise, Yoshimo wrenched free his dagger and threw it to the tripwire, turning on his heel and sprinting away as fast as he had ever run in his life. The shouts of confusion and gradual, hateful rage rang for just a moment, and his feet were skidding on the smooth floor of the next turning when the trap blew. Whatever hell it wrought, it robbed the air from him in a blaze of heat and shook the walls with a roar.

* * *

Everything had happened rather too fast for Viconia's liking. One moment she had acknowledged that this place was deceiving her, the next she had seen Haer'Dalis peering back at her with gradually dawning realisation…and then Yoshimo had slammed his pommel into the back of her head, dashed away into the maze and sent the whole group a fireball as a farewell.

From the yelps and pained hisses of the others just limping back around the corner, they had been singed but barely hurt. From the shouts and running footsteps a little way off, it seemed that whoever had been with Haer'Dalis at the other end of the hidden passageway was looking for their missing bard.

"Insolent, _insane_ , idiot of a male!" Viconia snarled, pushing the tiefling back from where he had pressed her to the wall, shielding her from the blast. Her nature afforded her some significant resistance to many kinds of magic, though real flame – however much conjured – would have killed her as surely as any other Prime. Not so Haer'Dalis, who winced a little, his clothes rather thoroughly burned and hanging from him in tatters, but showed little sign of significant injury. He looked…what was it Elatharia sometimes complained of? _Sunburned_. That was it. His backpack was smouldering behind him, his doublet fairly disintegrating as he shifted experimentally.

"I would expect no less than rage from you, my Blackbird. No thanks is necessary, really."

He was grinning faintly even as Jaheira and the others rushed to investigate, stepping gingerly over the hot floor. Mazzy gaped and blushed to see the tiefling so attired, though he was a scrap or two short of indecent by surfacer standards. Even Jaheira momentarily averted her eyes before rolling them…and blanching at whoever she saw approaching down the newly revealed corridor. She seemed disinclined to aid the tiefling and so, with some poor grace, Viconia set about the task.

As she called upon the darkness of her goddess, fortunately strong in this place, the drow was a little distracted from the reunion of the group, though the lack of tension reassured her that her attention need not be redirected. She was aware of Elatharia and Aerie greeting the others, the avariel flinging herself first into Jaheira's wooden arms and then Mazzy's before demanding a 'hug' from Valygar as well with a little teary giggle. The ranger even obliged, with an almost _fond_ smile. But soon the mood turned dark as the clamour of voices died down and Aerie brought forth the Rashemi's hamster and explanations were given to Elatharia of what Yoshimo had done – and what he had claimed about Edwin.

"Always knew 'e were a snake," Korgan grunted as he, Jan and Anomen finally joined the others, the gnome now holding out some contraption which clicked into life, cogs whirring in his hands and bringing forth a ripple of magic which banished the Illusions in a wave. More corridors, and rows of doorways, blossomed from the stone. Torch sconces became visible, along with networks of tubes across the curving ceilings.

"That does not absolve Edwin of wrongdoing," Jaheira insisted, and her words received agreements from Anomen and Valygar, "If he were innocent, why would he have run with Imoen?"

"To get away from the treacherous bounty hunter?" Elatharia suggested, the sharp edge in her voice showing that she had expected this argument. "Because Imoen can disarm the traps in this place _without_ blowing them both up?"

Haer'Dalis hissed a little as Viconia's magic poured forth, the darkness seeping from her hands and into his skin. For a moment it lingered over him, a dark shroud, before dissipating and revealing his skin to be free of the redness and blisters. As the magic eased, his muscles relaxed as well. It seemed she had caused him more pain in healing his injuries than he had suffered from the fire. How curious.

"Speculation," Jaheira disagreed vehemently with Elatharia, just as Viconia turned from Haer'Dalis to observe the others. "And just where were you when Minsc died? How do I not know that you were with the Red Wizard…"

"Jaheira!" Mazzy interrupted quickly. "This is no time to throw around baseless accusations in anger! We are, all of us, newly grieving for Minsc. But we need to get out of here, and we need to find your Imoen."

It was just as well that the paladin stepped in. Elatharia was different. She hardly looked willing to bicker, from the golden light that flashed across her eyes and the snarl that caught in her throat, that sneer lent more weight since her face was unusually bare, her markings plain to see for all of them. The ripple of unease that ran through the group as she bristled was more than a little instinctive – the aura that poured from her in that moment was dark and malevolent, though few of the others would recognise it for what it was beyond instinctive disquiet.

The Transmuter was now dressed in what appeared to be a combination of Aerie's spare clothes and Haer'Dalis's cloak, a bruise on her face and wounds visible at her wrists and ankles, from what could be seen through the blood caking her feet and lower legs. And, of course, her hair had now lost even more of its previous deep brown; not only did it streak the left side of her head, it showed significantly beneath the predominant dark strands. She had pulled it all back tightly from her face as if unwilling to think about it.

"I think we need to know what has been happening in this place," Mazzy continued, pulling Jaheira back a step by her elbow, "Though with Yoshimo now gone, we have no one from whom we might learn the truth of Minsc's death." Her voice rang in the corridor, and many cautious glances were swapped. No one seemed to want to speak first, after the initial tide of questions and exclamations that had come with their reunion.

"It's funny that you should ask about what happened, really," Jan put in unexpectedly, his voice ringing sharply through the quiet that had descended. Aerie shifted uncomfortably, but the gnome was grinning – and Korgan slapped him on the back hard enough to make him stagger, the dwarf's bark of a laugh suggesting that he condoned the story which Jan now began.

Anomen was tense, his face red with either rage or embarrassment – probably both. He had been holding himself like this almost since the group reconvened, so it seemed likely that he had some righteous issue rather than a specific problem with the story. Jaheira was frowning, about to insist that there was no time for stories, but once Jan started explaining what had befallen in the room of riddles, the druid's serious expression lingered for a different reason, her eyes straying distrustfully towards Elatharia even more than usual. Beside her, Valygar seemed to take much the same conclusion from this – and for once Viconia could understand. It was hard to trust someone who might become a terrifying beast of ebony and blades at any moment.

Jan told the story readily, however, and Korgan seemed particularly entertained by the section of his own defeat at the hands of the monster. Perhaps some ridiculous dwarf custom meant that he would have been proud to die in such a violent manner. Then Mazzy volunteered to explain her side of events – the discovery of Yoshimo and Minsc, then of Valygar and of the bounty hunter's recent escape. Meanwhile, Aerie was quiet, blushing as the tale reached the part where she saved the day – or, at least, reverted Elatharia to her original form. The avariel seemed to be struggling to hold back tears, too, clutching the little hamster close and stroking its fur as she watched the others. _Darthiir_. Sentimental fools. In sharp contrast, none of the explanations and tales that were traded seemed to touch Elatharia; she listened with a faint frown, very still, and was silent.

At some point Valygar offered Haer'Dalis some spare clothes – he was the only male of the right size to aid the tiefling in this manner; Anomen was a few inches shorter and a good deal more muscular. Though Haer'Dalis was taller than Valygar also, the difference in their builds was not too great. When Haer'Dalis moved away a little to change, Viconia approached Elatharia while the others took the moment to sit down and refresh themselves with the meagre supplies of water they had brought – or tried to find somewhere to relieve themselves without being caught out by this wretched place. The Transmuter's eyes turned the drow's way quickly enough, but there was something…blank in them that was not familiar.

"I for one am glad to see you back, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia promised. It was half-true – another ally was invaluable in this place with all of these other potential enemies around, but the idea of Elatharia becoming such a beast in such close quarters was more than a little unsettling. "I hope your time in captivity was…brief."

The Transmuter winced a little as she leaned back against the wall, her gaze sliding from Viconia's. Blank and unresponsive. It was worrying.

"Not brief enough," she muttered, "Long enough to tear from us our souls and drop us in this place." She paused, and then explained in speedy sign language all that had passed at the hands of Irenicus and the newly discovered traitor, Bodhi. She rebuffed any attempt to explain what she now felt without a soul. Perhaps she did not know herself, yet.

 _"This is terrible news, but I find myself unsurprised,"_ Viconia signed back at last, her heart sinking. Her eyes strayed back to Haer'Dalis as he came around the corner once more, now dressed in a white shirt and brown trousers of Valygar's. Of his own possessions, only his boots and belt had survived the fire along with his swords. _"Edwin will be waiting for something, now that he has Imoen. Perhaps they have some information that we do not. Who knows what passed between him, Yoshimo and Minsc?"_

 _"Then you do not think Edwin is responsible for Minsc's death?"_ Elatharia's signing was proficient enough to show a tone of curiosity rather than the hopefulness one might have otherwise assumed.

 _"Would it matter if he were?"_

Predictably, the Transmuter shrugged. Viconia smiled to see such callousness, though there was perhaps a hint of sadness in Elatharia's eyes. Clearly the girl had not lost all of her soul – it was common knowledge that one could not live without their spirit, at least not without a god's consent. And no god would aid a creature like Irenicus, Viconia was certain.

"Tis good that we are all united once more," Haer'Dalis noted, reaching the pair. Another ripple of anger wracked Viconia at the very sight of him. She felt…jumpy. Anxious, of all things.

"Perhaps," Elatharia agreed, finally looking down at her bloody hands and feet as if only truly acknowledging the mess for what it was now. Frowning, she muttered a cantrip and the filth flaked from her.

Viconia took the moment to take hold of Haer'Dalis's wrist and wrench him around the corner with some claims about checking for signs of the treacherous bounty hunter. A quick inspection of the far end of the corridor down which Yoshimo had fled proved that he was long gone, for the moment. There was no way he would come creeping back to their group with so many thronging together at once. Now out of sight from those others, Viconia took the moment to push the tiefling back against the wall with all of the strength that her sudden rage afforded her. He did not resist, choking on a laugh as she looked back at him furiously.

"How could you so merrily traipse about this place with such fools? Have you no idea what _ridiculous righteous nonsense_ I have been enduring?" she spat, his smile only enraging her more, "And to throw yourself upon me when the trap sprung, how reckless…"

"Ah, my Blackbird, your concern is appreciated, as is your healing skill – uncomfortable though Shar's blessing may be," Haer'Dalis promised.

His calm tone brought her up short, and Viconia blinked up at him as her anger fled. Her skin warmed with embarrassment and shame, though she doubted his darkvision granted him knowledge of it. He caught her arms when she backed up, old memories of the last time she had _felt_ anything for anyone bringing a tide of fear and regret. But his expression held no judgement, only honesty. By Shar, he seemed sincere.

Cursing him again, Viconia stepped against him as he let go of her, his mouth finding hers as she willed it. He slid down the wall and she climbed over him, lost for a few brief moments in the heat of his skin and the feel of his lips. She was trembling when she pulled back, gasping, groaning in frustration and confusion as he brushed his lips to her neck in a promise. Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she caught his mouth again for one more lingering kiss before they had to return to the reality of Spellhold.

* * *

The group took longer to gather than Elatharia would have liked. Anomen was still tight-lipped, Aerie teary eyed, and those who had witnessed Yoshimo's 'sudden' betrayal were still shaken from recent events. It was a relief to have Viconia back at her side (when the drow returned from her poorly disguised reunion with Haer'Dalis). But even the drow was looking at her strangely. No one knew what to make of the truth – that Yoshimo was a traitor, that Elatharia had metamorphosed quite recently and destructively against her will, that Imoen had undergone the same change – twice, at least to some extent, given the evidence of her shed skin was out there somewhere – and that the aasimar was probably with Edwin somewhere in the abandoned asylum.

Of course, Minsc's death hung over all of them. A friend, or at least an ally…slain and left to die. It felt ridiculous that, in a group containing three priests of different denominations _and_ a druid, no one could bring him back. But time had been against them. Apparently raising the dead required a fresh body, or a blessed altar. In spite of it all, Elatharia felt only the void where her sadness might once have been. Was she always this broken, or did she only lack her soul?

"We must hurry," Jaheira snapped when at last the group began to converge back around the opening to the fatefully uncovered corridor, "The signs suggest that Imoen and Edwin are out there somewhere, and they should not have gone far. I would not like her to stay in the Red Wizard's clutches any more than I would like her to be found by Yoshimo first." Her steely eyes passed over Elatharia's face, as if she could not help the goad.

"Then we must go now," the Transmuter chose to deny the druid her emotional victory, though the beast within her stirred enough to prickle her skin, "I take it we are all ready?"

A chorus of nods followed. Funny, how little Yoshimo's absence showed. He had been a constant shadow amongst them, quiet and watchful, since they stumbled free from Irenicus's dungeon. Yet…there were Jaheira, Valygar, Anomen and Mazzy clustered in a righteous mob, all watching her with varying degrees of distrust or disquiet and arrayed in shining mail – or with enough steel in their eyes to make up for the lack of armour. There were Jan and Korgan, each a little disparate – one just tucking away his anti-Illusion device and pushing up his goggles, the other shifting impatiently, axe in his hands as ever. Aerie was a few steps back from Jaheira and Anomen, attempting to find a safe place for Boo to huddle amongst her robes, the avariel seeming pale and small in the harsh darkness. Viconia was at Elatharia's side, her yellow cloak reversed to show its black side and her hood pulled low. Dressed like that, the drow could easily blend in with the darkness – only her eyes, reflecting red in the lowlight, might give her away. Haer'Dalis was just coming back from scouting duty, the least emotionally ruffled of all of them. He shook his head when Elatharia offered to return his cloak to him. It was too long for her, its hem wicking up blood and gathering dust, but she felt no urgent need to press the topic.

"Alright," Elatharia announced, gesturing the way the tiefling had just come, "Logic dictates that we should travel up, and the stairs are that way. We should move out."

No one questioned her. They seemed happy to be back together, and happier still to have the Illusions banished and a purpose to move towards beyond an escape that had lacked facts. They moved out readily. Jan, Haer'Dalis and Viconia took the lead, the group's natural scouts, with Mazzy and Valygar following to lend back-up since they were the stealthiest of the rest. Elatharia and Aerie made up the middle of the group, the Transmuter now with Yoshimo's discarded dagger tucked into her belt. Jaheira, Anomen and Korgan brought up the rear, though the dwarf was less than happy to keep them company. In truth, Elatharia preferred to have him there in the event that the druid and priest might have to be dispatched.


	39. No Choice Remains

**With thanks to those who have reviewed, favourited and followed. :)  
Warnings for gore, violence and the execution of moral values which the author does not condone.**

* * *

**Chapter 38: No Choice Remains**

* * *

The screams and ranting had become audible only recently. This complex beneath Spellhold was labyrinthine and vast; layers of intersecting corridors and rooms wound upwards towards a circular central chamber. Imoen had been finding fewer traps the longer they walked, as if these corridors had never been meant for prisoners or intruders – by this point they were passing labs, and storerooms stacked with potion bottles and crates of ingredients. There were no more testing rooms.

Imoen had grown paler as soon as they first heard the shouts – the voices were not familiar, so Edwin could only assume that they were inmates (or what remained of them). Her shuddering had grown worse, though she had attempted to continue on, and Edwin had decided that such shaking would hardly be conducive to their safety should she find any more traps. So he had insisted that they stop and handed over Elatharia's bag of holding, telling the aasimar to root through it for something that might warm her a little better. She had pulled out Gorion's old grey cloak, protective as it was against the cold, and clasped it beneath the red one which she already wore. But really it looked like the bag itself and the things she saw inside it staved off her shaking. Even Edwin had begun to suspect that she was not really 'cold'. So when she tied the bag onto her dress's sash, he did not demand it back. The steadier she was, the more likely they were to get through this alive.

The place seemed eerily deserted, but for the muffled shouts. They _had_ come upon another small group of goblins, the creatures dressed in rags and wielding little more than brooms, but that was all. The little things had fallen readily enough to Edwin's spells, crazed enough to attack him as they had been. Imoen had hung back, eyes blank and fixed on the ceiling ahead. Her response had proven to him that they needed to find somewhere to wait, where they would be able to determine which of their companions had survived this place and whether or not those who (admittedly correctly to some extent) blamed Edwin for Minsc's death were likely to strike first, unmediated by those of a less presumptuous disposition.

"We should stop here," Edwin noted at last, taking Imoen's elbow automatically to emphasise his point.

Gasping, the girl whirled about and wrenched herself free, eyes wide and wild for just a moment too long. Something golden flared within, ambiguous enough to be almost unnoticeable. Her chin trembled when Edwin backed up a cautious step, gesturing at the door which now stood between them along the corridor wall.

"Whatever waits ahead is loud and either too chaotic or too organised for us to deal with alone," he continued in a whisper, "But the map shows that this passageway is the only way by which the central room, the chamber of our escape, might be reached. Our companions will have to pass this way to proceed successfully. So we should wait here. (Lest she leads us to our deaths with her shaking and vacant staring.)"

Blinking rapidly, Imoen nodded.

"Right you are," she agreed, though her voice suggested that she wished otherwise.

Free of wards, the door creaked open slowly into a dark, unused laboratory. Empty jars, shining metal tables and shelves free of dust proved that this place had been cleaned more recently than it had been used – and that it had been cleaned very recently, too. Probably by those grovelling little goblins, dead a few rooms back.

The place was still and dark, then starkly lit as Imoen sent their conjured light bobbing in ahead of her. She gestured for Edwin to wait while she checked the chamber; the Red Wizard just nodded impatiently and she seemed happy enough to move away from his scrutiny. The moment she crept through the doorway and out of Edwin's immediate sight, leaving him in the dark corridor, he felt the change in the air. His blood did not know whether to boil with rage or freeze in his veins.

Though his _Darkvision_ spell was still in effect, he still saw the gloom deepen, painting the corridor more starkly in shades of black and white, and the sudden chill – a real cold, one that would have merited Imoen's shivering – descended more fiercely than the wind which howled across the Lake Mulsantir from barbarous Rashemen to herald the winter.

Edwin sighed, pushing himself back from the wall and turning about, knowing that unnatural quiet for what it was. The air was colder, but stiller too.

"I am surprised you have not sent your Kara-Turan snake creeping my way once more," the Conjurer said as he turned to meet Bodhi's eyes. To his _Darkvision_ , the vampire mistress looked much the same as she would in the light – only her thick lips were different, black rather than red in the colourless monochrome scale. She smirked too widely, showing too many sharp teeth, her pale eyes hard all the same. The darkness hung about her like a cloak, but it was clear that she wore a black leather tunic and mithral chain leggings once more – Imoen had said, after some prodding, that Bodhi had been dressed far less practically earlier. Was she expecting a battle? Had the time come at last?

"The 'snake' is caught in his own shed skin, fleeing a band which he had already believed lost to him," Bodhi promised, "And you know very well, Edwin Odesseiron, that I would not have asked from you what I did if I intended for you to die in this cold, dark place."

"Then you do not intend for Imoen or Elatharia to die here, either," the Conjurer noted, and the flicker of annoyance which crossed Bodhi's face was gratifying. He fought to hold back his victorious smirk – the vampire mistress had not denied his words in any way, which as good as proved that the Transmuter yet lived, too. "I am, after all, worth nothing to you except in your machinations against the Bhaalspawn."

Bodhi's smile returned at those words, eyes flashing with real amusement as she took a few steps towards him, shortening a gap of several feet until he had to look down a little to see her face (as little as he would have wanted to).

"No need to sound so bitter about it, Red Wizard," she purred, "Though your words are not quite correct, all the same. It will be enjoyable to see the pain in the eyes of the little girl who wants to be bad, too, I will admit."

"I think you are, perhaps, underestimating the Transmuter," Edwin suggested. He said it with no _feeling_. It was purely the logical thing to say. "(As the vampire is surely underestimating me.)"

Bodhi seemed unperturbed. She even looked amused.

"The way will not be easy for them, but a delay will be suitable. Of course, it would be preferable if no one were left alive at the end, more convenient, but we simply do not have the time to check," Bodhi shrugged, quirking an eyebrow when movement in the shadows behind her drew Edwin's stare. Of course she was not alone.

"And why do you deign to tell me all of this?"

"I have come to tug at your strings," the vampire mistress admitted, baring her teeth in another smile, "If I do not have the time to deal with Elatharia myself now, there may be a time – soon, most likely – when I must face her. Since I am no fool, I fully intend _not_ to underestimate my enemy."

Understanding came in a wave, one that left Edwin feeling far colder than he would have expected. Eyes widening, he took a step back, ready to cast at any moment. But Bodhi just rolled her eyes and folded her arms, tapping her foot impatiently – and silently.

"You intend to take me with you," he gritted out, "(And thus to damn me in the eyes of all of my allies.)"

"Yes," Bodhi agreed, "And you will come with me, or I will inform those who hunt you of where you now hide. When you emerge from this squalid human tomb of insanity, they will be waiting and ready to drag you off to die the slow and horrific death which you no doubt deserve." She looked him up and down, feigning a sigh. "Though it would be a shame about all that blood."

Anger had Edwin shaking, but his words of denial caught in his throat. _Don't betray me at Spellhold, Edwin,_ Elatharia had said, and he had not promised her that, but he had not denied it either and she would have taken his nod as his word. But he yet recalled that night of Bodhi's blackmail, and the names she had mentioned. Aznar Thrul, Dmitra Flass…and Araman of the Shapers and Binders. Would he never be free of Degardan? But with that thought he knew: there was little choice, really. No more choice than there had been before, by the toilets of the Copper Coronet. So Edwin nodded, once, and that was that. 

* * *

Imoen had heard the hushed words between Edwin and Bodhi. She would recognise the voice of Irenicus's sister anywhere, and it filled her with a shuddering dread – though quite _why_ was something she refused even to consider, taking comfort in the blankness veiling those memories from her. The vampire woman had visited several times since Irenicus took over Spellhold, an impatient force at total odds with her brother, but just as cold and callous in her own way. There were few things in the world that could have brought Imoen out of that quiet, dark room to face Bodhi, not after everything – no _so soon_ after everything.

It ought not to have been so surprising that Edwin was familiar with Bodhi. It was just like Irenicus to use someone like that to lure in his prey – and, given what he had implied of his goals, it seemed there was no one left for him to trust but her…and certainly no one else who might be equally committed to the cause. But…they had what they wanted. They had taken the souls they needed. What more could there possibly be left?

But Bodhi had need of Edwin, and for whatever reason the Red Wizard had agreed to go. Imoen shuddered into the silence they left behind, the conjured globe of light drifting slowly above her head and casting long, deep shadows in the small box of a room. It took many pounding heartbeats before the aasimar at last moved to the door; pulling it open, she saw only a long, dark corridor void of life. It took another moment for her to realise that, though Edwin was gone and Bodhi too, there still rang the muffled screams and moans of whatever lay ahead. The sound only helped to fill her limbs with paralysis, rooting her to the spot right there against the wall of the room, the door ajar just enough for her to peer through. Once, perhaps, she would have shouldered her bow, pulled up her hood, imbued herself with a _Darkvision_ spell and flitted forth readily – either to see for herself what waited ahead, or to seek out her sister. She had seen the map, she knew her way around.

But Imoen found herself trapped by her fear, dazed by half-memories and half-thoughts, tired, weak and so cold. She stayed where she was, banishing the light and plunging herself into inky darkness which did nothing to comfort her. She would wait. If Bodhi and Irenicus were leaving – now with Edwin – from Spellhold soon, she would rather wait and face the challenge they had laid out with her friends. They had come all this way for her! She would wait here, at least until she felt a little more like herself…

Imoen had no idea how long she lingered there, shivering in the dark, but after a little while she heard the faintest thump of footsteps, the distant hiss of whispers. She both longed for the comfort of her bow and dreaded it, but all the same her hand closed tightly around the hilt of her sister's dagger.

Stillness followed, just the faint breeze whispering through the gap in the door and the sounds of fear and pain coming from the room ahead. It was not a _sound_ which alerted her to the approach of strangers, but the prickling that settled on her skin, itching. It passed just as quickly, but left in its wake a sense of unease. All the same, she jumped when she heard an unfamiliar voice – deep, and oddly accented.

"Ah, I feel the cold miasma of a Celestial's echo drifting on the breeze. I can fairly hear the clarions and the chimes! Ah, how it settles uneasily upon my heart! Is this the fair Imoen, of whom our leader has forewarned us? Good Jan, reveal to us the dark of this place." He sounded far more amused than threatening, but Imoen would not show herself to the strangers willingly, not without her sister or Jaheira there to prove this was no trick – nor a hallucination.

"Hmm, you might be right there, Haerry," a second voice agreed. Higher and more nasal, this one sounded just as carefree, though a little less foreign. They were communicating in the Common Tongue and both faintly accented, but Imoen could tell the difference between a gnome of Lantan and a man who spoke in Sigil slang. "Just a moment."

A few tinny clicks followed, and then a fizzing ripple of magic fluttered away. No doubt that had been the Illusion dissipating to reveal the door of the room in which she waited. Though hope swelled, she gripped the dagger more tightly and crept back from the wall, listening for a more promising sign. It came a breath later, just as the handle rattled.

"You are hardly worthy scouts, chattering so…" That voice was familiar! Carefully pronounced, haughty…but familiar, and growing a little louder as though approaching though no footsteps were audible.

"V-Viconia?" Imoen asked as the door swung inwards, a new conjured light bobbing through with merciless brightness to reveal three figures staring back at her, wearing expressions ranging from curiosity to irritated relief.

There was the drow priestess, barely visible against the darkness but for a few bright strands of white hair and her eyes, which were now fading from red to blue in the light. She was searching the room behind Imoen with a faint frown, but seemed to relax when she saw that place was otherwise empty of life. The gnome exclaimed something before hurrying away back down the corridor, giving Imoen no time to consider him.

"We have found your long-lost sister! Come quick, this is the most exciting thing I've seen all day – and I'm counting the umber hulks and our leader's transformation!"

The strange man leaning in the doorway laughed brightly at the gnome's words, his irises as black as his pupils as he turned back around to look at Imoen, long blue hair adorned with feathers whipping over one strong shoulder. His skin was a shade more ashen than one would expect of humanity, icy white tinged with blue, and black markings curved over his chin, giving his broadening smile a sharp, mischievous look. _Tiefling_.

Imoen backed up when he took half a step forwards, her hands still on her dagger. His eyebrows rose curiously at this, but Viconia pulled him back with a few chiding words which did nothing to lessen his smile. He just stepped aside for the drow and moved back into the corridor though his eyes lingered on Imoen, too steady and perceptive. She shuddered, jumping when she heard the heavy thump of footsteps and the clatter of mail.

"We have come a terribly long way to get you out of this wretched place, Imoen," Viconia sighed by way of greeting, though her hands were extended palms out as if she were trying to catch a wounded animal for its own good. The frown on her face did not abate as she took in the aasimar's appearance. Funny, because Viconia looked just the same as always.

"I…it is you, isn't it?" Imoen demanded, flinching when more unfamiliar voices rang out in the corridor ahead.

"Of course it is." Those words, in that tone, were enough for Imoen. Relief and hope – real hope, all but forgotten – welled up suddenly, almost choking her, and she threw her arms around the slender form of the drow with a sob.

Staggering back a step, Viconia grew rigid with surprise, her arms pulling at the girl's shoulders out of hope for release rather than anything more sentimental. But that familiarity, the character and appearance of one frozen while hell was wrought in here in the dark, only served to worsen the pain which writhed in Imoen's her chest and twisted in her stomach. But, perhaps, if she just held onto this echo of better days, she would wake from this nightmare…

"Imoen! Oh, Silvanus be praised!"

Jaheira's voice had the aasimar looking up sharply, releasing Viconia much to the relief of the drow, who moved readily out of reach as the druid hurried around the corner, pushing her way past a number of unfamiliar figures who had come through the door or lingered just outside. For a moment Jaheira stood as one frozen, there in the doorway, pale eyes wide and filling with tears. She seemed thinner than Imoen remembered her – at least, thinner than she had been back on the road near Baldur's Gate – but stronger, dressed in travelling leathers as ever, with pouches of herbs at her belt and her spear just clattering to the floor between them. There was a white scar on her cheek which was not familiar, and her hair was pulled back severely into one dark blonde braid.

The druid crossed the room with the heavy, quick steps of a soldier, and pulled Imoen into a tight embrace just as swiftly, with such force and desperation that the young woman felt suddenly drained, not comforted at all. She slumped in the arms of the only person who had ever come close to a mother figure in her life, and vowed to herself, with familiar affection, that she would never tell Jaheira that she had felt the druid's sobs at this moment.

"Are you alright? How did you get out? Have you…have you been…" Jaheira finally pulled back, the tight grip she kept on Imoen's upper arms perhaps meant to reassure, or just to promise to herself that she would not let her go again. Whichever it was, Imoen longed to be released. The pressure to answer pressed upon her, but no words came to her readily. There was no good answer to any of those questions.

"Is this the scrap of a thing we've been huntin' fer?" a gruff dwarven voice demanded, "Not much good in a fight, I wouldn't wager?"

"Wager all you like, brute, but keep your words to yourself," a man responded in the hard, clipped tones of offence. A ripple of disagreements ran around the group, a gathering of too many unfamiliar faces for Imoen to even begin to comprehend them all, but it sounded as though the general mood was against that of the angry dwarf.

Jaheira stepped back sharply when Elatharia came to her side. The Transmuter was dressed strangely, in a woollen vest and too-short leggings with a black cloak that dragged on the ground. It was obvious how that had come to pass. She only offered a faint, uncomfortable smile as her eyes met Imoen's, two pairs of eyes which acknowledged the new emptiness they shared. The elder sister took one look at the cloaks around Imoen's shoulders and the dress she wore, and the urgency in her question told a whole story of its own to the young aasimar.

"That's Edwin's cloak, and he gave you my things. But where is he?"

* * *

Elatharia listened to Imoen's explanation of all that had passed regarding Edwin, and if she felt anything at all it only showed in the faint trembling of her hands and the steadiness of her stare. As the younger Bhaalspawn told it, Edwin had only been an innocent bystander in Yoshimo's murder of Minsc, though Aerie was fairly certain that no one else in the room could believe that without better proof. The avariel could not help but feel frustrated – Elatharia had seemed far angrier with Anomen for a few heated words than she was with Edwin for potentially partaking in the killing of a friend!

"And where is he _now,_ Imoen?" Viconia demanded.

The pink haired girl flinched. She seemed nothing like the buoyant person they had described; but it was easy to understand why, given the circumstances. Pale, painfully thin and spattered with blood only just flaking off thanks to a cantrip of Elatharia's, Imoen's bruises were just fading after Jaheira's healing.

"I only overheard…I didn't…wasn't there…"

"Where is he?" Elatharia gritted out, her hands clenching into fists as she turned fully to face the aasimar, her back to Aerie. It seemed entirely unreasonable to be so demanding of someone who had been through so much for so long so recently, but the avariel also knew that it was not her place to interfere. She had insisted, quietly, that no one who was a new acquaintance of Imoen should approach the girl. Not yet.

"Bodhi done took him. She threatened him with something, and there was silence…and now they're both gone. They seemed to know each other already."

Jaheira's sharp, bitter laugh was the kind of sound barked out to prove a point. Overflowing with hatred for the Red Wizard, her eyes were too pleased when they settled upon Elatharia. Viconia tensed, glancing over her shoulder at Haer'Dalis. Elatharia hardly moved, and said nothing. Aerie had rarely felt sorrier for anyone in her life.

"As if my point did not need to be proven," Anomen muttered at Aerie's side. She elbowed his side hard – it was more of a symbolic gesture, given his armour, but it put her point across well enough.

"D-don't sound so…so pleased, Anomen," she berated him, though perhaps a great deal of her irritation in truth came from the disquiet which Imoen's words brought her. Bodhi had been the name of the vampire leader with whom Elatharia had narrowly avoided dealing. Now she was here? And Edwin had gone with her?

"It seems it has all backfired on you, Elatharia," Jaheira pointed out, her tight smile hiding a mass of anger, "And jeopardised us all."

"The more jeopardy you are in the happier I will be, druid," the Transmuter spat back, just the faintest tremor in her voice. Her green eyes darted to the side, betraying her true disquiet.

Sighing pointedly, Viconia moved away from the trio inside the room. She and Haer'Dalis began a fast, whispered conversation too quiet to overhear, but the drow looked more agitated than normal. Meanwhile, Imoen continued to shiver and stare into space, and jumped significantly when Korgan's loud voice boomed through the room.

"I say we should be fer leavin', not idlin' here in the dark. Stow yer arguments till we're back outta this place, and then I'll even cheer ye on while ye hack each other's throats t' ribbons!" He grinned broadly when Aerie glared at him in disgust, but his words set the group into motion again.

Elatharia remained in the little laboratory with Imoen in order to take back possession of her things – though her sister would keep the green Traveller's Robe she had borrowed – while the others filed out into the corridor. Here the cries of pain in the distance only just became audible to Aerie, as Jan's device continued to strip the labyrinth of Illusions. She stiffened in alarm, a jolt of horror running through her.

"We have to hurry!" the avariel insisted, catching at Anomen's arm, "Wh-whoever is ahead is in such pain!" He held her back when she made as if to hurry forth. Those screams were unbearable!

"Wait! It could be a trap!" the priest insisted, pulling her back, though he seemed just as uncomfortable.

"Trap or not, no one should be left in such pain," Mazzy disagreed, her hand on her sword. Behind her, Valygar nodded.

"Given this place's tendency towards Illusion, I would warn that perhaps you are being led to hear something that may not even be the truth," Jan pointed out, though his crossbow was already wound and in his hands. Mazzy shook her head.

"Better to try and to be wrong than not to try."

"Eh. Ye're all goin' first then," Korgan grunted, "I'm one fer getting' out, not dyin' here."

"The only way is forward," Viconia pointed out with a sigh that suggested she would rather not consider this, "So I imagine we will have to face whatever truly lies ahead regardless of what we want. With any luck we will find the treacherous bounty hunter and skin him living…"

Aerie recoiled from the suddenly vicious comment, but any rebuke she might have intended was cut short as the door opened and Elatharia stepped through with Imoen at her heels. Wearing the strip of enchanted cloth across her markings once more, the Transmuter was dressed in her Robe of Vecna, her boots and Gorion's cloak, her bag of holding on her belt. She handed back Haer'Dalis's cloak and Aerie's vest, though she still wore the avariel's spare leggings. Her green eyes slid past all of them, peering into the darkness with the aid of the enchanted strip which covered her markings. But for her remaining injuries and the blankness in her expression, it could almost be forgotten that she had ever been away.

"I'm tired of all this talk," Elatharia snapped as discussions continued to waver through the group, "Let's just get out of here."

* * *

The screams were tugging at everyone's nerves as they reached the top of the next flight of stairs. These steps stood in a broader passageway, this one lit with torches and ending in a tall, rune-inscribed archway. Elatharia waved a hand to stop the group before anyone could reach the top of the stairs – for the moment they were out of the line of sight of whoever may be waiting beyond, and also not privy to any visual distractions.

"Be ready. This is Irenicus we are dealing with, or something of his work. He will seek to trick you, torment you and defeat you as brutally and efficiently as he can where possible. Otherwise, he will try to stall us. Since Imoen has said Bodhi told Edwin as much, we need to act decisively and not become caught in stupid squabbles," her gaze found Anomen and then Jaheira, "And anyone who thinks about betraying us at this point, I will personally cast the spell to turn you to dust."

Jaheira looked uncomfortable, and not just from the screams up ahead. It hurt Imoen to see Elatharia and the druid so at odds, though it was no surprise. At least everyone agreed in their own way, though the waif-like elf whom the others named Aerie seemed pale and nervous, Boo sniffing the air on her shoulder. Where the others made to pull out weapons, she hung back, fidgeting. A healer, not a fighter. How sweet, and how hopelessly worthless in the face of Irenicus!

No one else waited, the more martial members of the group heading up first with the blue-haired tiefling and the crossbow-wielding gnome close behind them. Elatharia caught Imoen's elbow when she made to follow, the Transmuter's eyes hard when the aasimar turned to face her.

"You don't have any spells, and you're in no condition to fight. Stay back here."

Imoen's eyebrows rose, the memory of a rebellious streak sparking and then flaring in her chest. Although, she did not recall her sister ever being this blunt with her. Elatharia interrupted her before she could respond, her words and her grim tone enough of an explanation for the young aasimar.

"No excuses. I'm not failing, and I'm not going to end up in his clutches again."

The Transmuter headed off then, tight-lipped and tense. Aerie wavered, looking between the two separating sisters, before scrambling up to the top of the steps, and gasping at whatever she saw. The sounds of battle, of shouts and screams, were audible just a second or two later but Imoen waited until her sister had begun a spell before flitting up the steps after the group. If she had to fight to get out of here, then so be it!

Once at the top of the steps, Imoen could understand why Aerie gasped. A cylindrical chamber of cathedral-like proportions lay ahead, its walls a mass of tangled tubes and wires, its floor an ominous metal mesh. Atop the balcony directly up ahead, only just visible through the high archway, there stood a muscular man, his frame surrounded by layers of protective spells. For the moment this unlikely looking wizard, scarred and coarse as he seemed, was content to watch – and what a horror it was that he oversaw.

Three men hung from the ceiling, suspended by gruesome spines with just enough freedom to move their arms, and just enough strength left to scream – and to cast. They were thin, and beneath the wash of blood dripping from their dangling feet they were dirty, too. The clothes that hung from them in soiled rags were once grey, the deep cowls over their heads not too low to avoid seeing the crazed look in their eyes. It was obvious enough – these were the old masters of this place, newly placed upon these instruments of torture and promised release from their pains if they fought now.

And upon the ground were the savage and familiar forms of the new wardens, the ones to whom Irenicus had given power. The four remaining ex inmates, long lost to sanity. They were armed, or aglow with magical protections, and at their call came the last ragtag goblins held in this place, and a pair of umber hulks.

"Oh, Baervan," Aerie whispered, a moment before she caught herself, eyes fixing on the man waiting on the balcony while the others dealt with events on the ground. She began a spell which Imoen recognised as _Breach_.

Meanwhile, Elatharia had finished the last word of her spell, the hum of extra energy rippling through her companions and doubling their speed. It was just as well, for Jaheira and Valygar only just had time to dive aside from a wildly flung pillar of flame which washed harmlessly over Korgan as the dwarf charged forth with a gleeful yell, colliding heavily with one of the umber hulks with a mighty crash and a wet thud.

Mazzy was just darting around the second umber hulk, baiting it as long as she dared while Viconia worked to bring forth some spell behind her. It seemed intent on the halfling for now, irritated by her quick movements, but Imoen wondered if anyone knew the potency of the creatures they fought. Umber hulks were not just huge, strong beasts kept to fight off intruders. They could bring forth a fog of confusion when threatened. Would the halfling paladin be able to withstand such an attack?

The whole room was a chaos of spells, the cowled wizards caught between rigid pain and the need to be free of it. One had been caught speedily by a paralytic projectile of Jan's and hung there, wide-eyed and frozen in agony, able to feel and unable to move. The rest were raining down what spells they had with abandon, forcing Valygar, Anomen and Jaheira to duck and dive to escape the chaos. If that were not bad enough, one of the ex-inmates was taking great glee in chasing them, heedless of the spells thundering around them and swinging his axe at any limbs he could see. It was only a matter of time…

Elatharia's next spell filled the air with a momentary chill as it slithered forward, a pale mist that drifted by with the power to set Imoen's skin crawling and her head ringing until it washed up against the nervous, chattering goblins who had lingered in the centre of the room, cringing away from the spells leaving sunspots in everyone's eyes but lashing out with their axes and spears when anyone came too close. All of them stiffened, coughing and wheezing as the miasma settled around them. One slumped down immediately, twitching before the life left him, but the others clawed at their throats, eyes bulging, before their greenish skin grew paler and life was torn from them. Imoen fought the urge to retch as well. Necromancy. A _Death Spell_. Who had taught her sister that?

Viconia's spell rang in the room with a burst of energy and a momentary flash of light just as the umber hulk facing Mazzy lashed out with a roar at the paladin and scored a solid hit, sending her tumbling backwards in a heap. It roared for her blood and thundered forward just as the drow's spell rippled through the air, momentarily jangling the nerves even of her companions. For just a moment, only the umber hulk moved…and then two of the ex-inmates turned, screaming in irrational panic, and attempted to run away from their foes. Mazzy screamed as well – as the umber hulk's claws tore into her leg, dragging her back towards it across the mesh ground. That was when Haer'Dalis flung himself from his perch upon the wires climbing the wall, his blades flashing over the huge crab-like creature as he latched onto its back and Viconia ran towards it with the Flail of the Ages swinging in her hands.

Jaheira had managed to end the life of the paralysed cowled wizard with the long reach of her spear, though she caught a barrage of bruising magic missiles from another of the wizards for her trouble. Anomen had engaged in battle with one armed ex-inmate, the priest bleeding profusely from a broken nose, his eyes blackening, and Jan was attempting to hit one of the fleeing men with another paralytic projectile.

Valygar, however, he had been caught by a conjured arrow to the shoulder and was staggering back against the wall, wincing and wheezing, clutching uselessly at the shaft and at the mercy of the two remaining cowled wizards. Luckily for him, the sudden and gruesome disintegration of the two fleeing ex-inmates brought a hesitation to both tormented men. Just in front of Imoen, Elatharia cursed bitterly, no doubt recognising their deaths for what they were – Viconia's _Fear_ spell had forced them to act against the geasa Irenicus had given to them, and thus his Enchantments upon their souls had torn them apart.

"Valygar!" Aerie cried uselessly, her hands already moving for another spell.

It was a thrown dagger that brought about the death of the next cowled wizard, just a moment before his Invocation had been about to shatter the wounded ranger – who looked to Elatharia, his unlikely saviour, with shock and perhaps a hint of greater respect. The Transmuter had never been good at melee, but throwing daggers had been the one sport at which she could beat Imoen. The aasimar made sure that her sister was distracted by another spell before launching herself into the room, too.

Aerie's magic missiles stopped the remaining wizard from doing what his fellow prisoner could not – Imoen heard him begging to be released from his pain as she scrambling for the wires lining the wall. _Release me! Master! I…I no longer wish to come back!_ The memory of Rielev, caught in one of Irenicus's tanks, almost forced the aasimar to miss her next foothold, but the continuing sounds of battle kept her focus. Mazzy was groaning in pain just beneath her as she pulled herself nimbly around the curve of the wall, and the heavy thud that preceded Viconia's demands for the halfling to be quiet suggested that the drow and the tiefling had just slain the first umber hulk. Korgan's hearty breathless laughter implied that he was well on his way to defeating the second, as well.

But shouted spellwords and the ripple of magic on the ground below reminded the aasimar – as if she needed it – that her current actions were needed. The man on the balcony had performed some kind of summoning, and behind her the sounds of battle redoubled to the tune of monstrous howls and grunts. She could hear Jaheira and Anomen shouting to rally each other, and the rise and fall of both Aerie and Elatharia's voices bringing forth spells.

When the ripple of magic settled over Imoen, she thought for a moment that her hasty plan had been foiled. But when she reached for the next wire and found that she could no longer see her own hand, she realised Jan's aid for what it was. Though she could not know it at the time, the first real smile she had achieved in many months came to her face, and she promised herself to thank him later. For now, she would have to hope that no one had seen her in the chaos of bright spells and gore.

Always a quick climber, though far weaker than she had once been, Imoen reached the lip of the balcony only after a series of incredible risks. The tubes were hardly easily spaced, and near this platform they had been spread out further as if to avoid a plan like hers. As runes sputtered out ahead of her, she knew Jan was on the case. Her final effort required her to spring forward, letting go entirely with her hands and relying on the strength in her legs. And she was not as strong as she had once been. She landed with a loud slap against the ridge of the balcony wall, her feet only just catching against it lower rim and her arms burning with the painful effort, the wind knocked from her.

At least her inelegant acrobatics were performed under _Invisibility_ , and the surprise noise so close at hand forced the wizard there to lose his spell, twisting about to look into empty air in suspicious confusion. The next spell he began was a _Breach_ but the fizz and smack of magic missiles against his last remaining protective spell made him lose his concentration on that, too. It gave Imoen enough time to swing one leg over the wall and haul herself into the balcony, trying to hold her breath against her gasps as she gained her feet, skittering to the other end of the platform as the man approached, pulling free a heavy club from his belt.

"I can hear you panting," he snarled, swinging the weapon into empty space as his eyes searched in vain for her. He was clearly a warrior of some sort as well as a mage, with the old scars to prove it. He did not wear armour, though, lest it affect his spellcasting, and therein lay Imoen's hope. She still had an advantage.

Another round of magic missiles shattered his protections and he winced, crouching lower to keep the balcony's wall between him and his foes, most of whom were still in combat with his summoned monsters on the floor below. His snarl was fearsome, the madness in his eyes only a shade or two short of the panic in the tormented cowled wizards'. He was cornered, and the tide had turned against him. He looked to the steep flight of stairs beyond the balcony as the nearest pipe began to rattle but his body convulsed against the idea. Geased too, eh?

The man recoiled automatically as Haer'Dalis leapt upon the balcony's wall from the tube, though the tiefling had to scramble much as Imoen had to catch hold of it. He was vulnerable, and the warmage knew it, lunging for him. That was when Imoen struck, her dagger burying to the hilt in his back. He convulsed, blood already blossoming, and fell to his knees as the aasimar flickered back into visibility. She gaped, gasping at last, only for Bhaal's golden light to engulf her sight and send her staggering back against the wall, fighting the writhing beneath her skin with her teeth gritted and her fists clenched.

When she opened her eyes again, the sounds of battle were passed. Haer'Dalis was watching her warily, perched on the balcony wall, and between them lay the dead warmage.

"Poor sod," she panted automatically, though her heart flipped with something oddly like guilt to hear her own voice again. But Haer'Dalis's eyebrows rose and then he laughed heartily, hopping down from the wall and beginning to dust himself off before realising that he was hopelessly spattered in thick blue umber hulk blood. His proximity brought with it an aura of automatic unease as it had earlier, and she scratched at her arms without thinking, turning from his curious black eyes to observe the scene below.

Whatever creatures had been summoned, they had gone with the warmage's death and left in their wake a number of cuts and bruises upon Jaheira and Anomen. Viconia was kneeling to tend to the wounded Mazzy, and Aerie was already calling upon what looked to be the last of her healing spells to aid Valygar, Anomen limping to her aid after fixing his own broken nose. Korgan was tearing his axe free from the other umber hulk, the dwarf covered from head to toe in the monster's blood and guts to the extent that it was impossible to tell if he were injured or not. Either way, he was fit enough to stand and to laugh.

Elatharia was leaning against the side of the entrance arch, arms folded, and was following Jan's pointing finger to meet Imoen's eyes. The Transmuter's pupils were flickering with golden light as she frowned up disapprovingly at her sister.

* * *

 _Murder. Murder and death_. Bhaal's whispers were louder than ever, the thought so strong in Elatharia's mind that she could almost believe that she had truly heard the words. But there was hardly time to consider this – they had defeated the trap left for them by Bodhi, and now all that remained to them was finding a way up to that balcony. She hoped beyond anything that they could catch Yoshimo and Edwin before either got away – how she intended to treat them once she had hold of them was less clear to her.

"Eh. I'm not one fer climbin', so stand well back," Korgan was saying, still out of breath as he finally wrenched his axe fully free of the dead umber hulk, turning a bloody grin at all those who remained on the ground. "It wouldnae be pretty if I landed on yer skinny frames."

Slipping his axe onto the strap at his back, he threw himself at the tubes with some force, the metal rattling and groaning as he hauled himself up it. By stark comparison, Viconia had already scaled the tubes, showing a nimbleness that it would be unwise to forget. She had never been a particularly strong person, but the drow proved her heritage when she joined Haer'Dalis and Imoen up on the balcony.

Mazzy was now able to walk once more thanks to the last of Viconia's healing magic but she still eyed the dwarf's climb warily before moving to follow. Watching her progress while Valygar dragged himself once more to his feet, Elatharia was surprised to see Jan waiting with the others on the balcony as Korgan helped to haul Mazzy over, much to her chagrin. The gnome had scaled the wall unnoticed, apparently – and undoubtedly in some unorthodox manner.

"I…I don't think I c-can climb like that," Aerie admitted, stepping gingerly into the gory room after Elatharia. The Transmuter opened her mouth to speak, but before she could manage any words the avariel had solved her own problem, casting upon herself a _Strength_ spell that would see her through the climb – which she endured to the sound of Korgan's jeers, in spite of Anomen's shouted warnings to the dwarf.

Utilising the same spell, Elatharia followed the avariel's plan. Having watched Aerie struggling before her, the Transmuter was certain that Edwin could not have gone that way; even imbued in such a manner, the Red Wizard would never have made the climb. There had to be stairs somewhere – but there was no time to look for them. Thus it was that Valygar looked as sore and tired as Elatharia felt once he reached the balcony, gasping and slumped while a few of the others scouted ahead. It seemed that he and the Transmuter had come away from this time in Spellhold the worst, both nursing lingering injuries in spite of healing.

Once gathered there, Elatharia insisted that they continue on at speed. Jan promised to do his best to keep them from traps, but Imoen just shook her head at him.

"I know this place," she told them as they left the balcony behind, ascending a steep flight of stairs. Her eyes were haunted as she glanced over her shoulder at her sister, and Elatharia almost forgot her irritation over Imoen's defiance of her orders. "We will be back _there_ soon. He…he will know…"

"And we will be ready to run him through," Jaheira promised, to which Imoen grimaced and looked away sharply. Elatharia could only agree with her sister's sentiment – tired, lacking spells, they were in no state to fight a mastermind like Irenicus. And certainly not Irenicus bolstered by Edwin and Bodhi. Remembering those moments in the inn before she was dragged to Spellhold, Elatharia shuddered, wishing she could regret her choice.

The climb was steep, and the stairs reached upwards for some time. Given the size of the building they had seen on Brynnlaw, it seemed clear that the steps led up to the top floor of Spellhold and all of their legs were aching when Jan's conjured light bobbed to a stop just ahead of them in front of a closed iron door. He announced it free of traps, though runes sputtered out along its frame in response to his Abjuration Mechanism which he had used so devastatingly against the Shadow Thieves. When Jaheira tried the handle, however, it moved not at all and the door was unresponsive to attempts to break it down. It had no visible lock. As far as Elatharia saw it, there was only one way forward.

"I have an idea," she offered, and perhaps something in her tone hinted at the nature of that idea, for Jaheira, Jan and Korgan turned about from their endeavours to gape at her as though she were mad. "Just…get out of the way."

It was risky, but really what choice did they have? So once the others had dispersed a little way back down the steps, Elatharia approached and gripped the handle in both hands. She closed her eyes and reached for her anger – and her fear. Her rage with Yoshimo for his terrible treachery, with Bodhi for her deceit and with Edwin for his weakness. Her hatred for Irenicus, her fear that he would win – and her resentment, too.

Her monster rose with sudden ferocity and for a moment her world turned golden, but she challenged it with her will, channelling it to her whim. And though her body trembled with the effort and she shouted with the strain, she succeeded in slamming down the handle and swinging the door wide. Seeing this achieved, and the terribly familiar room of jars and tubes ahead – the place in which she had lost her soul – Elatharia stumbled back and almost tripped back down the stairs but for Haer'Dalis's steadying hand on her shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful as they met hers, his smile crooked as ever while the others surged past them. Ignorant, innocent fools. They knew not what might lie in wait.

Swallowing hard, Elatharia moved ahead with only Haer'Dalis, Imoen and Aerie in her wake. The scene that waited stirred the monster she had unleashed, and her nails bit into her palms with the strain of containing it.

Across the hall, a portal shimmered within a prepared rune-engraved frame. The surface rippled like water, and through it waited darkness – a darkness which Elatharia's mask translated in greys and whites. A stone ledge, overlooking a vast chasm. A chasm across which sprawled the strangest city she had ever seen, of twisting black spires and arcing glass, stone and minerals. The Underdark. It had to be.

Before the portal Irenicus was just turning, arms folding, clearly caught in the moment that he had been about to step through. His gruesome face was as unvaried in its expression as it had been before he robbed her of her soul, but for the faintest wry tilt to his mouth. His eyes settled on Imoen first, and the aasimar had already stopped in her tracks, staring. That cold gaze slid to Elatharia unconcernedly as Jaheira began to vent her rage.

"Bastard! Murderer! I will see you dead!" she might have charged forward immediately, but for Valygar's grip on her arms. It would be suicide to run at any mage unprotected, let alone Irenicus. "And you, you treacherous leech!"

It was unclear to whom she was referring – Bodhi stood by her brother, smiling without any mirth, and by her side was Edwin. His expression was set into a glare, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind the group who had just entered. At Irenicus's other side waited Yoshimo, a calm _relieved_ look on his face. He appeared to have escaped the blast he created unscathed, and was hardly ruffled but for the loss of his bow.

"A pity I cannot stay, but more important business awaits. I imagine you will come for me, but by the time you reach me I will have no need to waste any thought on you. Your souls, however, will be most useful." Irenicus intoned the words at a calm, steady pace but each sound stirred Elatharia's wrath – and Jaheira's too, from the way the druid fought Valygar's hold. Anomen braced himself for a charge but Korgan of all people caught his eye and shook his head.

Elatharia stumbled forward as Irenicus stepped through the portal, overcome with the urge that she must not let him go, that she would sooner die than see him slip from their grasp. But it was Bodhi's victorious smile that reminded her of such folly, the vampire glancing up pointedly at Edwin as she half turned to follow her brother, her hand on the Red Wizard's arm to pull him through too. Only then did he meet Elatharia's eyes, and there was no pleasure there. He shook his head, just faintly, and signed a phrase with one free hand.

" _I will not._ "

The Transmuter stopped abruptly. The distance was too great to reach them even at a run now. Her eyes were burning, and something tightened painfully in her chest.

"Edwin," she snarled, "Edwin, whatever she has promised you…"

With a shout of rage, Jaheira wrenched herself from Valygar's grip and hurtled forwards, the ranger close on her heels but at a disadvantage thanks to his wounds.

"Oh enough, Bhaalspawn," Bodhi sighed, and pushed the Red Wizard through the portal before her. When Yoshimo made to follow, she caught him by his cloak and hauled him back to fall to his hands and knees, skittering forwards across the floor of the hall. "Not you, fool. Your usefulness is ended at last."

"But…mistress Bodhi…you promis…"

"No! I vowed your deaths, and I will see it done!" Jaheira fairly howled, but there was no time. They had planned this too well.

Still smiling, Bodhi stepped back through the portal and the magical gateway dissipated immediately, leaving Yoshimo pulling himself back to his feet as quickly as he was able. Bodhi was inhumanly strong, and he had landed heavily. He barely paused to look back at them, but Jaheira was on him before he could reach the stairs which Elatharia had descended with Imoen earlier that day.

The druid knocked Yoshimo to the ground with a heavy swing of her spear, the end of the shaft hitting hard enough to ring in the room. Valygar and Anomen reached him once he had fallen, hauling him up to his feet by an arm each. Blood was pouring down his head and he slumped in their hold as if defeated - though that did not stop Jaheira striking another blow to his other temple. The sight made Korgan laugh, and Aerie exclaim in horror.

The group converged a little past the centre of the room. Elatharia refused to look towards the tubes which hung down there, part of the mechanism which had ripped her soul from her body and given it to Irenicus. Jaheira was pulling Yoshimo's sword belt from him, searching him roughly for other concealed weapons. His backpack hit the floor heavily.

"You owe us an explanation, Yoshimo," Elatharia told him as she approached. "Before you die."

"Wh-what about a trial? C-can't we…" Aerie started, but Jaheira and Korgan both demanded her silence.

"This is an evil man and a proven threat to society," Anomen reminded the avariel, his eyes straying to Elatharia uncomfortably when she began a spell without explanation. "This place has been trial enough. He should die."

Aerie just shook her head and turned away, plucking Boo from inside the hood of her cloak and cradling the little animal, muttering softly to it as she walked away from the others. Korgan snorted something under his breath which made her pause before he turned his attention back to the captive bounty hunter. Jan had already wandered away. After a moment Imoen followed the avariel, though if the aasimar could find any words Elatharia was too distracted to know, coming to the end of her spell.

"Is there really any point in dragging this out? Just kill him and move on," Viconia complained, rolling her eyes and turning away with disinterest. Haer'Dalis eyed her with amusement as she moved off to inspect the room. The malice in his eyes was sudden and striking when he looked to Yoshimo.

"The Blackbird is too kind," Haer'Dalis disagreed with a flash of teeth that might have been a smile, "I have seen you deceiving and wondered at your lies, but never could I have predicted this. This Sparrow is a little less humble, to know it was proven right. You should explain to our leader the truth of your actions."

Jaheira stepped back warily as Elatharia's spell settled over Yoshimo. He writhed, fighting it, but it oozed into him all the same – and when the haze of magic cleared he slumped further in the hold of Valygar and Anomen, wheezing. It seemed an effort for him to raise his eyes to Elatharia, his face swelling rapidly from the blows Jaheira had dealt him.

"Aran Linvail spoke the truth. I had been working for both him and Bodhi when they caught me. Not knowing of her relationship to Irenicus, they gave me to the wizard as my punishment. He had recently become known in the darker circles of Athkatla, and had been looking for a test subject. I was held in my cell only briefly, long enough for him to come and work his Enchantment. He had intended it for one of you," his looked Jaheira's way pointedly and the druid recoiled, "But your will had been too great, fuelled by hatred. He needed me to stay with you, to nudge you to the path he wanted. To help you get to Spellhold, and to make sure you were separated at least for long enough to steal your souls. I thought he would kill you, Elatharia, in truth."

"He geased you," Elatharia said, and the Kara-Turan nodded, swaying in the grip of Anomen and Valygar.

"Yes."

"Did he geas you to lie, too? To kill Minsc?"

"No, but those acts were necessary to complete the requirement set for me. What choice do I have when the alternative is death, no matter where I go or what I do?" Yoshimo's voice broke on those words, and he hung his head, defeated. Elatharia shrugged. She could not disagree.

"No choice at all."

He looked up again sharply at those words, hope blooming in his eyes.

"When…when you have killed me…will you bring my heart to the temple of Ilmater? For…for penance. To free my soul from chains?"

Elatharia watched him for several long moments before calling to the others.

"You should all leave. The vengeance I must fulfil cannot be achieved safely in your sight."

They seemed to understand, though neither Aerie nor Imoen seemed pleased by this statement. Jan ushered them up the stairs, lingering at the door back up into the highest level of Spellhold until Valygar and Anomen dropped Yoshimo at Elatharia's feet and followed, the priest ushering Aerie with him from where the avariel had lingered at the door, eyes wide. Only Haer'Dalis and Jaheira remained with Elatharia and Yoshimo, both refusing to leave.

"I will watch, to ensure that you do not betray us," Jaheira explained bluntly, turning for the vantage point of the stairs as the door clanged shut behind the others at the top of those steps. Haer'Dalis stalked after her, though gave no explanation for why he lingered.

Yoshimo held Elatharia's gaze as she took the last steps towards him, expression grim. He was too weak to fight back or flee now, and he was trembling with fear. But there was hope, and such hope did not please the child of Bhaal.

"There will be no redemption, bounty hunter. When I am finished with you, there will be nothing left of substance to take to Ilmater."

And with a snarl, she pushed her cloak back and bent the beast within her to her will as his eyes widened in horror.


	40. With New Purpose

**Thank you so much for your reviews, favourites and follows, and indeed to anyone who is taking the time to read this story. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 39: With New Purpose**

* * *

Viconia had hoped she would never see that city again. It had certainly not been long enough since she fled it spires of quartz, jade and obsidian, where sweeping palaces flickering with Faerie Fire in the almost pure darkness of the Underdark, all tangled up in the webs of layered stone walkways – and the lies, and the Spider Queen's chaotic, hateful machinations. A drow who is not a worshipper of Lolth is never safe amongst their kin, and Viconia had fled before she was run from the place – exile would have been a mercy, had they found out about her lack of faith.

What in all the hells could take Elatharia's tormentor there? Although one look at his gruesome, scarred visage, cold eyes and colder voice, and it ought not to have been a surprise. Males were hated in the Underdark, subjugated at best – much as females were often above ground. But men like Irenicus; calculating, calm and overflowing with arcane power…they were tolerated. They were needed, in a world where all respectable females were expected to take up the divine call of Lolth. A shudder ran through Viconia at the memories; no one survived in the drow cities without divine might, martial skill and arcane knowledge. In Menzoberranzan House Oblodra had tried. And she had heard that they had been utterly destroyed, almost to a house member.

While Viconia mused on bad memories those who had chosen to wait for Elatharia were shifting uncomfortably, Haer'Dalis and Jaheira just behind the door at the top of the stairs that led back down into the hall. The rest – Aerie, Imoen, Mazzy, Jan and Anomen – had gone ahead to find the exit, the gnome's clicking anti-Illusion device leading the way. It was just as well – the avariel would not have been able to bear the screams that rang from that hall behind them. Yoshimo's end had evidently not been a pretty one – he had made their leader angry at a most inconvenient time. With that beast poorly restrained within her, she was undoubtedly more volatile than she had been before. Or…her rages would be punctuated with a far more effective means of retribution than previously. Not to mention the loss of her soul. Though Elatharia did not seem all that worse for wear for the loss of her soul, Viconia had heard that such awful punishments grew worse over time. The drow wondered how long Irenicus and Bodhi had been in need of souls to steal, and what kind of toll that had wrought upon them.

At last the screams died down and the door was flung open. Jaheira stepped through first, stony faced and maybe a little paler than before, attempting to hide the shaking of her hands behind clenched fists. Of those present in the corridor, she met only Valygar's eyes and nodded once.

"The traitor is dead," she promised. She shared some more words with the ranger, but whatever was said they were careful to keep it from the others.

Haer'Dalis followed in her wake, glancing back over his shoulder before stepping through the threshold. He was not _quite_ smiling, but there was no hint of disquiet in his dark eyes either. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused when Viconia pushed past him.

"My Blackbird?" he asked but she ignored him, stepping up to the balustrade at the top of the stairs to look down upon the carnage ahead. Korgan interrupted his inquiry while Viconia took in the sight below.

"Ye'd better gimme details, tiefling. The bastard had a hard death comin' to 'im."

"Ah…very well, my Hound. Anon…"

Viconia stopped listening. The scene of gore ahead was just as bad – and possibly worse – than what she had imagined. At the centre of the red mess stood Elatharia. She was breathing hard, a cantrip banishing the spray of blood and gore that had covered her. From the dust fluttering from her hands, it seemed that she had permitted the beast only the use of her arms, which were now thin and pale as always. The wounds ringing her wrists were bleeding again, and she clutched her side as she tiptoed over the pool of blood and gore with barely a second glance at her gruesome handiwork. There was a still blankness in her green eyes that spoke of hidden panic which she probably could not even recognise in herself.

"A little showy for you, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia noted as the Transmuter began to ascend the stairs below her.

"He can be an example," Elatharia told her coolly, glancing up at the drow as if only just seeing her now. "Has the exit been found yet?"

"Not yet," Viconia caught her arm before she could pass through into the pale, rounded corridor wherein waited Haer'Dalis, Jaheira, Valygar and Korgan. " _Khal'abbil_. I must speak with you – that city we saw…"

"It was an Underdark settlement," Elatharia nodded impatiently, "You know it?"

"Yes," and gods, her heart flipped nervously to think on it! "It is a drow city, small by our standards but the oldest as well. It is _Ust Natha_ , The First Alone, and I dwelt there for a time until a scant number of years ago."

"Do you have any idea what Irenicus and…and the others might want there?"

" _Khal'abbil_ , I suspect Edwin wants nothing there. His agency in this is limited," Viconia pointed out automatically, and the Transmuter tugged her arm from the drow's grip with a wince. "He is, no doubt, under some kind of duress…"

"That doesn't answer my question," Elatharia interrupted a little sharply – enough that the others in the corridor paused to look their way.

"No," Viconia agreed, fighting back a spark of irritation. "But important to consider all the same. We will speak more on the topic when the time comes. As for Ust Natha, I believe it is located quite close to a sacred and terrible place from our shared history," she gestured between herself and Jaheira, for Elatharia's discovery of her Bhaalspawn heritage had long ago negated any previous claims to be half-elven. She did not even have the pointed ears.

"We share no history, drow," Jaheira snapped automatically. Viconia laughed at that.

"You know that for a lie, Harper," she denied, "For the drow were once surface elves, like half of your kin, until they were cast down below the ground for Lolth's indiscretions under her older name of Araushnee. Ust Natha stands close to the surface world temple of The Field of Battle, _Lil Berrkig dil Xonathull_."

" _In Tempul_ _Maige in Chatha_ ," Jaheira gasped softly. Both Valygar and Elatharia looked at her in surprise. "It stands as a memory of the war between the drow and the sun elves long ago."

"You know it?" the Transmuter inquired, brows furrowing.

"Yes…" Jaheira nodded, though her expression showed just how much she disliked sharing this with the Transmuter, "It stands in the Wealdath, the great forest of Tethyr south of Amn, not far from where I was raised. It is guarded by the Knights of Suldanessellar…"

"We found the exit! Come quick!" Jan gasped as he abruptly hurtled around the corner up ahead, still waving his anti-Illusion device above his head, "Oh, to see the sea!"

"Then lead on, friend! This conversation calls for better surroundings than the cold stone of a prison cell!" Haer'Dalis joined in with the gnome's theatrical tone, grinning all the wider when Viconia huffed at his flippancy.

"Agreed," Valygar grunted as he shifted, hesitating only briefly before accepting Jaheira's offer for him to lean on her shoulder as they hobbled after Jan and Haer'Dalis. He paused in the doorway, blocking Viconia and Elatharia's path as he peered back into the hall of tubes and containers, to what remained of Yoshimo. "He was the one who tried to kill me in the dark," the ranger noted, "Just as he did Minsc," his eyes flickered to meet Elatharia's while Jaheira turned her face away sharply to hear the Rashemi's name, "Odd, but I do not think that he deserved such an end. Desperation will make madmen of the best of people."

Elatharia gave no response, forcing her way between him and the wall to hurry after the others and after a moment of grim-faced thought, the ranger and druid followed as quickly as they could. Whatever they might have said to each other was staved off by the drow priestess's presence, and Jaheira showed her irritation quite clearly in her expression.

Smirking to herself, Viconia waited a moment more, considering all that had passed and what might follow. She did not have the same longing to see the sun as the others, but the surface world had grown on her – and it would be good to be away from Spellhold, after all.

* * *

"I read your entry in my journal," Elatharia said as she reached Imoen's side, just the rush of the cold air and the crash of the waves for company.

It was dark but past midnight, Selûne and her Tears arcing brightly across the deep blue sky, reflected in silvery strokes across the black sea. The statues which had been visible along Spellhold's length upon arrival were not replicated on this barren, rocky western side of northern Brynnlaw and thus moonlight was the only source of illumination. The crashing of the waves below drowned out the bickering of the others arrayed in a weary, disparate group several metres back along the coast. Elatharia had thought at first that her sister must not have heard her speak, for Imoen's eyes remained fixed on the sea, her resting expression caught somewhere between wistful and sad.

"Good. You won't expect me to talk 'bout it, then," Imoen answered at last, ill-fitting cheerfulness forced into her voice. At least she had started to fall back into her old mode of relaxed speech, borrowed from the gruff guards back at Candlekeep and reinforced by her guardian, Winthrop. The lessons of the sages had given her the ability to fall into the formal, stilted speech of the old and steady but she had never kept to it. 'It added to her charm', Gorion had said fondly.

"I won't. I just…" Elatharia's words caught hard in her throat. It felt like a dam holding back a great flood which had been building for longer than she could remember. She fidgeted, and looked down at her feet, bare on the coarse grass, her boots clutched together in one hand. She rubbed at her face, scrunching her eyes shut, and a memory of Edwin flashed behind her eyes. _I will not_. What in the Hells had he meant? "Agh! I just…I just wanted to say that I…hope…I mean…that you're…you _will_ be…alright. That…I did it all for…we came here as fast as we could and…"

"Hey! I know!" Imoen promised, her voice just for a moment ringing with the buoyant cheerfulness of the past before it wavered. Elatharia shook her head, looking at her long lost sister through the distorting wash of tears. She felt a fool, but a sob wracked her before she could check it, her breath rattling in hard though she tried to smother it with her hand. Was it a comfort to know that she could still cry, even without a soul?

"I'm…I'm sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner," she gasped it as she flung her arms around her sister and Imoen stepped into the embrace only after a moment, her arms just as tight around Elatharia's waist.

The aasimar still wore Edwin's red cloak, too long and now stained in blood along the hem as it was, and as the Transmuter pressed her face to her sister's shoulder, soaking it with her tears, fisting its fabric in her hands, she could still smell him on it, that permanent concoction of Thayvian herbs, and it filled her with rage and pain in equal measure, enough to tear more sobs from her. How wretched for all of this to happen now! And worst of all: to weep on her sister, whom she should be protecting!

"I know," Imoen promised again, though her voice was high and quieter, and she disentangled herself from Elatharia as soon at the Transmuter weakened her hold a little. The aasimar gave a faint smile, tucking a little of her sister's hair back behind her ear before turning back to the moon, the light of which showed the tracks of tears on her own cheeks, glittering as her smile fell. "You want to ask me if I'm ok. Just…just gimme a little time." She said it kindly, but it still stung. Not for the concept, but because it reminded Elatharia of her own sudden lapse of control and of the dull ache in her chest.

Nodding, the Transmuter turned away once she had wiped her eyes, sniffling and disorientated by her own flood of emotions, now already fading enough to seem inconceivable. Imoen's voice stopped her before she could step back toward the dark, irregular mass of Spellhold.

"Hey. I'm…sorry about what happened before. It was…it was him – he done charmed me. He knew you'd pull the other way if I just tried to take you the other, an' he said…he'd…if I told you…" Imoen's voice faltered, and when Elatharia looked back at her the aasimar was wide-eyed and anxious in a way she had only seen once before, back when Imoen and Edwin freed Elatharia from the cages in the Cloakwood Mines south of Baldur's Gate. The Transmuter forced a smile that felt stiff.

"I know. I understand," she promised. Relief and fear bloomed in equal measure, one after another across her sister's face to hear those words. _Understand_. Perhaps that was not quite the right word. Irenicus had not treated them alike, not at all. "I mean…I believe you, Im."

Imoen's chin trembled to hear the nickname just as Elatharia's stomach dropped to say it. Afraid of what they might see in each other's eyes, they both turned away from each other – one back to the moon, the other back to the looming shape of Spellhold and its many interlocking towers beneath which waited the others, their depleted force. Everyone was weary and dazed at best, hurting and stunned at worst. No one had escaped without bloodstains and bruises, since their cleaning cantrips and healing spells had run dry.

Mazzy was sitting against a lone tree, her helmet and boots by her feet, her shield and sword by her elbow, stroking Aerie's mass of blonde hair as the avariel slumped against her, both watching Boo eating the last of his nuts on the grass between them. A little way off was the reason why they had not yet ventured back to the inn: Valygar was propped up against a vast support of one of the walkways, his tunic pulled up to reveal an expanse of dark, muscular torso marred by a number of poorly healed wounds while Jaheira tended to him with herbs and bandages. By the time she was finished, he would resemble the pictures Elatharia had been shown back in Candlekeep, drawings in old books of how the people of Mulhorand and Thay had once tended to their dead. The anger that brought, to think of Thay now, made her fists clench tightly.

Jan and Korgan had both lain themselves out to rest, several feet separating them, and the dwarf seemed content enough though neither were sleeping, both propped up against their heavy backpacks. A little further out Haer'Dalis and Viconia were huddled together on one of the rocks, hoods pulled up against the brutal wind and the spray of the sea. Elatharia suspected that neither could recall clearly when they had gone from taunting each other to actually wanting each other's company. The thought made her bite her lips, remembering her impulsive choice back at the inn just before her capture. Her stomach clenched at the memory, and she loathed herself for it. She fairly fizzed with frustration and – guiltily – disappointment. Edwin's absence felt like a gap in her consciousness, a hole of silence. Irritated by the very thought, she pushed it aside.

Time, Imoen had just said. Perhaps they all deserved a little time – at least enough to gather their thoughts and think of their next move. She swept her eyes back over the group, aching all over and hurting inside down to the frayed blank gap where her soul had once been. Then she noticed it – Anomen was not with them.

A few curious steps back towards the main group and Elatharia spotted the knight stomping back their way with the weathered but strong form of Saemon Havarian held in the vice-like grip of his armoured elbow. So much for peace.

Elatharia reached the stretch of flat grassy ground not far from Mazzy and Aerie just as Anomen did, keeping Saemon locked in the crook of his elbow. The captain was struggling little, though his current position was hardly conducive to easy walking. He winced, raising his head and opening his mouth to speak just as his enforced arrival under the power of a grim-faced Anomen had the others reacting fast.

Aerie sat up, scooping Boo with her and scrambling back to give Mazzy room enough to pick up her sword and shield, the halfling clambering swiftly to her feet just as Jan and Korgan dragged themselves with haste back to standing positions also. Jaheira paused and turned about with a cautious expression when Anomen raised his voice for all to hear.

"I found this scoundrel lurking just out of the moonlight. He fancied himself stealthier than he is," the knight gave the weathered captain a firm shake to emphasise his point, forcing Havarian to let out a strangled wheeze. "Will you explain now why it is that you were waiting so close at hand to accost us once we left Spellhold? I would warn you that we have had our fair share of treacherous snakes this day, so choose your words with care."

"Eh. The knightling's got a sting to 'im. Maybe ye should reconsider yer earlier speak, leader?" Korgan grunted in a faintly amused tone that suggested he had been impressed as Anomen flung Saemon Havarian to the ground between himself and Elatharia, the others forming up slowly around him. Only Valygar stayed back.

Saemon Havarian pulled himself up onto his knees swiftly enough after his sprawl in the coarse grass which sprouted so valiantly from the sand, rubbing at his neck and eyeing the distrustful party just as warily, his eyes eerily pale in the moonlight which rendered the whole world in shades of black-to-white. His cornered look turned to one of unavoidable curiosity as Imoen reached Elatharia's side. He blinked a few times, his mouth opening without words.

"Ye should be speakin', captain," Korgan emphasised his words with a rough prod of his axe shaft, "I should tell ye I've not had me fair share o' killin' of late."

"I…have come to offer you my aid," Havarian said at last, coughing past the wheeze Anomen had given him as he pulled himself to his feet, "And to offer you a gift of…good will. A mighty blade of old…"

"You were in league with Irenicus," Elatharia told him flatly, and he winced.

"Aye, after a fashion. Un…unwillingly, of course!" Havarian added when a ripple of aggression ran through the group, "He had me under a geas, just like your bounty hunter. I see he is not with you. Met an untimely end, did he?"

 _Blood. Murder. Murder and death._ Elatharia flexed her hands, which had not long ago been those of the beast within her, tearing the life from the traitor she had dared to trust. Though not as much as she had trusted Edwin.

"He died badly," the Transmuter told him coolly, ignoring Aerie's grimace, "And you will too for what you fed me, if you do not give me a very good reason to the contrary. I am sure your crew can man your ship just fine without you."

"No! No!" Saemon Havarian raised his hands, eyes wild as Korgan grinned, the dwarf taking half a step forward with his axe at the ready, "My crew will not work without me, and you will be more than lucky to find a ship to sail back to the mainland now. Not good pirate business at this time of year. I was geased to bring you here and to administer the poison, and beholden also to Bodhi who promised to murder my family if I did not lie to you! I had hoped you would make it out, so that I might offer my aid to assuage my guilty conscience! And, like I said, I have a great heirloom to offer you as a token…"

Elatharia waved Korgan back, and though he muttered unwillingly the dwarf did as he was bid.

"Very well," the Transmuter agreed, "Though I've half a mind to geas you myself. Tomorrow you will set us swiftly on course for Tethyr or else suffer Yoshimo's fate."

* * *

There were too many new faces, too many people, too many things to see. It had been a relief for Imoen to turn her back on Spellhold, to take in the darkness of the sea and the sky, to remind herself of the feel and smell of the open air. But…if any deeper sense of relief had been expected, it certainly did not come. This was not home, this windswept pirate isle, and nor would be Tethyr, which Imoen had heard the others whispering about together.

It should have felt good…but it did not feel good enough. From plain walls to a mass of sensation, from one painfully familiar figure who needed her…for something, at least, to her sister and Jaheira and a host of new faces. She wanted to be interested in them, to learn their names and their pasts…but the thought set her head reeling, too long without the open sky. Her body felt weak, too exposed even in layers of cloth out here away from four walls, with so many eyes watching her.

 _Obligation_. They had come to save her, gone through gods knew what to get here for her. Elatharia had lost her soul in the process! Minsc had been killed, and the bounty hunter too for his misdeeds. She could not help but feel that the crime was outweighed by the punishment, though Imoen had not stayed to watch. Once, maybe one day again, she would have argued his case. Today, it was too hard to keep her eyes up and her voice working. But in the aftermath she had watched her sister, felt the darkness rolling off her in her lingering wrath. Had Elatharia always been this way? Had killing always been her choice above her necessity?

At least the captain had been permitted his life. He was very lucky that they needed him, though why they were going to Tethyr was unknown to the young aasimar. Irenicus had gone with the others to some Underdark city, and there had been recognition in Viconia's eyes to see it. Imoen did not need to think too hard to connect the two things.

They made their way beneath the walkways of Spellhold and over a wave-lashed bridge, through the dark dunes and over a rise until they reached the town of Brynnlaw. It was quiet so late in the night, three hours into the day, with just the sandy wind and the salty taste of the sea for company, setting lanterns to swinging and Edwin's cloak flapping about her shoulders, her hair whipping into her eyes.

"Your hair has grown long," Jaheira noted, dropping back from the main group to Imoen's side. The dwarf and the knight were keeping a close eye on the captain, though most of their names escaped the aasimar.

"I…" Imoen ran her fingers through the pink strands automatically, keeping her eyes wide and on the street. "It has, hasn't it?" Her stomach lurched, and she longed for a knife to hack it off. "I ought to be fixin' that." She glanced to one of the knives on Jaheira's belt, not really wanting to meet the druid's eyes for fear that this person who had been a mother figure to her in the year passed would see the things she had done in her eyes.

"I would be happy to cut it for you," Jaheira offered, her voice still so stilted, straight-backed, dressed in those travelling leathers just like always, "That is…only if you would wish it." Her grey eyes slid across to Imoen's face, and the aasimar only glanced back long enough to acknowledge the anxious look on the druid's face. The attempt to speak normally was a kindness, but she had only the room to acknowledge it.

"The innkeeper'll have a pair of scissors," she said, goosebumps rippling over her skin at the thought of someone coming that close to her. _Oh, silly girl. You have no idea, do you?_ "I reckon that's all I'll need."

"Of course," Jaheira nodded stiffly, narrowing her eyes to watch the others moving ahead of them illuminated by the lanterns which had been lit at irregular intervals down the street, "I will ask for some when we get back to the inn."

Someone shouted, an unfamiliar voice off in the distance, and Imoen flinched sharply, the druid's calloused hands coming up to her shoulders to steady her. Skin crawling, the aasimar pulled herself away automatically, twisting about to look behind them as if that were all she had intended. Elatharia was lagging behind, limping almost as much as Valygar now – though the ranger had found a stick to balance himself, the Transmuter was leaning heavily against Viconia, wincing at every step. Her eyes were hard though, watching the captive captain's back distrustfully.

In spite of the sounds of distant drunken revelry and Elatharia's apparent expectation of trouble, the group reached the inn without incident. The tavern hall was dark and still until the group trudged inside, the noise they created bringing the innkeeper stumbling forth from his rooms somewhere behind the counter. He was carrying a bastard sword in one hand and a candle in the other but dressed in breeches only, revealing a broad and hairy chest.

"What in the Hells are you folk doing marching about at this hour? Keep the noise down, will you? Folk're meant to be sleeping upstairs."

"Ah, no need to complain!" Havarian put in, "My men are the only customers you've got tonight, and the lot of them are passed out drunk by now, I'd wager." He paused to glance around at the others, smiling broadly as if to reassure them. It earned him another shove in the back from the blunt end of Korgan's long two-handed axe, though the captain only winced a little at the prod. When he turned back to the bleary eyed innkeeper across the room, he produced a coin purse from his belt and shook it in front of himself promisingly, "And for a little extra coin, I'd wager you would be willing to have your maids draw a bath of two for those who need one, aye?"

The innkeeper glared and muttered something hateful under his breath until the captain approached and pressed a pile of coins into his palm, Anomen keeping wary-eyed pace with him across the room. After that the innkeeper, a half-orc from the look of him, gave a narrow eyed nod and turned to leave, shouting for his maids in a particularly aggressive tone.

"W-we're sorry, sir!" Aerie called, her voice high and nervous as she took a half-step his way, though he did not so much as pause to acknowledge her apology.

"Heh. Snivellin' useless elf, don't ye waste yer feeble breath," Korgan snarled, casting a dark look around at the others still filing through the door, "I'm fer bed and nothin' more fussy." With that he stomped across the room for the stairs, exchanging some warning words with an angered Anomen, who sent a concerned glance Aerie's way as the dwarf left.

* * *

"The sooner he is gone from us the better, Aerie," Jaheira muttered, stepping up to squeeze the avariel's frail shoulder after Korgan's unexpectedly ill-tempered words.

Aerie turned about to meet the druid's eyes with a look of thanks, though the sting of such unnecessary rudeness still lingered. It had been a long day, but the avariel doubted such companions as Korgan would be lost to them so easily. There was much yet to do, and it was beginning to look like little rest would be available to them before action must be taken once more.

The rest of the party began to disperse shortly after Korgan, some heading off to bed and others going to wait or change before accepting some kind of wash and settling down to whatever limited amount of sleep they would have here before taking to the sea. Eventually, with the curses and hurried footsteps of the maids audible in the back rooms, only Imoen, Aerie and Elatharia remained in the tavern hall, the Transmuter pausing to light the fire with a cantrip and bring them a little natural light. Jaheira had gone after the innkeeper, possibly to ask for scissors for Imoen, and Havarian had been led away by Anomen. It seemed that the party would be keeping him under arrest until they set sail the next day.

The fire cast long shadows up the walls, where they danced as black tendrils and did nothing to comfort Aerie's frayed nerves. She had already cast her last cleaning cantrip upon herself and would have loved nothing more than to sleep – to forget for just a little while all that had passed. But her heart was pounding and her head spinning, flickering from memory to memory of this long night which they had spent in Spellhold. The room was stale and eerily empty but for the two sisters, the dancing shadows playing tricks on her weary eyes.

Imoen was so thin and weak that it seemed ill advised to leave her alone, but her silver-blue eyes were large and haunting, determined to fix anywhere but upon the faces of those others in the room. She had eased herself into a chair by the window though the world outside was too dark to see through the glass, and had wrapped herself in the cloak which Edwin had lent her, dirty though it was. Still she was shivering, just faintly, hands fidgeting endlessly, her bare feet bruised, muddy and bloody. Aerie had never wanted to help anyone more, or been at more of a loss as to how to do it. So the avariel just sat in a chair by the next table along, trying to suggest company but keep out of the way at the same time.

Elatharia was visibly just as on edge as the avariel felt, though it was hard to think of much else about her other than the hard death she had promised Yoshimo. Aerie had stayed well away, busying herself with finding a way out of the dreadful dungeon rather than stay and see – or hear. It was clear that the Transmuter was not herself; twitchier, more distant even than usual. It was a reminder of the monster she had become earlier, a beast she had called upon twice since and which could emerge at any moment. By all accounts, Imoen had endured the same.

"The…the monster you became earlier. D-do you think…." Aerie stopped her question short when Elatharia turned about to face her, eyes wild.

"Do I think I might lose control again?" the Transmuter fairly demanded, "I don't know. I…I don't think so. But I don't know. Shouldn't you be in bed, anyway? We won't have much sleep as it is."

"I'm n-not sure I'd sleep anyway," Aerie admitted, and Elatharia acceded the point with an inclination of her head, still not seeking to sit, "And…for what it's worth…I'm sorry about Edwin. I d-don't think he left out of choice."

"You can't know that." The Transmuter turned back to her pacing, glancing up jumpily when the ceiling creaked.

"Well, he gave Imoen his cloak," Aerie pointed out, "And he was v-very upset when you were taken. He t-tried to hide it, but I saw it in his eyes. J-Jaheira wanted to…"

"Perhaps she should have," Elatharia snarled, though her words caught and she stopped again, keeping her eyes on the fire and her back to Aerie, running her hands through her newly altered hair with a feverish urgency.

"No! You…you don't mean that. He g-gave Imoen your things, he gave her his cloak, he cared…cared that you were taken. He wouldn't have d-done any of those things if he…if he thought he was going to betray you!"

"She's right, Elatharia," Imoen put in, her voice half a whisper in the dark corner, "He didn't want to go. They…they took him. They're holdin' him with blackmail. The whole time he was with me, he was expectin' to meet back up with you. He kept on asking 'bout you."

Elatharia laughed, a sharp sound, and whatever denial or insult she had been about to say she held back when she remembered who had spoken. She paused, before turning back and approaching her sister's table in a few hesitant strides. Aerie shifted uncomfortably, watching Imoen and wondering if this was a private moment she ought not to be witnessing.

"I…I understand that you want some space. I understand more than you know," the Transmuter promised, though the aasimar's eyes did not seem convinced when they met hers, "I just want to say that I'm glad you're back. It will take time, but…"

"Right you are," Imoen said it automatically, with no feeling, and turned her face back to the window.

Elatharia's fists clenched, her back straightening. Her next words were, given her body language, surprisingly considerate.

"Did you want to have a room to yourself? You can take mine, if you want," she fished around in a pocket of the Robe of Vecna when Imoen looked back to her with an expression that hinted at hope, pulling out a key and sliding it onto the table between them, "Here. It's number seventeen," she delved into her bag of holding now while she continued to speak, her voice unsteady in a way Aerie had never heard it, "Here. I know how much you hate dresses. T-take these." She pulled out a bundle of clothes, leggings and a tunic from the look of them, and left them by the key, pushing her way back outside into the dark street without looking Aerie's way once. The bell by the door jangled as the door slammed shut.

"She really loves you," the avariel offered into the silence while Imoen pulled the offerings into her arms slowly. The faintest, briefest smile passed across the girl's face.

"Yeah, weird huh?" And somehow the avariel understood that Imoen had been thinking of the strangeness of her sister loving anyone rather than anything about herself. Aerie smiled tremulously at the insight, the reminder that this girl knew the Transmuter better than anyone, but the stirring of Boo in her hands soon pulled that smile from her face.

Jaheira's return broke the awkward silence, the druid coming up to Imoen's side and recommending that she go to one of the baths first. It seemed there were two available rooms, each with a tub, and that only Valygar would also need to clean up before bed.

"I will wait outside in case you need anything," the druid added as Imoen passed her, shoulders hunched. The girl paused, face blank, before she seemed to realise that she no longer knew how to respond.

Jaheira watched her go, frowning.

"She was not like this before," the druid told Aerie once Imoen had left the room, "She was once very loud. Too loud, I used to think. So happy, all of the time. I used to find it annoying. Now I find her coldness…frightening. If only I knew how to make her feel better!"

"It will get easier," Aerie offered, and her certainty had Jaheira looking around at her in surprise, "For both of you. I…wouldn't have got through w-what happened to me without Uncle Quayle back at the theatre. B-but before I did get through it…I had such a terrible st-stammer that I c-could barely get through a sentence." The avariel stood, forcing herself to smile, and patted at the druid's tense arm with her one free hand, "She'll find herself again, even though…though she might not be exactly the same. We have to. I did – and she's much stronger than…than I ever was. I know it."

The words, and the memories of pain and fear, of lying curled in a dirty cramped cage, still brought with them a feeling of squeezing panic but Aerie knew that these words were for a good cause. Jaheira's tired eyes were full of something like guilt when she nodded firmly, squaring her shoulders. It brought forth a surge of affection in Aerie.

"And I'll tell Valygar his bath's ready. You…you look tired. I'll c-come and relieve you in a little while if…if Imoen's not ready for bed."

Jaheira blinked, and then clasped the avariel's shoulder.

"Thank you, Aerie," she promised, and the gratitude was more than enough reward.

* * *

Upstairs, Korgan's snoring was already rumbling through the hall. The dwarf had taken the middle room just as before and Jan would be sharing it with him when his watch with Saemon Havarian had ended. Anomen and Mazzy were the two other guards allocated to take up the position through the rest of the night – and the captain's place of holding was the room which Jan had originally been sharing with Yoshimo. It all felt too morbid, too callous and _too soon_ to Aerie, but she acknowledged that they had little choice.

A glance into the room where Elatharia had originally intended to sleep proved that only one bed showed signs of having been so much as sat upon; its blanket was rumpled and half pulled off. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis was just passing her in the corridor, the tiefling heading back down the stairs as Viconia shut the door to the room they had chosen. The idea that he willingly slept with the drow made Aerie more than uneasy, but she just offered him an uncomfortable smile.

Mazzy was already bundled up under the sheets of the double bed in the room she, Aerie and Jaheira had chosen and the avariel was careful to close the door quietly once more before turning to the door of the chamber Anomen and Valygar had taken, knocking slightly less firmly than she had intended. A moment passed, and then the portal swung open, the handsome knight standing there before her in a revealing unlaced shirt tucked into plain breeches. He looked tired, his bronze hair dishevelled and stubble growing on his chin around the beard he normally kept so neat. But he seemed happy to see her, his eyes softening when she blushed. His torso was thickly muscular – which ought not to have surprised her given the weighty armour he carried about with him.

"My lady?" he asked softly of her, and she remembered her words, Boo coming up to the vantage point of her shoulder.

"I…Jaheira would l-like to tell Valygar that the bath is ready…"

The ranger came into view as Anomen stepped aside, the man of the Umar Hills heavily bandaged and clearly sore as he hauled himself to his feet with a groan, dragging a thin shirt with him as if it weighed twice as much as the knight's plate mail.

"I wish it weren't necessary at this hour," the ranger grunted as he passed her in the doorway, "But infection is worse than lost sleep."

He declined offers to help him get down the stairs and had soon hobbled out of sight. Only once Aerie had heard him descend safely did she turn back to Anomen with a sigh. He opened his arms to her and she stepped into them, hesitating before bringing her hands up to return the embrace. She could feel the curves and ripple of muscles across his chest beneath her fingertips and her cheek, his heartbeat steady and less comforting than she had hoped.

"You may enter if you wish, my lady," he offered as he let go of her, looking down at her kindly and taking her hand to draw her in with him when she nodded.

They sat on the edge of his bed in the cramped room, Aerie wishing she could fight off the urge to cry once and for all. Anomen watched his hands now, where they rested on his knees, as if not sure how to proceed. Perhaps he knew she needed comfort, but had no idea how to give it. Smiling sadly at his nervousness, Aerie reached over and curled her fingers around his, marvelling at how much bigger his hand was than hers.

"I wish Elatharia hadn't said those things to you earlier. You were b-both angry and we were all upset. I'm sure she…she didn't mean..."

"She did, and I agree with her," Anomen interrupted softly, bringing his other hand up to brush hair back behind Aerie's ear, his fingertips tickling her cheek. She shivered at the touch even as she looked up at his eyes in shock.

"You intend to…to leave?"

"I must, on principle and because I cannot follow a leader who does not believe in me. It does not make my affection for you any less sincere…"

"But…what about Jaheira and Imoen? You c-can't leave them…"

"I hope I will not have to, my…" he paused, expression flickering, "I hope not to, Aerie. With any luck, Jaheira and Imoen will not want to linger with a force as nefarious as Elatharia, either. We all ought to leave her once we get to Tethyr."

"And what about Irenicus? Jaheira will want to find him, to make him answer for his crimes! He stole Imoen and Elatharia's souls – no one should have to suffer like that, no matter how bad…"

"I have no choice," Anomen told her, "Not as I see things now. But we have time to think of it, for the sea yet waits between here and there."

There was not so much comfort in his words as he had clearly hoped, but Aerie nodded all the same. She closed her eyes when he kissed her temple, tilting back her head until their lips met. The kiss was gentle and lingering rather than slow, a gesture of comfort that only hinted at passion. In truth, she was too sick at heart for anything else.

* * *

Under the warm, clear water the sounds of life were all dimmed to almost nothing, just the rushing of the liquid around her and her own pulse in her head, the throbbing of life that reminded her that time was passing and she yet lived. She was alone, and scrubbed fairly raw with different soap. She was free. But all she saw behind her eyes was gold-limned darkness. And all she heard was the cold ring of his voice, remembered the touch of his hands and brush of his breath. But she was alone, and not alone; free and not free at all. They had robbed her soul, and left her shivering in the darkness with reminders of a past long lost and with obligation.

Imoen held her breath until her lungs burned, until the soap drifting in the water threatened to break through the seal of her tightly shut eyes. She emerged into the air with a reflexive gasp, in a spray of droplets and a rush of water that slopped with a splatter over the side of the wooden tub. Vaguely she was aware of Jaheira asking her if she was alright through the door. She responded automatically, because a lack of response was worse than some answer. He had taught her that.

She had scrubbed her feet of the blood and muck into the bucket, dreading the idea of red staining the water. It reminder her…but she pushed that aside before it drowned her, hating the way that memory of how she had felt made her more uncomfortable than the memory itself. Instead she ran her fingers through her long pink hair, kneeling up in the bath to see herself in the uneven mirror across the room before sitting back with an ungainly slosh. The twisted image had been nightmarish, distorted by the poor quality of the glass. Huge black pits for eyes, sunken cheeks, spindly extended limbs. She would make do without her reflection, heart pounding as fast as that of a child waking from a nightmare.

Reaching for the scissors – a long pair of sharp metal blades which might have better gone by the name of shears – Imoen paused with a clump of hair in her fist. The blades were sharp. Easily sharp enough… _Do you see?_ His voice chilled her and reminded her of the present. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she set to hacking at her hair, pink strands falling away in a mass and drifting in the water, fluttering all about her until her she could feel her hair reached no further than the lowest point of her chin.

"Right as rain," she muttered uselessly before submerging herself once more to wash off the loose hair.

After that she clambered unwillingly from the bath, drying herself with the coarse towel provided before dressing in the tunic and leggings her sister had left for her. They were better than that green Traveller's Robe, which only reminded her more of her obligations. To fight and win. To survive. To linger.

Slinging the green robe and Edwin's red cloak over her arm, mind blank once more, Imoen passed across the little plain box of a room and pulled open the door. Jaheira sat up in surprise from where she had been slumped on the floor by the entrance, concern clouding her face automatically. The druid offered a tight-lipped half-smile, and Imoen looked away quickly, turning in the direction of the tavern hall and hoping that a little solitude would help still the sickness in her stomach.


	41. Between Betrayal and the Deep Blue Sea

**A huge thank you to all those who have favourited, followed and/or reviewed this story, and to all those who are reading it.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 40: Between Betrayal and the Deep Blue Sea**

* * *

"Even with our enemies flown from here, is it so wise to sit in the dark all alone?"

Haer'Dalis's deep voice took Elatharia entirely by surprise but he spoke softly, his words pitched with just a hint of mischief, and she did not jump at the unexpected words. Just as well; with the monster that lurked beneath her skin coiled tense that might have been a fatal mistake. For both of them.

"I have my mask," the Transmuter reminded him, turning just enough from where she sat hunched outside the inn to watch him over her shoulder. The augmentation of _Darkvision_ vied momentarily with the soft firelight flickering through the open door before he closed it behind him soundlessly. When he turned back to her, he grinned conspiratorially and descended the porch stairs to join her on the bottom step.

"Fear not, great Raven, I shall not spoil your hiding place," the bard promised, placing a hand over his heart for effect and pausing that way when Elatharia sighed and looked away, eyes searching the dark streets of Brynnlaw, hands fisted in the deceptively thin fabric of Gorion's grey cloak. Haer'Dalis nudged her shoulder lightly with his own and this time she did jump.

"Don't do that," she snapped, sliding along the step until the bannister dug into her side, keeping her eyes on the lanterns swinging in the salty breeze by the nearest crossroads. She rubbed at her arms, to quell the crawling on her skin. "It's not safe."

"Ah, the creature within," Haer'Dalis did not sound afraid, and Elatharia's frown deepened. Rage, doubt, confusion – none of this was lost to her. Was this how Irenicus had felt before he stole her soul? And for how long? Meanwhile the tiefling continued, tone still the wrong side of serious. "Have you any idea what that might be? If it is connected to Bhaal…you must surely have some idea?"

"A response to Irenicus's theft of my soul," Elatharia reminded him, a little sharper than she had intended, "I'm sure I mentioned that before."

"You did, my Raven," Haer'Dalis nodded patiently, "But this humble Sparrow suspects you of more knowledge than that. What kind of book-learned wizard would you be without knowledge of your own father?"

That jolted Elatharia, and she finally met the tiefling's black eyes, which were watching her with such curiosity. Her mask's _Darkvision_ painted him in greys and blacks; it was not altogether that different from the reality. She could still make out the twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he held her gaze, leaning his elbows back against the step behind him, booted feet scuffing the sandy road ahead. Was he really that relaxed? Or was it all show?

"You suspect _something_ ," Elatharia agreed at last, and his eyebrow quirked.

"I do not suspect in a _suspicious_ sense, my Raven. Only curiosity at the wondrous chaos that you brought to our small group."

His flippant tone was more than a little jarring – it had not felt wondrous behind that haze of red. At least…not to the thinking part of her. The violence and the death – that had been altogether glorious to the taint of Bhaal whose golden flood had so long threatened to overtake her. When Haer'Dalis waved a hand to prompt her, Elatharia sighed and looked away, nodding just faintly. He seemed serious, and it might help to discuss her ideas with another since Edwin was not there to force it from her.

"I have read something of the Ravager," the Transmuter admitted, "A beast which was one of the aspects of Bhaal. I think…from the descriptions…that's what I became, and I assume the same for Imoen from what she told me. But the Ravager is said to be unstoppable, a monster eight feet tall with the strength of a giant and serrated skin sharp as keen mithral and stronger than diamond. I wouldn't describe what I became quite like that." She paused, glancing at the bard sidelong. "Would you?"

"No indeed, my Raven. But then, you are not Bhaal – only a scion of his. The taint in you is not weak, nor is it complete."

"Yes, that's what I thought," Elatharia sighed again, rubbing at stinging eyes and glancing at the sky. It was still dark, but morning would come in just a few short hours. But after all that had passed…what was sleep, really? "And it makes me think…if I do not have full control over the Ravager, then Bhaal is working through me. Or the urges of the power are almost too great to control reliably."

"You did control it – twice if I recall."

"Yes, but what happens if I turn into it again? What about Imoen? It's different to call up some of the power and another thing to control the whole beast." Elatharia felt wrung out at the thought.

"Then give in to it wisely, if at all. I have a feeling you may need an open mind to win the battles which surely lie ahead of us if we are to reach Irenicus and regain your soul. Or…the part of it that he stole."

Those words had Elatharia narrowing her eyes at him, caught somewhere between curiosity and irritation. The tiefling had a way of tickling the truth from her, and giving his insights only insofar as she could deduce them from riddles.

"Yes," she agreed slowly, "You sound like you know something."

"Not much," the tiefling shrugged, though a smirk flitted across his face, "Probably no more than you. Though the Red Wizard would have been the most useful in this field. I would imagine the theft and bargaining of souls would be an important part of any Conjurer's lessons."

"If it has a field, it would be caught somewhere between Necromancy, Conjuration and Transmutation," Elatharia told him, ignoring the icy twist in her chest at his words. "A wizard would need to be competent in all three to achieve the spell which Irenicus forced upon Imoen and me."

"More than competent, surely my Raven?" Haer'Dalis snorted, and she ignored him.

"…but you're right in what you say. He cannot have taken our entire souls. The body must have a soul to function. What I want to know is what happens next – I do still _feel_. It's…vaguer. Colder. But it's there."

"Indeed," Haer'Dalis grinned when she frowned at him for his ready agreement. Under her scrutiny he held out his hands in submission. "Forgive me, my Raven. I did see your tearful reunion with your sister upon the shores of the surface world, and I did see the look in your eyes when Edwin was taken from us."

"He wasn't taken. He went willingly." She snapped it, and Haer'Dalis tutted.

"I would say that your emotions still whirl more strongly than the Ptarmigan's, and her soul yet lingers. And my Raven, you are being obstinate and wilful to say such things. Only a biased party would label Edwin a true traitor. Your sister was quite adamant that he did not seem to have a choice. Would you rather he laid down his life? I would wager such an attitude _would_ lead our self-serving Sparrowhawk to true treachery."

"You're just spinning me in circles, Haer'Dalis," Elatharia complained, rolling her eyes before shivering violently as the wind stirred. The involuntary movement jarred her more than it ought to have, and a pain shot through her poorly healed side. She cursed, and for a moment the red wrath of the monster curled at the corners of her vision. The world blurred, and when it cleared again she was kneeling in the sandy road, hands braced before her and every limb aching dully as if in the echo of greater pain.

A cool stillness settled upon her, along with the crawling knowledge that something _bad_ could have happened. The beast had stirred, and…where was…

"My Raven?" Haer'Dalis's voice sounded a great deal more cautious now. The Transmuter turned her head to the side, and saw him stalking from the side of the porch; he must have leapt there to avoid whatever rage stole her senses. He was frowning darkly now, and his hands were on his sword hilts.

"I…" her words caught in her throat, escaping as little more than a rasp as she hauled herself into a kneeling position, watching him prowl those few paces away. "I think it's alright."

He nodded, but stepped back as she stood, easing his hands only slowly from his sword hilts and training his eyes on her closely as she approached on unsteady feet.

"What…happened?"

"Little more than a convulsion, my Raven. Some thrashing, a little snarling. Your eyes swelled with the light of twin suns," Haer'Dalis still sounded serious, but he caught her elbow when she staggered into arm's reach. "Perhaps you were right to warn me not to prod you."

"I'm not sure if it was your prodding," she offered. "But I wouldn't like to discount a potential variably without better evidence."

"A true wizard," he smiled, just faintly, and her cheeks ached with the need to answer that look. But her face felt stiff, and she just looked up at him wearily. His expression softened, and he squeezed her elbow lightly where he yet clasped it. "I would offer you comfort, but I fear the beast," he admitted. "For you may not feel it clearly, as I have heard these soul-theft phenomena can wreak havoc with one's perception, but I see the pain in your eyes, my Raven. It has been a long day and a longer night for you. Perhaps sleep is in order, instead?"

"You do know more about this than you are letting on," she noted softly, though the mention of sleep made her shoulders slump. Her side was throbbing, the wound no doubt aggravated by her almost-transformation. "And…comfort? I hope…"

"Of the innocent kind, fear not," Haer'Dalis almost sounded exasperated, though the look in his eyes proved it was for effect, "This Sparrow has been and may yet be once more a rake, but this Sparrow does also know when a bird already has its mate."

Elatharia pulled her arm from his and stepped back, glaring up at him. It would be too easy to fall into that trap.

"You're awfully confident for someone who just claimed to fear the Ravager."

"I am curious also and not deluded into believing that I am immortal – as far as I know," he corrected. "And bravo, my Raven, on your attempt to change the subject. You ought to know that neither I nor our Blackbird were fooled by Edwin's lies. He kissed you, or you him, and that is how he lost his spells for a short time. A true tragedy…"

Though her stomach flipped and her cheeks warmed, Elatharia pushed past him on the stairs, too weary to deny it or to discuss it. His laughter grated, and she contemplated calling up the Ravager for real just to shut him up – but then she thought of Viconia and paused as her hand reached the door handle.

"You know, your own misdirections are far cleverer, Haer'Dalis. You say your intentions with me are innocent because I've already found a 'mate'," and gods damn her if her voice cracked at the thought, "But really it's because you've found yours, and you're too afraid to admit _that_."

His silence was telling, but Elatharia found victory to be bittersweet with her feelings so numbed. Still, she stepped through the door into the quiet, fire-lit tavern hall without a pause and left the tiefling out there to contemplate her words.

* * *

Never in his life had Edwin imagined that he would stand before a drow matron mother in her own gaudy reception hall. Of course, unlike the palaces of the surface world, it did not shimmer with gold and silver, nor did it display a kaleidoscope of colour – or at least not in the conventional sense. In infravision it glowed with shades from white to red to blue; to Edwin's human eyes the place was visible thanks to the flickering of faerie fire dancing across the serrated metal supports of the arched glass ceiling. The floor was polished obsidian, shot through with shifting sparks of colour, the ridged pillars at the sides of the hall flanked by rigid guards, all of them strictly expressionless males dressed in heavily enchanted and oddly flexible black plate mail, a sword at each hip. Their eyes shone vibrant red in the carefully dim – and probably accidental – light, their white hair a sharp contrast to their dark clothes and ebon skin.

The place was eerily quiet, and it stank of incense – or something much like it. That at least reminded Edwin of home. The rest of this dizzying city was utterly alien. Its faerie fire-limned towers of crystal and stone stood across the entire cavern, a space so vast that one might have doubted it had a stone ceiling at all but for the endless dark. Worryingly thin walkways of metal and rock interwove in inexplicable complexity and multiple layers from the cavern floor, so many palatial buildings hanging in their supports that Edwin thought of ancient Netheril. Upon the cavern floor sprawled the poorer houseless drow dwellings, little more than piles of stones and tents. The matron's house stood upon the very highest walkway at the centre of the web of buildings, overlooking everything.

Now here stood Edwin, a pace behind the waiting forms of Bodhi and Irenicus, watching the quiet hall as closely as he had ever watched anything. Not only was this whole city a fascinating show of wealth and power, it was also a place of strange and pragmatic menace. Every shadow in the light or in infravision was a dangerous mystery, every silence just as filled with deadly possibilities. Everyone was armed with wicked weaponry from the daggers of poor merchants on the cavern floor to the snake-headed flails borne by the priestesses Edwin had espied as he followed his wretched keepers to this palace at the heart of the city. They had met few females yet – and no one had addressed the Red Wizard with more than a lingering, curious stare.

The three surfacers had been led here by a scarred, twitchy manservant of the House; they had apparently been expected after their magically aided arrival upon the city borders. Bodhi had only glanced over her shoulder with a victorious smirk, feeling no need to insist Edwin follow – knowing full well that he would. In this place, where was he meant to go? If he did somehow reach the surface, would not his Thayvian foes be soon on his tail? Better to wait and watch, though the indignities here were many and endless. And, with time, there would have to be answers. Why did the siblings want him if not for some kind of aid? He was no child of Bhaal to prod and test. A small mercy.

They waited for the matron mother of this city's leading faction, House Despana. The guards were here, her prowling manservant pacing behind the throne, but the matron had not yet deigned to arrive. A platter of peculiar foodstuffs awaited her, along with a strong-smelling spiced tea of some sort. Had Elatharia been here, she might have been able to tell him the components – though she had surely failed to recognise the poison administered in Havarian's concoction. Edwin's chest tightened angrily to think of it – for had she only been a little more knowledgeable, none of this need have happened! Though perhaps it was for the better, truly. The folly of the night had proven just how much of a distraction she had become – and there was no time for distractions when one was caught in a web like this one.

"Your mistress would do well to come soon, lackey," Irenicus intoned into the silence, his arms folded and foot tapping. The manservant stopped pacing immediately, whirling about upon silent and gracefully poised limbs to face the matron's guests. In truth he was a heavily armoured guard of sorts – he certainly had some warrior instincts, clearly recognising the power of the scarred wizard before him. His crimson eyes were wary as he paused, dark hands resting upon silver sword hilts.

"She will arrive presently, surfacer," the drow male spat at last. The accent was so harsh as to make it difficult to determine his intention in the Common Surface Tongue. Edwin would have guessed at scorn when first he heard the warrior speak. Now, he suspected it more like irritation.

"As promised, we do have much to offer, drow," Bodhi purred, taking half a step towards him. He flinched and backed up a little – Edwin did not need to see the vampire's face to know that she was grinning widely with no genuine mirth. "Perhaps you ought to remind your matron that we bring information and aid which will be invaluable to her. If she scorns us, we will take it to someone who better…appreciates us."

A loud clatter and the groaning of some unseen door brought the altercation to an abrupt end, the warrior-manservant standing straight immediately as the curtains behind the throne parted to reveal the matron herself, a wiry but muscular female swathed in shimmering blue mail, long white hair braided with black jewels. Her features were a little coarser than Edwin would have expected from any elf, her cheekbones high and broad.

The smile the matron mother levelled Bodhi's way was just as brittle as the vampire's had surely been, though it appeared to reach her strikingly pale blue eyes. Clicking her fingers to the guards wrestling with a struggling hooded figure behind her, she slinked to her throne – and as she settled, propping her chin in her hand, the six-headed snake whip on her belt hissed in chorus and unfurled in several slow undulations. Edwin's stomach dropped at the sight – snakes were not a favourite of his, not after that poison and venom preparation lesson back in Thaymount ten years before.

Irenicus had grown still as the matron entered, though it looked as though he were watching the prisoner rather than the matron. He did not flinch as the hooded figure was dropped to sprawl at his feet though Bodhi stepped back with a hiss, bringing with her an unnatural chill in the air as Edwin dodged uncomfortably aside for her. Her pale eyes flashed over him, and there was warning in them now.

"Matron Mother Ardulace," Irenicus intoned in the most cordial voice Edwin had heard him use, ducking his scarred head in some semblance of subservience. The matron's blue eyes drifted over the Red Wizard behind him but she seemed to find him of too little consequence, or perhaps irrelevance. Another indignity.

"As you might have guessed, I have brought you a token of my good will," Ardulace began at last, gesturing to the figure panting and groaning on the floor, the dim light showing to Edwin that the cloak veiling this captive was heavily stained and crusted with blood. "A sign of beginning. With your promises we have made the first move and driven back the small force of the Knights from the Temple. We ensured that they sent out their messengers, and we took a few captives for…sport."

"Very wise, Matron," Irenicus agreed, the reasonable tone in his cold, resonant voice grating at best to Edwin's ears. Something about the scarred wizard set him on edge, twisting at something icy in his stomach at every glance. "They will return shortly with their reinforcements, and you can have your fun – with our aid."

The figure on the floor was still now, breathing more evenly though their shoulders had grown rigid, hooded head turned a little Irenicus's way the longer he spoke. When Bodhi stepped up again and nudged the captive with her boot – a deceptively languid gesture – it sent the figure twisting to the side, the hood falling back to reveal the fine features and golden complexion of a sun elf, eyes wide and wild in a bruised face. Golden hair spilled out, partially matted with blood. It looked as though the drow had cut the pointed tips from the male elf's ears. How typically barbaric. Edwin fought not to roll his eyes.

Meanwhile, the matron was smirking as she watched the siblings with mocking interest. The captive's eyes had fixed upon Irenicus's scarred visage, pained fear turning to hateful horror in a second, and he scrambled back as far as the javelin-wielding guards would permit him – from their hulking size they could not have been drow though their thick helmets did not permit the verification of such a theory.

"He is our gift to you, surfacers," the matron promised, her lip curling as she watched the male elf's blonde fall of hair, "You may do with him as you w-"

"Joneleth! Wh-what are you doing in this place? Was it not enough to betray…"

A shuddering breath escaped Irenicus, his back straightening and arms flashing out as magical energy gathered in his palms. Bodhi and the captive's keepers were the first to leap back, though the warrior who had served as steward cringed as well and barked something in the harsh language of the drow to the bristling guards around the room. Recognising the spell a moment later, Edwin tripped backward as well, the burst of bright light forcing him to shield his eyes.

The matron's light laughter and Bodhi's startled cackling had him dropping his arm back to his side just as quickly. Ardulace was still reclined comfortably in her throne, those snake-heads still writhing, but the elf who had been cowering at her feet was now just a shuddering husk, gradually disintegrating into fine white dust. Irenicus was shaking just faintly too, and when he looked over his shoulder at Bodhi the cold rage in his eyes was awful to behold. Just like the others, he hardly acknowledged Edwin's presence at all – just a disinterested sweep of his eyes.

"What was that, Irenicus?" the matron laughed, "Did you not like his tone?"

"No, matron," the cold wizard agreed, "He was…disrespectful to those with whom I would align myself."

"A clever answer, surfacer," the matron grinned, standing slowly now and gesturing to Bodhi and Edwin a step or two behind Irenicus, "It is always wise to recognise the superiority of the drow." There was no irony in her words, and the mockery made Edwin's fists clench. If only a fireball spell would do for the lot of them!

"Indeed, Matron Ardulace," Irenicus agreed smoothly, not flinching back when she patted at his arm. The scars were now veiled by plain black cloth, but Edwin remembered them well. When she looked back up at Irenicus, the Red Wizard was glad – for once in his life – to be the one who was ignored.

* * *

Elatharia had paid a few coppers for a separate room just before the innkeeper snuck back to his bed. There had been no denying the curiosity in his eyes, but he did not seem inclined to ask openly. Just as well. She was so tired of weakness that he might have been more likely to meet with the flames of some spell than an answer.

The chamber was even smaller than her previous one, at the opposite end of the inn from her companions. It held only one bed beneath a tiny, misted window, and the mattress was bare and stained – so she slept in her clothes and boots, wrapped in her cloak, not even removing her mask. Determined to be _prepared_ , the Transmuter lay down with a knife in her hand and only closed her eyes with a plethora of newly memorised spells drifting through her thoughts. With the wound in her side still troubling her, it was difficult to get comfortable and sleep did not find her until the seagulls had started shrieking and the sun was rising.

In spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, sleep surged over her in a deep, painfully immobilising tide, echoing with the voices of Bodhi and Irenicus; deceiver and captor, thieves both. White eyes, grey eyes, death-pale skin, scarred flesh. _Suldanessellar, Ust Natha, In Tempul Maige in Chatha_.

At some point the cry of a gull half-woke her and, reminded by her surroundings, Elatharia recalled Edwin before she had been dragged from him, his hands on her face, his sharp tones, the way he had responded to her (almost) impulsive kiss, the breathless relief of that closeness. She had had no idea what she was doing, not really, but _he_ had, dragging her to him, lips parting hers… She had never been so close to anyone _willingly_ before. And all she could think was _I want you, I need you, don't leave_. Of course there had been no choice…and now he had left her, left all of them. She was too tired to be angry – for now, at least.

When the memory twisted into something else, something of spines and agony in a metal room, Elatharia sat up sharply, pain lancing through her wounded side and only heightening the reality of the nightmare. She barely reached the bucket at the end of the bed before her nausea got the better of her. After that she curled up, shivering on the floor, with the frame of the bed digging between her vertebrae, half-waking but too tired to think clearly.

A knock at the door startled the Transmuter awake, her heart taking up an almost painful gallop as she staggered automatically to her feet, cursing and struggling to stand on shaking legs, almost toppling again when the poorly healed wound in her side blazed with sharp pain. Only when she wiped at her still-masked face did she feel the cool wetness of tears on her cheeks. So much for avoiding weakness. Imoen was with them, but what did that mean without their souls? Somehow, Elatharia had expected everything to be _better_ when Imoen was free. It felt worse. They had not even caught Irenicus!

The knock sounded again, harder this time.

"What? Who is it?" the Transmuter snapped, the surge of anger bringing with it an unsettling wave of wrongness through her limbs. The beast.

"My Raven?" The handle rattled. "Our gracious innkeeper did point me this way. The hour of departing is upon us – 'tis the eighth hour of the day."

"Alright. I'm on my way," the Transmuter sighed, struggling with the mundane lock before flinging the door open to Haer'Dalis's curious face. "Are the others ready?"

"The whole crew as well," the tiefling agreed just as jovially as ever, stepping back to let her pass when he noticed that she was already fully dressed, "I suspect we will all be glad to be free of this place."

"Indeed. If only we were free of Irenicus also," Elatharia reminded him gravely before squeezing past him and ignoring his increasingly concerned look. He had seen more than enough of her weaknesses the night before.

Squinting against the bright light streaming into the corridor, she headed for the stairs, nodding to Viconia as the drow stepped from her room at the far end of the hall. The Sharite halted her descent, seeing the Transmuter's lingering limp, and insisted on carrying out a healing spell to soothe the wound in her side. Her magic settled through the injury and eased the pain with its usual peculiar chill.

The others were indeed waiting downstairs, tearing into a breakfast of pastries and watery ale with the sailors doing the same at the other end of the room, jests and banter called rowdily back and forth between the two groups thanks to Korgan. It was a disorientating start to the day and the smell of the grimy inn was hardly appetising – though it appeared most of the group were too hungry or tired to care.

"Ah, our leader joins us!" Saemon Havarian called with none of the meekness of a real hostage, raising a pastry her way as she passed him, seated as he was between Anomen and a stiff-looking Valygar. "An heirloom of my house, a wondrous silver blade like none you have ever seen, awaits you aboard my vessel. A gift, as I promised. And then away to Tethyr. It has been a long while, lads, has it not?" A cheer of agreement rose up amongst the sailors, who all seemed remarkably lively given the amount of drink they had subjected themselves to the previous night.

Elatharia's party was decidedly more sombre, but for the eternally boisterous Korgan and the irrepressible Jan. Aerie was huddled up between Anomen and the wall, her eyes large and worried as she watched the Transmuter lean past Korgan for a pastry and a cup of ale. Imoen was seated opposite the avariel, shredding a piece of toast with an evident lack of appetite, her straight pink hair a little jagged but a good deal shorter, more like it had been back near Baldur's Gate. It only served to remind Elatharia of all that had been lost. Though at least her sister's eyes were a little more alert today, wide and watchful, taking in every word and movement that she could. She seemed to be sipping the ale, too. Good. All of it was a start. Even if she was avoiding eye-contact. For a moment, Elatharia considered speaking to her but…the words caught in her throat and she looked away quickly.

"Good of you to join us," Jaheira remarked coolly as the Transmuter looked her way, the druid rigid by Imoen's side. She eyed Haer'Dalis distrustfully as he moved the chair beside her, sliding into the next seat along.

"Always a pleasure," Elatharia promised with no more sincerity, stepping back to lean against one of the room's supports rather than try to force another seat around the already overcrowded table. From here she could see every occupant of the room from her companions and the captive Havarian to the sailors just across from them, to the innkeeper and the maids bustling about behind the bar.

Elatharia sipped the ale, and realised that it really was mostly water. The bread she had chosen at random even smelled fresh and was still warm though it tasted of little. She saw that someone had found Imoen a pair of soft shoes and a backpack, from which peeked the fabric of Edwin's red cloak and the suggestion of the Transmuter's own Traveller's Robe.

"I will be leaving the group when we reach Tethyr," Anomen announced rather sharply into the lull, and that dragged everyone's attention his way. Elatharia met his eyes dispassionately, recalling the argument in Spellhold which must have prompted this. "It has been made clear to me that I am no longer welcome and I would not wish to impose myself in such a manner."

"As you wish," Elatharia nodded while the others gaped. Aerie looked up from attempting to feed Boo some seeds, aghast. Jan glanced between them with an amused smile, and Korgan continued to fill himself with bread and ale with apparent disinterest.

"How can you say that? You…you argued in Spellhold. Th-that doesn't mean you c-can't resolve this!" the avariel insisted, though there were few sounds of agreement around the table. In fact, only Havarian nodded – and that was telling. Valygar even shook his head, just faintly, nothing kind in his expression when his eyes found Elatharia's face.

"It is up to Anomen," the Transmuter shrugged. "I assume you can find your way back to Athkatla from…"

"Murann, the Sailor's City just off the Trade Way," Havarian supplied.

"If it is close to the Trade Way, I will manage," Anomen agreed as haughtily as anyone could, turning his eyes carefully back to his food though Aerie was watching him expectantly, her frown deepening.

"Good," Jaheira put in, "Murann is not far from _In Tempul Maige in Chatha_ , perhaps a two day walk through the Wealdath. Though I am unsure if the Knights of Suldanessellar will let us in – and who knows how long Irenicus and the others will stay in Ust Natha. They may be long gone by the time we reach the temple."

"It would be a good starting point, though," Elatharia pointed out, finishing her ale, "Speaking of which, I think we need to set out."

At least no one disagreed.

* * *

Murann was a little closer to Brynnlaw than Athkatla, though by boat this would translate as only perhaps half a day's travel less. This second voyage was much windier, but the weather was far worse. It rained endlessly from the end of the first day, dark grey skies vomiting down a torrent of stinging droplets. When they reached the Tethyr Peninsula, a huge arm of land rising up high above the sea and bedecked in the thick, dark forest of the Wealdath, it was too rainy to make out much more than a distant storm-lashed cliff face.

Jan had a device which could bring forth a dome of energy to keep out the rain but it had to recharge at some point each day and however much the sailors were pleased for the help they were still unhappy with their lot. Understandably most of the others stayed below decks – Elatharia did not permit Saemon to administer any more of his potions, but the spell she had fashioned from the anti-seasickness concoction proved just as effective and more long-lasting for those that needed it. Nor did it rob her of her magic.

Of her group, Elatharia found that only she and Haer'Dalis preferred the deck to the belly of the ship. He seemed unbothered by the rain, which did nothing to chill him, and helped the crew as best he could. It appeared that his jovial nature was the biggest boon for them, though. As for Elatharia, she could not linger down there. Without Edwin it felt too quiet and oddly sombre; to make things worse, Imoen slept many hours of the first two days, tossing in her hammock and muttering things to herself that the Transmuter was afraid to hear. Jaheira and Mazzy watched the aasimar with concerned eyes, careful to make sure she was fed and the like.

Korgan had employed Jan as prime story teller when the weather was too bad for him to join the crew – to the horror of Jaheira, Anomen and Aerie. He had the gnome making up the most gruesome plots one could devise – which forced them well away from the others. But at least it did something to keep the dwarf from restlessness. As for the rest, Valygar was still recovering from his wounds, while Aerie and Anomen had each other. Viconia did come out at night, though the rain drove her away when Jan's spell was not functioning.

On the third day, however, the storm cleared and the wind all but fled, leaving them drifting in a glittering still expanse of blue with only the faintest hint of land on the horizon. The air was still cold but it felt as brilliant as a summer's day – it brought the whole party above decks, stretching their legs and exclaiming relief. Even Imoen joined them, eyes wide and bluer than the sky or the sea as she leaned on the rail, looking…almost happy. It was enough to make Elatharia think she might approach her sister.

"I've missed the sky," Imoen confessed automatically when the Transmuter reached her side, "It's…so bright. And the sun." She inspected her pale arms, paler than ever Elatharia had seen them.

"We've the chance to fix that," Elatharia suggested, "A few days under the sun and you'll look more…" she caught her words – she had been about to say 'more yourself'. "You'll look healthier, like you ought."

"Yeah," Imoen nodded, though her tone was still a little distant. No smile came to her face, and she kept her eyes on the horizon. "You should…should tell me all about your adventures while I've been away."

"We will. I'm sure Haer'Dalis can tell it better than I, though." Imoen did smile at that, though it hardly reached her eyes. Her expression made Elatharia pause before speaking, frowning as she recalled the events in Spellhold. "Im…after he…took our souls did you…did you dream that we…"

"Yeah. You and me in some big hunk of rock floatin' in the dark, and the solar? At least we done killed that monster he set on us," Imoen shuddered, "D'you think that's what woke the beasts in us, too?"

"Yes. I have this feeling that the beasts in us are some manifestation of what remains of our souls. I feel frayed, but I don't feel empty," Elatharia felt a liar as she spoke – it was true, they must still have some semblance of their souls. No one could live without one, surely? But she did feel empty. Empty and sick to her stomach even when she slept. "Maybe the Knights of Suldanessellar at _In Tempul Maige in Chatha_ will know more. Why else would Irenicus go that way unless it meant something to him?"

She nodded resolutely and turned to say something else, but the voice of Saemon Havarian interrupted them. The whole party turned to look, spread out as they were along the railings of the ship, deprived eyes searching the world for something new to break the monotony of sailing. The captain was standing proudly by the wheel, his hat firmly on his head and his pipe in one hand – in the other he held up an impressively large sheathed sword, the hilt of jewel-inlaid silver that glittered in the bright light dazzlingly. The sheath was plain black, however, and rather bulky.

"Ladies and gentlemen, now that the weather has…improved after a fashion, I would like to present you with my peace offering. You have all been very understanding about my predicament of late and I would like to give a token of my appreciation and forgiveness." His smile was broad as he hooked his pipe into his belt, holding the blade ready to be unsheathed. "This is an enchanted heirloom of my family, a priceless artefact but one I am more than happy to give over in exchange for my wellbeing and our continued amity. Behold! The Silver Sword of House Havarian!"

If anyone had thought that the calmer weather presaged a turn of good events, they were sorely mistaken. As Saemon Havarian slid the sword free – revealing a broad blade of rippling silver, glimmering and shifting impossibly with a watery, glassy quality Elatharia had never seen of metal – the sheath omitted a faint popping sound as whatever Enchantment it had imbued upon the blade ended. Haer'Dalis, watching from the far end of the ship, leapt forward with a horrified cry unlike any Elatharia had heard from him – she looked his way reflexively to see him drawing his weapons and running for the captain with rage in his eyes.

The tiefling's response in itself caused chaos, the crew rushing to stop him or trip him though none seemed prepared to meet his weapons. The party seemed unsure of what to do, several calling out for an explanation and others poised for a fight. Havarian backed up in alarm, his smile faltering and giving way to fear, not seeing the burst of light which bloomed in the sea behind him, bright white, or the wave that swelled over an ascending bulk.

"The sword!" Haer'Dalis bellowed above the commotion and the shouts of confused surprise, "Sheath the sword!" he managed to pull from the hold of the two sailors who had subdued him, "Tis a githyanki silver sword and the sheath was containing its…"

His words faltered as the rest of the ship fell silent, that watery bulge ahead of the prow rising up and breaking over a vessel twice the size of Havarian's and many times stranger. Its hull was fashioned of shimmering green material, ridged like scales and with no apparent deck, wings of wood and metal propelling it from beneath the water to skate just above the surface towards them faster than any oars could.

"Oh gods."

Elatharia gasped it, but far worse exclamations rang around the ship. She pulled Imoen back with her and Havarian came hurtling forth, too, dropping the blade at their feet and shouting commands at his crew, though evasive action seemed rather pointless.

"They want the sword and will kill any who hold it!" Haer'Dalis called, "Throw it overboard befor…" But Elatharia barely had time to drag the shimmering silver weapon over the side before the otherworldly vessel rammed them.

The world went mad.

The ship rocked and rolled, hurling the crew across its deck with almost no chance to gain any handholds. The wind whipped around them, the wooden boards pressing hard against Elatharia's back as they soared through the air. The impact of the ship's landing upon the sea was thunderous, the splintering of wood perhaps saving them broken bones but still rattling their teeth and tossing a few in the air to land with bruising force and no time to catch themselves. All about there sounded shouts of fear, and a few agonised screams.

Ears ringing, the Transmuter rolled onto her stomach and started to drag herself to her feet, seeing Imoen now at the far railing doing the same. Jaheira had managed to cling to a mast and was peeling herself back from it, staggering dazedly. The crew were scattered and scrambling about for weapons, a few running for the single surviving rowboat roped to the side of the ship, Havarian among them. Valygar came staggering from below decks, his trousers soaked past the knee with water. A terrible sign.

"Get to the boat!" Anomen cried amid similar recommendations from the crew and Mazzy, though most people were still regaining their feet. "The ship is sinking!"

And the other ship was not finished. It crashed into the prow, its wings still spinning to keep it half-afloat, half-aloft, hooks sinking into the deck before its walls unfurled like the petals of an opening flower. Elatharia bumped into Viconia and then Haer'Dalis as she backed up, calling for Imoen though the girl was herself pulling on Jaheira's arm to urge the druid back.

The creatures that leapt from the peculiar vessel were familiar in theory to the Transmuter. Long-limbed and entirely humanoid, dressed in armour of shimmering chain mail and overlapping grey leather, their skin was mottled green, their noses shrunk back against their long, gaunt faces, hair thin and black, pulled back into tight topknots or braids. They hissed their words with guttural hatred. Githyanki, just as Haer'Dalis had warned.

" _Kalach-cha_ , every one of you," they snarled, and the party's weapons rang from their sheaths almost in unison as the extra-planar attackers began a loping, sinuous advance. "You will die, and suffer for your crimes."

The sea was pitch black behind them, roiling with sudden fury and bringing with it a deep, bone-shaking rumble which broke into a roar. The party had no time to get to the rowing boat – as, indeed, a few of the crew were left behind, calling hate-filled oaths and desperate cries by turns. Saemon Havarian had made sure of that, leaping in and lowering the little boat as soon as he could. Elatharia could see them rowing as fast and hard as they could several feet from the ship.

"What crimes, friends?" Haer'Dalis tried, though no mercy came to the small yellow eyes of their aggressors, "The man who unsheathed the blade can be found in that little boat yonder. I was about to suggest…"

"Silence, Doomguard," the closest creature spat, "All present are culpable. All will die."

"Ye can try, ye ugly mottled bastards!" Korgan roared as he leaped forth axe-first, Anomen and Haer'Dalis not far behind him.

"Baervan protect us," Aerie was muttering as the Transmuter stepped behind the more martial members of their party, Jaheira pushing Imoen towards them both.

The sounds of battle barely joined were stopped as suddenly as the githyanki had halted Havarian's speech. Elatharia had no time to curse him, or think of any spell, before the sea parted first into a void of darkness, jolting the ship and knocking everyone to their feet once more. Water once so still and flat now frothed and foamed as the loudest, longest shriek the Transmuter had ever heard tore through the air.

The beast that rose from the sea was huge, a beak as big as Havarian's escape boat closing down on the githyanki ship and breaking the far end like an egg, shocked githyanki tossed through the air, some with a spray of gore. The monster was only half-visible but it looked to be a little smaller than the main ship, all rubbery black skin rippling around one large bony beak. Its thrashing tentacles glimmered with chains, and lights winked on in the sea around its bulk, figures just visible beneath the surface as, with helpless shouts and exclamations, the party broke and fled as one. Nowhere was safe – as the screams of the githyanki attested following the crash of breaking wood. The cold, open sea seemed more promising than the ship.

No one reached the deck's edge. The beast saw to that, screaming loudly enough to burst eardrums and shattering a large portion of the ship with a lazy swing of one tentacle. Gasping and crying out uselessly, Elatharia lost sight of anything but a mist of splinters and her own flailing limbs as she soared through the air for a second time, only now with a stomach-turning sense of weightlessness. The sea, when she reached it, was a roaring mass as it broke around her and knocked her senseless.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
As some may have noticed, I took the phrase _kalach-cha_ from the githyanki in Neverwinter Nights 2.**


	42. Sekolah's Favour

**Apologies for the lateness of this update, illness has had me in its grip. But I'm recovering now, so here's the next installment! It's a little shorter than usual since this and the next were originally one huge, unwieldy chapter. I reckon it's better this way. Anyway, thanks for reading, and your comments are always hugely appreciated! :)  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 41: Sekolah's Favour**

* * *

For a moment before Elatharia opened her eyes she truly considered that she might have died. Then she heard Korgan's cursing, quieter than normal though he did not sound that distant. Someone groaned as if just regaining consciousness also – it sounded like Aerie. Since neither of these two companions were likely to share an afterlife with each other, let alone her, Elatharia's consideration could be pushed aside. Her eyes flew open and were greeted with deep, oppressive blue-grey gloom. Her hair was stuck to her head, water trickling down her back, her clothes heavy, cold and clearly just as sodden. The liquid tasted strongly salty, proof of their passage through the sea.

The whole party were slumped in this curved chamber, whose walls shifted beneath a barnacle-crusted grate as if they were caught within a giant bubble. Her vision still bleary, her head swimming, Elatharia struggled to her feet, feeling fine damp sand shifting under hands and knees. It clung to her fingers more tenaciously than mud.

Imoen was standing a little way off, wrapped once more in Edwin's cloak – for really they were in no position to choose their attire. She was hugging her arms to her chest, eyes trained on the strangest sight any of them would surely ever see, and as Elatharia crossed the chamber to her sister's side, the others shifting in pained awakening all around them, much became clear to the Transmuter as well.

It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to their watery surroundings, but when they did Elatharia saw ahead of them a great silt-covered plateau beneath the waves, a city of woven seaweed and fronds of underwater plants drifting sinuously above them. Far out ahead across the plateau a mighty white structure of coral clung to the seabed surrounded by a maze of peculiarly shaped stone buildings, all of it dwarfed by the rock face beyond it where the water whirled and frothed to meet such an impenetrable obstacle. It was hard to judge distance, but Elatharia could guess that it was at least a mile to the coral building and another mile to the submerged cliff. The water's surface glittered far above them – though it could not have been _too_ far if the light could still make it to the sea floor. Even so, she could sense that the white haze of light across the city was summoned and not natural.

Figures swam to and fro between the shifting bowers of seaweed and the like, homes which were multitudinous but small, as if those humanoid creatures who moved with such speed and grace between them, long tails lashing the water, had little need of dwellings beyond a place to sleep. The creatures were reptilian at first sight, for they sported (at least) four limbs, but a few swam through the water shifting about the party's prison, bulbous eyes alert, and it became evident that they were free of scales. Their skin was smooth but mat in the manner of sharks, green or grey though some had iridescent patches across their fin-lined backs. Their stomachs and chests – for lack of a better anatomical vocabulary – were paler, almost white or bluish, their long arms and legs limned with fins and ending in thickly webbed fingers and toes. Their faces were fishlike, distorted and oval with huge, dark eyes and broad mouths filled with sharp teeth, communicating with pops and clicks which echoed eerily through the water. Most had to be at least six feet in height, their bodies streamlined but less defined than a human's. Several of these guards carried spears and nets and a few were arrayed in strings of teeth with the odd pearl or two.

"I'm not sure if I can believe this," Elatharia muttered, flinching as Imoen reached out to touch the bubble around them. It parted for her fingertips and she withdrew her hand with a gasp; the film around them never broke, but the digits returned within its confines trailing water.

"Heh. Looks to me like we're under the sea," Korgan disagreed, his voice wavering just faintly, his words tumbling from him faster than usual as he trudged through the wet sand to the Transmuter's side, drawing some concerned looks from the dazed party members who were just now sitting up, rubbing their heads, "An' I'd give up me axe to be free o' the sea, I do so swear it."

"You will be needing your axe yet, good dwarf. Hold back on your promises," Haer'Dalis advised as he joined them, peering out at the city arrayed ahead with intrigued eyes, though he pointed at the bars arching over them, "It looks as if we are being kept alive for some purpose yet, but how long will that last?"

"W-where are we?" Aerie asked even more tremulously than usual. "W-what are those creatures? Th-they saved us from that b-beast only to…to bring us here?"

"It was a kraken," Jaheira put in, her voice sounding a little hoarse as she came up to Imoen's side and squeezed the aasimar's shoulder. The young woman flinched at the contact, only then tearing her gaze from the sea ahead. The druid's frown wavered to a look of hurt for just a moment, but she collected herself quickly. "A kraken in chains – and these are sahuagin, brutal enemies of the merfolk. I believe it was their border guard; kraken do not normally awaken lightly. They sleep for millennia naturally but this one is enslaved to the whims of the sahuagin. How they managed such a feat I cannot imagine; it is akin to bending a dragon to your whims. I pray that one day it breaks free and lays waste to them for such an unnatural crime…."

"They are sworn enemies of the aquatic elves?" Viconia sounded pleased, though she was among the last to regain her senses, "I think I like the sound of these sahuagin already. A shame they seek to hold us hostage."

The fish-like humanoids were yet swimming around their cage, eyes trained outwards rather than upon their captives. Obviously they did not expect any successful escapes – though it made Elatharia wonder what they could possibly be looking out for. It was hard to tear her eyes from the sight – what could she find within the confines of their cage to merit looking away from the truth of their precarious situation?

"Ships must sail untouched through these waters all the time," the Transmuter mused, "So it can't have been us who they came to attack – unless they were already expecting us somehow. It seems more likely that they employed their kraken slave to kill the githyanki because _their_ ship _did_ violate the sahuagins' underwater borders."

"But if we are simply the by-product of this then why did they bring us here? I see none of the sailors who were tossed into the sea with us," Anomen pointed out.

"Could Havarian have set us up?" Jaheira suggested, folding her arms and frowning ever deeper as she watched the movements of the sahuagin in their city, "I would like to know why you made to attack him just before the githyanki arrived, tiefling."

"So suspicious, Ptarmigan!" Haer'Dalis gasped dramatically, clutching his chest for effect, "But if you had recognised the blade for what it was – a githyanki silver sword, which its owner race are sworn to win back once lost – you would have done the same. The sheath holding it had somehow blocked it from calling for rescue. Hence, once it was free from that Enchantment, the githyanki sword-seekers came from the Astral Plane at once to collect it – and to fulfil their vow to kill any non-githyanki who had borne witness to, and therefore been complicit in, its 'theft' knowingly or otherwise."

"Havarian seemed as surprised as any of us when they came to collect it," Valygar noted quietly, and Haer'Dalis nodded.

"He was also very eager to give us that blade," Viconia disagreed, "There is no possibility that the sword was the heirloom which he claimed."

"Then it was given to him by Irenicus," Elatharia surmised, attempting to ignore Imoen's flinch as she glanced at her sister, "Did you know anything about this?"

"Elatharia!" Jaheira spat her name like a curse, "How _dare_ you…"

"I didn't," Imoen promised, stepping between them and meeting her sister's eyes with a sad look of her own. "I'd've never let that happen. Not even with a charm and geas on me, no sir." She spoke softly, faintly – but in her old voice. Elatharia fought to keep her face still, inclining her head…only to stop when her sister's fingertip brushed her temple. "You done got cold and scared, big sister. But I don't blame you."

"…enough o' this chatter. I say we set to workin' out a way outta here!" Korgan was just exclaiming to the rest of the group, a good enough excuse for Elatharia to pull back from her sister – and from Jaheira's accusing stare as well.

"I wish I could agree with you, but how do you suggest we make it to the surface alive, Korgan?" Mazzy insisted. She, like Anomen and Valygar, was dressed only in simple every-day clothes; their armour and weapons must have gone down with the ship at the mercy of the sahuagin. From the looks of things – aside from Elatharia herself – only Korgan, Viconia and Jaheira were fully armed and armoured. Haer'Dalis had his shortswords, but only a tunic and trousers. Imoen still had her backpack and Elatharia her bag of holding – no one else had been so fortunate. And everyone was soaked with the stinging water of the sea, a few shivering. If anyone had sustained injuries from their landing in the sea, they had been healed.

"There must be tens of feet of water above us," Anomen complained, looking up with a grimace. He only had his family sword with him, strapped to his belt. Could he break his oath to use blunt weapons only? "None of us could get to the surface alive. Even if we could hold our breath for that long, the pressure change would kill us."

"An' where did you learn about the sea, knight?" Korgan sounded irritated rather than disbelieving. Anomen shrugged, pleased to be a source of knowledge for once.

"I grew up in a port city surrounded by boats. And…we have had our fair share of sahuagin raids over the centuries. These things breed stories of captives, and wise men like to refute these tales with truths."

"I can cast a spell for non-air breathing. It would counteract the pressure change, of course," Elatharia put in abruptly; once it would have been pleasing to outdo the swelling pride of the knight. Now it felt…hollow. Meanwhile, all eyes turned to her, wide and hopeful. "…But not enough for all of us. Three at most. Imoen – could you manage any more?" She had slipped her sister's spellbook into the girl's backpack the day they left, too uncomfortable to hand it over directly. The aasimar had not acknowledged the gesture, so there was no guarantee that she had even touched it.

"I could," Imoen agreed at last, "But only for one person."

"Then th-there are eight of us and only four spells!" Aerie looked ready to panic, twisting about to where Jan was seated calmly on the sandy seabed, fiddling with his anti-rain contraption. "Jan! Do you know that spell too?"

"In theory I could…but in practice I don't, Wingless," he admitted after a moment, peering up at her through several layers of lenses, "And I would only be able to hold at most three in my mind. Transmutations are nebulous, complex things as you know. But I am sure our Transmuter could manage more than she claims, if she hadn't had to prepare so many anti-seasickness spells for herself and good Korgan."

That was painfully true, and Elatharia sent him a glare for it. She felt at once too calm and too restless, her mind buzzing while her body failed to manifest the same level of stress.

"Could your device aid us somehow, my would-be Sparrow?" Haer'Dalis asked of Jan, an astute question which sent a wave of hopeful mutterings through the group.

"Working on it, Haerry," the gnome answered cheerfully enough, though the nickname stole the smile from the tiefling's face.

"The sea is colder than you would expect," Jaheira interrupted any following attempts to speak, "We would need to protect ourselves against its effects. Only two of our number are protected appropriately," she gestured to Elatharia and Viconia, shielded from the cold by Gorion's cloak and some unacknowledged trinket respectively.

"I believe I would also brave the elements – or, _element_ – without trouble," Haer'Dalis admitted a little too smugly. Not far away, Viconia rolled her eyes at his tone.

 _"Perhaps we should set out without them, then. Your sister must know a spell to protect her from the cold,"_ Viconia signed Elatharia's way only once Imoen had turned to stare out at the sahuagin city anew. The Transmuter just shook her head, though it was tempting. How would they manage that without being slain by their vengeful companions before they even got through the bars? And then, could they even begin to out-swim sahuagin?

"Even if we could protect ourselves and transmute ourselves appropriately, this is not the time," Mazzy suggested after a deep breath or two. "We are not all armed or armoured. We are surrounded by enemies – or captors, at least. They clearly want us for something. A better time will present itself."

"As much as I admire yer hope, Mazzy, I cannae agree," Korgan sighed, "I say ye pull yer feeble wizard-minds together an' spell us outta here. Afore I take to the cage wi' me axe." He did look pale, if slightly green. Clearly life beneath the waves suited him as ill as travelling atop them.

"We should wait," Elatharia preferred the paladin's suggestion wholeheartedly. "At least until Jan has fixed his device." The only wizard she had ever known to be competent enough with teleportation spells to 'spell them' free was lost to her, after all.

A chorus of agreement answered her, though Korgan was aggressively opposed. The support ought to have been gratifying, but she just turned her back on it and went back to watching the city at her sister's side.

* * *

Though the bubble within which the party waited also seemed to simulate a comfortable surface temperature, their drenched clothes and hair had them all shivering – though the likes of Korgan attempted to hide the chattering of his teeth. Viconia had begun to consider the issues of food, water and a place to relieve themselves when at last something changed in the sea around them.

The guards who had been circling their cage were the first to move, swimming out of sight into the gloom with a few powerful kicks of fin-lined feet. Though the magical light down here was all-pervading, the glimmer of the sun far above them had certainly started to fade. Viconia's eyes were not adapted to such persistent brightness and it took some strain to force her sight into infravision. With its aid she could make out the blurred forms of more sahuagin swimming their way, a formation of perhaps ten or more, taller than the average human man and clearly much stronger.

"I see figures approaching," Viconia warned, and as one the party scrambled up from its generally miserable huddle on the floor. "Ten at least."

Korgan cursed, backing up sharply. He seemed more openly frightened than she could have imagined, an interesting development that she would be sure to remember. Aerie reacted with a similar level of courage, eyes wide, muttering a string of anxious fears as she tugged Anomen back with her by his arm. Jaheira's attempts to push Imoen behind her failed, the pink haired girl making a point of going to Elatharia's side. The Transmuter stood very still, almost on the edge of the cage, her hands flexing as if in readiness for a spell. Recalling her particular skills, Viconia made a point of gaining her side as well, Haer'Dalis not far behind. What good was caution? If the bubble burst they would need speed and calm to stand a chance. Sahuagin valued strength above all – would it be wise to show them anything less?

The sahuagin formed up in front of the group, the distant coral building at their backs. The leader of the group shimmered with peculiar scale armour, bulbous eyes fairly spinning in his head as he took in the group, teeth bared in what might have been a sneer. Worst of all, four arms sprouted from his huge chest, each armed with a spear. He drifted just above the sea floor and his armed group formed up in a semi-circle behind him. A gesture, and another smaller sahuagin drifted to the leader's side, this one slightly different in form from the others, adorned in some diaphanous cloth which rippled outwards in the water. Long iridescent blue stripes ran down its neck, and peculiar pearly white eyes met those of the leader.

Their hissing, clicking speech warbled in the water for a disorientating moment and then the smaller creature raised its arms and swayed with the motion of the sea, wailing some awfully ear-splitting song as magical light rose up from its webbed hands. At the same time, the bubble began to contract, the outer mesh to peel away.

"Eh…don't ye drown us like this ye bastards!" Korgan warned, stumbling and almost tripping as the others retreated with him.

"I d-don't believe that they want to kill us. I w-won't believe that!" Aerie sounded entertainingly annoyed. But it was all just fear.

"Save a spell for each of us, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia murmured in Elatharia's ear, eyes trained on the bubble now breaking over Jaheira and Valygar's cowering forms, Anomen and Aerie following.

That was all the time they had – as the sahuagin cleric's spell settled over them in a bright wave of prickling magic, the bubble keeping them safe broke across all of them. Any attempts at speed and grace were thwarted by the thick, rushing waters of the sea. It overcame all of them, a fog of bubbles filling Viconia's vision as the cold press of the ocean descended. But the fizz of the sahuagin's spell settled over her skin just in time, banishing the pressure and the cold – which would not have harmed her, thanks to her enchanted ring –, leaving an enspelled bubble of air across her face.

Viconia let out the breath she had held, willing her limbs not to thrash as she witnessed Aerie, Korgan and Anomen doing just that. It appeared they had not realised the mercy they had been permitted; surfacer cloth rippled unhelpfully about all of them, cloaks billowing through the water as each of the less panicked members of the party realigned themselves.

"You….ssthsss…you come from the…ssthss…surface. Intruders," the leader of the sahuagin group snarled, his voice both guttural and strangulated, the pop and hiss of his true language cutting through the cleric's spells. Keeping her eyes on as many of the approaching beasts as she could, Viconia wadded her cloak under her arm and clasped it under her belt to stop it dragging her back through the water. It was difficult to stay upright during this struggle, but she achieved it. Haer'Dalis, Imoen and Elatharia saw her idea and attempted to do the same, every movement slow and ungainly.

"If it were up to Captain…sssthss….Captain Alyittyl you would be food for the…sssths…sharks," the smaller sahuagin promised, undulating towards the group as the guards around them closed in. The sounds of Korgan and Anomen struggling with them followed. "But the king has…ssssthsss…a better plan for you. Great Sekolah brought to us the prophecy of the silver beacon, and he will have his sacrifice."

"You captured us and kept us alive just to kill us after all? Why? What prophecy is this?" Elatharia demanded, her voice carrying as if through air thanks to the spell. Her words earned her a slap across the face from the four-armed leader and she reeled through the air as Aerie gasped. Imoen ducked to catch her sister, every movement sluggish and clumsy underwater. Their hair drifted about them in a mass of waving pink, gold and brown strands.

"Silence!" Captain Alyttyl demanded, bringing all four of his spears crashing together before him, "You will not speak unless requested! You are weaklings of the surface and not worthy to converse with the True People. Guards! Bring them before the king."

Outnumbered as they were, the party could do little as the guards reached for them. The water made their movements too predictable and too difficult. It would have been impossible to fight in such a situation, let alone cast any spells. Shouts of protest and feeble attempts to flee were all they had and very soon they had been bound with (undoubtedly enchanted) seaweed around their ankles and wrists, bundled into a line like slaves in the Menzoberranzan market and pulled helplessly through the ocean under the power of the sahuagin.

* * *

Aerie had prayed to Baervan and Aerdrie Faenya both that she would never again be bound. Clearly, her prayers had not been answered, for now here she was far from the sky, wrists and ankles tied, with only magic to keep her alive in this inhospitable place, bundled over the hard, ridged shoulder of a sahuagin guard.

Each of the others had been treated the same, though the sahuagin had been a little more hesitant with Korgan and Viconia. It seemed fear of the drow extended even into the oceans, and any living thing with any ability for self-preservation would have hesitated when faced with the dwarf's panicked thrashing. But in the end all of them had been subdued, though Korgan was being dragged through the water by two of the sea creatures rather than just one.

Any attempts to speak with their captors or to each other had been severely punished. Elatharia had been very quiet since that first slap, and the dark fury in her eyes was more than a little alarming. At what point did her anger give way to the Beast? Imoen had been just as quiet, eyes wide and staring as she was dangled over the shoulder of her captor. Aerie was worried about her – this could not be good for her, to be a hostage yet again. The avariel had no idea how they were going to get out of this, but it would be necessary soon.

Even burdened as they were, the sahuagin swam fast. It was hard to see through the rushing press of the water or hear above the roar of it passing by – even with the sahuagin cleric's spells – but Aerie could make out the drifting tangle of those odd, flexible constructions drifting above them in many layers and the creatures who swam amongst them. As the group continued on she could make out more solid structures peppering the ocean floor beneath the ridge upon which their prison had stood. Most were quite separate from each other, some clustered together, and they spread out further than she could see. From their size and durable form – of stone mostly – it looked like these were real houses. It was hard to imagine how one dwelt down here, even creatures like the sahuagin, but it appeared this was a city of sorts.

At last the group descended to the ocean floor in front of the huge domed structure of white coral which now could be seen to shimmer with inlaid pearls. It resembled a gigantic clam shell, but for the doors now sliding open with a rush of water which almost unbalanced the sahuagin. Beyond these gates stood a tubular shaft inlaid with a tight spiral of sharp, hooked teeth. At the top the water rippled and shimmered as if air waited above.

"The king…sssthsss…awaits," Captain Alyttyl warned as the gates slammed shut with a thunderous bang which tossed all of them about in the confined stretch of water, "Weak surfacers will meet the air one last time before Sekolah calls."

The captain moved upwards then without so much as a glance at any of them or a command to his men, his seven powerful limbs propelling him upwards with apparently negligible effort, his tail whipping the water just in front of Aerie's face. He vanished from their sight as he broke the water up above and then their captors let them go – all except for Korgan. Helpless, Aerie could only wait, straining against her bonds, as her natural buoyancy sent her shooting up to the surface. She found her eyes trained on the sight, her head ringing with the instinctive need to breathe naturally again.

The water broke over her head with a splash, the bubble which had protected her face from the lack of air breaking. She gasped in, eyes shut against the stinging rivulets, dizzy with the sudden change in her surroundings. Wet, sinuous arms caught under her elbows and hauled her over the side onto a slick floor of polished stone as the others were treated similarly, Korgan's violent cursing suggesting that he had been aided in his ascent.

Crying out and pulling back automatically, Aerie flopped back uselessly onto the stone, forcing her eyes open enough to see the domed white hall ahead and the sahuagin pulling at the bedraggled figures of the group of surfacers. There was Captain Alyttyl, no less intimidating standing on two feet than he had been swimming with seven limbs. He waited at the centre of another pool of water from which rose a set of steps leading up to a throne as white as the rest of the room. Upon that throne sat a huge sahuagin, its skin milky white shot through with streaks and patches of pale pink. Its tail coiled and lashed around the back of the chair, each of its six arms shifting with slow, undulating movements upon the jewelled armrests. Its bulbous eyes, set so far apart on its long, narrow head, were oddly coloured – one yellow, one red – and trained intently upon the group floundering at the far end of the hall. Upon its head rested an elaborate crown of gold which looked suspiciously like those of the surface. A hoard of treasure glittered behind it, arrayed haphazardly along the far wall. Amongst the mass Aerie spotted Anomen's armour, her spellbook and the missing weapons of her companions. There was that wretched silver sword, now safely stowed in its black sheath and laid out at the sahuagin king's feet.

"Weak creatures, these…ssthss…surfacers," the king sighed, his words understandable but echoing with the reality of his strange language, high sounds ringing in the strange chamber. The other sahuagin arrayed throughout this room, mostly guards from the look of them, all answered scornful agreements. "See how they flop and gasp in the same air which they breathe! Pathetic."

"Unbind our hands and feet then, king, if you fear us so little," Jaheira spat. She had pulled herself onto her elbows, pale hair turned dark by the water and sticking to her cheeks in strands. Viconia and Imoen had wriggled onto their knees and it looked like Haer'Dalis and Elatharia would soon achieve the same attitude. No one looked comfortable in this situation, all of them glaring or trembling, some both.

"Ha! All in good time, soft humans," the king promised, "We have a cage set aside for you until Sekolah's…sssthss…guardian is hungry enough for all of you."

He raised one hand, gesturing toward the plain cage against one wall. Before they could fight back the group were dragged along the floor and bundled inside. Aerie landed heavily against Elatharia and rolled away with apologies but the Transmuter hardly seemed to notice her – as the door clanged behind them their bonds shrivelled and fell away, and Elatharia was the first to scramble to her feet, a spell fizzing from her only to fail against the lock of the cell. The gurgling sound which wobbled from the king at the sight of her response seemed to be a laugh, one that was echoed by his subjects. Elatharia snarled back.

"Your magic will always fail in this place, sssthss…surfacer," the king promised, "The hated aquatic elves who sting us with their spells have taught us to ward our palace."

"So you fear us more than you claim," Elatharia spat, pulling away from Imoen's grip on her shoulder, her hands closing around the bars of the cage with a clang.

"Enough." The king waved his hand and turned from her, gesturing to one of his guards, "Bring the priestesses…ah, it seems they pre-empted my request. Wonderful." It did not sound wonderful.

Two slender figures stepped out from a tunnel across the hall, in appearance much like the cleric who had met them in their first prison. They moved unsteadily in the air, webbed feet slapping on the smooth white stone. Both knelt before the throne of their king, the one closest to the cage shimmering with a headdress of pearls.

"King Ixilthetocal," both greeted.

Most of the group were getting to their feet by now, pressing to the bars as if that might help them escape. Korgan was cursing surprisingly quietly, sitting in one corner, and Aerie was too busy watching the scene playing out before them to do much more than kneel up. Anomen's hand on her shoulder did nothing to comfort her, but she sent the bedraggled knight a brief smile all the same.

"Priestess Senityili, your mother's prophecy has been proven correct. The gloating right is yours," the king was announcing.

"Thank you, King Ixilthetocal," the further of the two bowed lower, backing up a little. The other raised her head, black eyes bulging larger as her broad mouth rippled open.

"K-king forgive me. I only said that this was not a prophecy of Sekolah! Please…"

"Silence, High Priestess Tlysixous," the king shushed her, a sound which the spell must surely have translated, "Approach me, and receive my forgiveness."

She trembled and took half a step back as she stood, only to steel herself and wobbled closer. She hopped the distance over the water, balanced by Captain Alyttyl as she reached the bottom step and scrambled up to the king's outstretched hand. Whatever they said to each other was too quiet to hear from this distance, but the high priestess's frame seemed to sag, perhaps in relief, and she permitted the king to draw her to him. When he sank his teeth into her throat a ripple of chittered surprise rang through the room. Even Captain Alyttyl reeled as white flesh tore open, very little pale pink blood spraying out from the huge, gruesome wound as the high priestess flopped back, twitching.

The king spat out her flesh in a spray of white and laughed heartily. The answering amusement from his people was far less heartfelt this time, and at last Aerie saw the madness in him. It was hard to tell, since these creatures were so alien, but it did seem that his mannerisms were more exaggerated and erratic than the others. The other priestess cringed back as her colleague fell with a splash. The water rumbled and rippled…and Tlysixous's body shuddered before vanishing below.

Still laughing, the king leapt up onto his feet and bounded down the steps from his throne, peering into the water and clapping his hands excitedly before hopping to the other priestess's side. He gave her a hard shove and she fell to her hands and knees, skittering across the floor.

"You do not want to meet Sekolah's child also, do you Senityili?"

"N-no, king…"

"Good. Have my meal set out in my feeding pool below. And have our pets prepared for the sacrifice. After I have slept and the darkness has fully settled, we will feast up here. Then Sekolah's calling will be sated."

As he waddled away, the majority of the guards followed in his wake along with Captain Alyttyl. None of them gave the captive surfacers another look, and the remaining priestess stared after the king for a long time even after he had ambled from the room entirely. In the quiet the room groaned and rumbled with the weight of the water above it, punctuated only by the slapping of the priestess's feet as she began to pace in front of them. It was hard to tell if this was some reaction to staying out in the open air for so long or if, like a human, she was walking to help her think.

The party waited in stunned silence for a time as well, offering words of comfort or helpless questions when it became clear that no attacks would be forthcoming for speech now. But Elatharia remained very quiet and very still, staring ahead. Aerie shuddered, and could not shake the feeling of oppressive dread which settled over her in this cage far below the waves.


	43. Negotiations with the Insane

**Chapter 42: Negotiations with the Insane**

* * *

Time passed without any means of measurement. The throne room was lit unvaryingly with bright magical light, a curved white mass without decoration save for the immense pile of wealth behind the seat itself. There were no windows, and even if there had been it would have been impossible to tell from the light – the whole city seemed to be bathed in that same diffuse glow, with only the faintest hint of a glimmer on the surface of the ocean far above.

It was cold for most of them, Elatharia could tell. They were shivering again without the priestess's spells to acclimatise them to the water. Being in the open air in a cage beneath the sea was little better if not worse than their previous arrangement. Most of the others had negotiated with the guards about finding some means of relieving themselves; since it turned out that they would have to be 'pure' for their sacrifice…a pan was passed around for their usage.

The whole situation fuelled Elatharia's ire, and the beast stirred accordingly beneath her skin. Considering that this might not be such a bad thing at the right moment, she changed into less valuable clothing herself when she passed around dry items for Imoen and Aerie. Her sister was a little tall for her leggings and the tunic was too tight around her shoulders – while in contrast Elatharia's spare clothes hung loosely off Aerie.

After a while, only Elatharia remained standing, too angry and wound up to sit like the others. Aerie was nestled between Mazzy and Anomen, Valygar and Jaheira leaning back against the only stone wall of the cell, eyes trained either on the Transmuter or the sahuagin priestess still pacing and muttering to herself a little way off. Jan was still fiddling with his contraption, though it was a mystery how he had kept it on his person. Korgan was fidgeting and cursing to himself by turns. Haer'Dalis and Viconia were sitting against the bars at one end of the cell, Imoen at the other. The aasimar seemed worryingly calm and still eerily quiet; once she might have been full of ideas, now she just watched their surroundings thoughtfully, shivering in spite of the dry clothes.

Aerie's sudden shriek made everyone jump, not least the sahuagin priestess who had thus far ignored all of their demands except to gesture to their three guards when needed. Twisting around, Elatharia saw the avariel patting at herself uselessly, surging to her feet with a horrified expression on her face.

"My lady! What is the matter?" Anomen demanded, standing too. His eyes fixed on the sahuagin priestess. "What foul sorcery is this?"

"Elatharia!" Aerie gasped, lurching forward and gripping the Transmuter's arms, "B-…B-Boo! Have you seen Boo? Is…is he in the clothes I gave you?" She released Elatharia to tug at her own drenched blonde hair, one sodden feather drifting free to the floor. "Oh, gods! How c-could I forget him? What if he's…"

Korgan's sudden laughter drowned out any words of understanding consolation. Irritated, Elatharia considered suggesting he be fed to 'Sekolah's child' before the rest of them. Fishing through her bag, she did find no sign of the hamster. Empty-handed, she shrugged in the face of Aerie's fearful hope.

"He's not here. Could he have somehow gone with Havarian?"

"Ha! Ye think that little thing got away when we couldn't?" Korgan roared with laughter, wiping at his eyes and rocking back against the wall. "Ye think he killed off the kraken while he were at it too? Think he just swam off in the chaos? Maybe he'll come an' save us, too!"

Aerie turned to face him with hateful words, Anomen her loyal hound, but anything she said only made Korgan laugh harder. Jan looked up curiously at last, and Imoen gave a long sigh. Jaheira and Valygar shared a grimace but did not intervene.

"It would hardly be your fault, Aerie," Mazzy promised, patting the ground beside her, "Sit down. You will only work yourself up when we most need to stay calm."

"C-calm?" Aerie fairly shrieked it, tears fairly dripping off her chin. She did not seem to know whether to stamp her foot or leap into the air for emphasis. "H-how am I supposed to stay…st-stay calm? I am an avariel and we are under th-the ocean! And Boo is…Boo might be…m-might be d-dead!"

"Minsc always used to say that Boo was a miniature giant space hamster. You think it might've been true?" Imoen suggested as she stood too. Her face twisted sadly when Aerie whirled on her, and she reached out a hand as if to comfort the hyperventilating avariel. "Might've been…"

"I'm not a ch-child," Aerie told her sharply, enough anger in her tone to send Imoen back a surprised step. Elatharia pushed herself from the bars and stepped between them.

"Sit down and shut up," she told the avariel, perhaps more angrily than it merited, for Aerie's face was already filling with regret. The avariel backed up, bumping into Anomen and stopping his righteous protests short.

"I…I'm so…so sorry," she muttered, backing up some more and sniffling as she did so, "I-Imoen I'm sorry…"

"No problem at all, I know you're just worried is all," Imoen promised automatically, as cheerfully as she had said anything lately. Even more teary-eyed than before, Aerie retreated quickly, along with Anomen, to sit beside Mazzy once more. The aasimar gave Elatharia a gentle shove. "Don't be so mean, big sister."

Skin prickling as if she had seen a ghost, Elatharia twisted around at Imoen to see her sister's face but the aasimar turned to look back at the throne room just as quickly. Her body language was tense, but her voice was even, if a little faint, when she spoke next.

"Why d'you reckon this room's not underwater anyways?" Imoen asked softly, "You think it's all that treasure?" she nodded to the hoard, "Or 'cause it's normal for them to keep surfacer hostages?"

"I _want_ it to be the former," Elatharia sighed.

"Probably both," Jan offered.

"Shut yer face, gnome," Korgan grunted. Apparently his loud schadenfreude had cured him of some of his fear and returned him to his natural hateful state.

"I feel that the magnitude of this problem has not yet reached most of you," Viconia sighed, wringing out her soaking white hair onto the ground beside her and eyeing the others disdainfully, "Sahuagin are a racist and cruel lot. Much like the drow, actually. They worship a god just as insane and brutal, also – one who desires far more blood to be spilled directly in his name. We are sacrifices. If we do not find a way of escaping this then we are going to die here, and soon."

"Did ye not hear me, drow?" Korgan growled, though the words sounded more petulant than wrathful as he slid back down to sit on the floor, red dragon scale screeching eye-wateringly as he went.

"I think we are all very aware of it, drow," Jaheira disagreed, "But your gloating will not make this any better. A plan would be helpful…"

"Gloating? It is flattering that you think I am not in as much danger as you, _darthiir_ spawn."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of the priestess, Senityili, addressing the three guards who had remained to watch the prisoners.

"Guards! Leave me. I must have time alone to purify the surfacers before their sacrifice. Quickly!"

She did not need to repeat herself – the guards left quickly enough, as requested, apparently eager to retreat through the pool which had been the group's entrance to this room. Only once they had descended with barely a splash between them did Senityili approach the group. She was as tall as any of the male sahuagin, about six feet, and very slender – though in a manner which retained the hard, streamlined form of all her kind. Her skin was mostly veiled by layers of peculiar shimmering cloth that might have been yellow and green fish skin, each layer pinned with several sharp teeth.

"The moment you open that door we will bring chaos down upon all of you, spells or not," Elatharia promised with far more conviction than she felt, tilting her chin defiantly as the priestess's bulbous eyes met her stare. "There will be no 'sacrifice' today."

The sahuagin inclined her head, though the gesture seemed a little stilted. A learned affectation; a signal for surfacers but not the folk of the sea.

"You are quite correct," Senityili agreed, her measured words ill formed and hissed, "There will be no sacrifice of your kind today. Not if certain terms are met." Her tone was sharp and accented differently from the other sahuagin whom the _Tongues_ spell had translated. Elatharia blinked in surprise – this was no translation. This priestess spoke the Common Tongue of the surface.

"What're ye sayin' fish-girl? Ye tellin' me ye're set to free us?" Korgan was on his feet almost before he had spoken those words, expression more irate than pleased, "Why did ye not set about this sooner?"

The sahuagin just watched him impassively, apparently unimpressed by his thunderous words. When no response came, Elatharia had to assume that the priestess was following some sahuagin code of address – she would not deign to speak to any of the party except for their leader. And apparently she had seen enough to tell her that the leader was Elatharia.

"You speak our language and you offer an exchange of services," the Transmuter prodded, attempting not to shudder as a trickle of water ran down her back from her still-drenched hair, "Explain."

"It is most undesirous," the priestess admitted, to the irritation of all present, "But necessary. As you can see King Ixilthetocal is mad. He kills all those of his own kind, even those who have passed the rites of strength. Without his power of office he is weak; weak of mind, without wisdom. The prophecy said long ago that one day a beacon of silver would fall, and a door to another world would open as some outside foes fought a battle upon the waves with the one who would save us. Now we come to civil war, where our leader is too insane to rule and his son vies for power. Then there is the beacon, the silver sword falling, and the men of the outlands come through our territory to reach the waves. We brought you here, as the prophecy said you would bring the favour of our god, Sekolah – our king believes that this is through your sacrifice. Instead, you are to kill the king, and in return I will permit your escape. The prince has the favour of the population, and more followers than Ixilthetocal, but the city will not turn against their king all the same. Without his death it will be impossible to achieve this coup."

"And how do you expect us to be able to get to your king so easily?" Elatharia demanded, shifting uneasily with the promise of this offer.

"I will break the wards on this palace and your magic will be free once more. He will not suspect you, soft humanlings that you are. I will send for Prince Villynaty soon, and he will arrive just before the time for the sacrifice. Make sure that you kill the king before he kills you, and all will go to plan. The way will be free for you to escape."

"How exactly do you expect us to escape when the surface is so far?" Jaheira pointed out. Elatharia nodded pointedly and Senityili spread her webbed hands, gesturing behind herself.

"The Great Wall which rises up and stops the ocean, upon which the land of Tethyr stands. Within its side there is a path, a 'sinkhole'. It will take you up into the Underdark, to the home of the wretched kua toa. They will not love you, but it is better than meeting Sekolah's child. You will know the passage for it stands in line with the palace, ringed in coral."

The priestess did not wait for an answer, nor did she bid them any courtesies. When her explanation was over, she turned about and padded back across the hall, once more ignoring their calls for further explanation. When she had gone, the party was thoughtful and much quieter. The plan was simple enough, if only they could find a way to execute it.

After the priestess left, a brief space of time existed in which no sahuagin stood watching them in the throne room. Evidently spotting this chance, Imoen pushed past Elatharia and pulled free the enchanted lockpick which she kept in the braid in her hair. Jaheira gave a gasp to see its glimmering tip, and Elatharia felt just the faintest pang at the memories it brought. Khalid's gift to her sister before they went to Durlag's Tower.

"By Silvanus! You kept it…through everything?" Jaheira sputtered wonderingly. Imoen's shoulders tensed as she knelt before the lock in the cage door but she kept to her task.

"It would seem that Irenicus is fallible after all," Viconia commented, heedless of Imoen's feelings, "Though I wonder how you did not use it to escape him, _abbil_." She only smirked when Elatharia gestured for her to keep silent.

After a moment or two of fiddling, a burst of pale light erupted from the lock and Imoen pulled back sharply, knuckles white around the lockpick. Jaheira was the first to reach her, placing steadying hands upon her bony shoulders.

"Is everything alright?" the druid asked.

"What happened?" Elatharia demanded.

"The wards," Imoen gasped, shaking out her stung hand and extricating herself carefully from Jaheira's grip with a faint smile.

"Wh-what about your dispelling device, Jan?" Aerie asked, the first words she had spoken since her altercation with Imoen. The avariel was still teary-eyed, huddled to Anomen's side, but now she peered around Valygar to look at the gnome.

Jan shook his head sadly.

"I've got it but it won't work, Wingless," he sighed, "It works from the outside of wards not the inside, and we are very much on the inside here."

"Then we are waiting on the mercy of a sahuagin priestess," Haer'Dalis fairly growled. He had barely said a word since they arrived in this throne room, the thoughtful concentration in his eyes as close to brooding as he would ever get. "I know little of these Primes but it is clear to me that they are not to be trusted. It may all be a ruse. I would point out, my flock, that they have left weapons with some of us – my Raven, my Blackbird, you still have yours and I have mine. The Peacock may be sworn against the use of his blade but not all of us are."

"If she is _not_ lying, then the lock should be unwarded when the feast begins up here," Elatharia summarised, "And whether we break free or they pull us out, we have to be ready to fight quickly."

A satisfying chorus of determined agreements.

"Alright. Let's wait."

* * *

The party was not left alone for long. First, the guards returned in the numbers which seemed suitable for the king's presence. Elatharia counted that there must have been sixteen in total, plus the paltry three who waited in front of their cage. Smaller, unarmed sahuagin came in their wake bearing slabs of raw meat, glistening unappetisingly in the light. Even so, her stomach rumbled at the sight after what must have been a whole day now without food. Some of it did look edible. Most of it even. Along with the pale hunks of fish there were strips of dried seaweed at least; the rest of the meat was worryingly red and it led her to wonder how hungry she would have to be to risk foregoing instincts about cannibalism. One glance at Korgan's wide, envious eyes following those platters as they were placed artlessly in simple rows upon the floor and she decided she knew when the dwarf would consider breaking such a taboo.

The bustle of preparations died down after a while and left in its wake those same guards, rasping faintly in the air, and those rather unvaried rows of foodstuffs. There were no chairs or decorations, save for the throne. A special coral-rimmed slab had been left upon the top step of the dais, worryingly empty.

"I'd be willin' to break free just to get at all o' that!" Korgan fairly snarled through gritted teeth, earning a disgusted look from each of the party members. Except for Haer'Dalis who was too busy watching the guards, and from Viconia who actually laughed.

Imoen's elbow dug into Elatharia's ribs just faintly and the Transmuter tilted her head towards her sister expectantly.

"You didn't bring any food along, did you?"

"All lost to the sea," Elatharia sighed, "There were enough stores on the ship to manage without buying more. Jaheira might have something…"

"Just a lesson, is all. I'm not hungry," Imoen was perhaps a little too quick to answer, rubbing at her arms again. "You ready?"

"Yes," Elatharia agreed, eyeing the guards ahead of them before switching to the drow sign language which only she, Imoen and Viconia could understand of those present. " _We are fortunate that the king is mad. He leads an arrogant court. They seem to assume that even armed we are easy to kill._ "

" _Mostly unarmed,_ " Imoen signed back, " _And I would reckon that they have some spell ready to bind us as soon as they unlock the cage. So we'll need to try to get there first, not rely on them_."

After that, a plan of sorts emerged between them. Elatharia signed the ideas over to Viconia, who whispered the key instructions required of Jan directly to the gnome. After that, a grin grew on his face while the information was relayed in urgent whispers to the others.

Elatharia's was rocking back and forth on her heels and her palms were sweating by the time the king arrived, loping across the throne room and settling upon a stool of carved coral which his servants brought behind him, placing it at the opposite side of the arrayed food from his throne. Captain Alyttyl followed, and at least a further twenty sahuagin of varying sizes, shades and states of decoration, each settling upon the floor at one of the slabs. There was little conversation – indeed, the whole thing seemed a solemn affair by surfacer standards, but then Elatharia was not prepared to judge these creatures by the same standards. That would have been an ill-informed assumption.

"We gather before the Throne of Sekolah's Chosen, before the pool of her Child, because the line of Senityi was proven right," the king called, and his shrill words had the immediate attention of all those present. It was impossible to tell how much of that attention was fear and how much loyal adoration, "The silver sword did fall, and the beast from another world did follow and we did slay them and take their prey prisoner! The prophecy had promised me victory over my traitor brother at the coming of this sign, and so I will offer its bounty as a sacrifice to mighty Sekolah!"

A chittering cry rang out from each of those present – it must have been a cheer of sorts – and all the sahuagin took up a chant which the _Tongues_ spell failed to translate. Perhaps it was a tune and not a chant at all. None of those present were paying attention to their captives, and Elatharia itched with the need to test their prison once more – Viconia closed the distance between them in a few steps, gripping her arm as if she could tell what she was thinking.

"Senityili! Priestess! Come forth. You have earned the right to spill the blood of the first sacrifice into the Child's pool to bring it forth!" the king called.

The sahuagin in question stepped into the throne room from the shadowed passageway across from the cage, shrouded now in a floor-sweeping blue cloak with a deep hood. In her hands she held a long, curved knife set with glittering blue jewels. She approached the king at a steady pace, a path which seemed expected of her – indeed, he opened his arms to her as she stepped up to him and touched the palm of her free hand to the top of his head.

"Sekolah's blessing upon you, king," she sighed.

That was when the conjured lights about them flickered, momentarily plunging the whole room into darkness. With it, as the illumination returned, came a low rumble. The air fizzed and grew warm just as briefly with the tangible cancellation of the heavy layers of Abjurations which must have been woven around the palace.

It all happened so quickly that the king had no time to react before Senityili drove the blade of her knife beneath his chin. His guards had all stepped forward and Captain Alyttyl was on his feet, but all reeled at the sound of their king's agonised shriek. Ixilthetocal flailed all seven of his limbs, flopping forwards and lashing out for Senityili. The priestess leapt back and around him, calling forth the power of her god as she loped for the pool which had served as the group's entrance earlier in the day. She leapt in with a loud splash, followed by a number of vengeful guards.

 _Click_ went the lock as Imoen's pick worked its – literal – magic, the cage door swinging wide as Jan, almost unnoticed in the commotion, finished the words to the spell he had begun when the Abjurations broke. More magic fizzed around them, and Elatharia watched as each of her companions vanished from sight and her own hands disappeared before her eyes. _Mass Invisibility_. She would have to rely on everyone sticking to the plan absolutely. But for now, she had her own spell to weave, stepping back to allow those of a more martial bent to get out of the cage first. They may have been invisible, but their heavy footsteps were fully audible.

A moment passed, the cage door rattling. The king continued to howl for vengeance – but only when one guard before the cage fell flat on his face did any of the sahuagin consider their hostages, Viconia appearing as she landed on her knees atop his back and brought the Flail of the Ages to bear. By that time Korgan had barrelled into the other guard, Mazzy slashing Anomen's sword across the staggered creature's throat, and Haer'Dalis had slain the third captor as well.

"The prisoners!" the king shrieked, his voice higher with his pain as he clawed around the knife embedded in his face with two hands, spitting white blood as he howled, gesturing with his other four arms.

Some twelve guards remained, not to mention Captain Alyttyl who now turned all four of his spears and all of his considerable muscle power in the direction of the four visible air-breathers. The majority of the other guests were fleeing, either leaping the way of Senityili or making for the corridors across the hall. No one went near the pool around the throne, and that felt significant. Surely the beast that lurked within, which had devoured the high priestess's body, must have been Sekolah's Child?

Imoen finished her spell just before Elatharia's own incantation began to crackle around her hands. Her sister's _Haste_ sped up the movements of those four fighters ahead of them at a rather fortuitous time – the twelve guards crashed into them, and it was all they could do to stay alive for the moment. Over by the piles of treasure, something clattered loudly and Anomen popped into view with his breastplate lose around his torso and his helmet on his head. Cringing, he ducked to retrieve his shield, his mace already in his other hand, and hurried to join the others. Jaheira made a much more impressive appearance as she rammed a serrated spear which was decidedly not hers through the back of one of the sahuagin.

"Get back!" Elatharia called as her spell finally crackled from her fingertips.

Hasted as they were, her companions were just about able to pull back in time as lightening slammed into the closest sahuagin from her outstretched hands, a shuddering bolt of blue-white power which fizzed to the next creature along and to the next after that until all twelve had felt the agony of her spell. Two stumbled and fell back into the blades of Mazzy and a newly appearing Valygar, another fell to Jaheira. Two more, the closest to the Transmuter, shuddered and died before they flopped to the floor, charred and steaming. Another staggered forward and crashed into the cage door, sending Elatharia jumping back with a yelp, her hands poised for a spell.

"Where are the reinforcements! Guards! Guar…" the king's voice was stopped abruptly with the crash of one of Jan's projectiles, the gnome appearing perhaps a foot away from the sahuagin leader as the Enchantment on the object paralysed the flailing creature.

But Elatharia hardly had time to consider this – Imoen had vanished elsewhere, which left her alone in this cage while the others were occupied with the clattering chaos brought on by the reinforcements. The sahuagin ahead of her hissed, its bulbous eyes rolling before they came to rest on her. She hurled a group of magic missiles its way almost on reflex, ducking and stumbling aside as it howled and spat something hateful through the volley of stinging missiles. Another glance at the battle raging beyond proved that none of her allies had noticed her plight – or were able to help. Still…if she could just dart out through the door while the creature was distracted…

The beast caught her by the hair as her foot crossed the threshold of the cage and she gasped in pain as the merciless strength of the sahuagin wrenched her back against its large, hard body. She felt a sharp pain as more than a few strands tore free, and then a ripple of something a great deal more insistent beneath her own skin. She stilled as a sharp blade was pressed to her throat, eyes darting about to the closest of her companions as she clawed at the creature that held her. It shook her, and called out in its translated speech.

"I have your leader! Drop your weapons and submit, or she will be killed immediately!"

For a brief moment, the fighting paused. Viconia cursed when she saw Elatharia's plight, but no one made any move. Jaheira even looked like she was considering pointedly carrying on just to see the sahuagin make good his threat. The pause was enough for the Transmuter to gain her breath, either way. She snarled through the pain as the beast shook her again, both hands gripping the large forearm that pinned her.

"That's not going to work," she said as coolly as she could with her skin crawling so spectacularly, golden lights starting to burst behind her eyes. "Because even if you don't kill me now and they surrender, they'll die anyway." She punctuated her last word by tightening her grip, spitting out the words to the _Shocking Grasp_ spell that had saved her against Lord Roaringhorn back in Athkatla.

As magical energy shot from her hands and burned the sahuagin's arm, the creature shrieked in pain as its wet skin conducted the electricity throughout its body. It convulsed, and then thrashed, its hold on her momentarily tightening before releasing. One limb smacked into the back of her head and sent her reeling…and when her palms hit the floor to brace her landing, the golden light overtook her sight. She felt her skin ripple and knew that there was no stopping this, so she clawed at the tie of her belt and tugged free her mask before another spasm of movement – not quite _pain_ but certainly less than preferable – overtook her body. She saw alarm filling the faces of those closest to her; Mazzy, Haer'Dalis, Viconia, Anomen. The paladin called out, her eyes fixed on Elatharia, and began to scramble back mid-fight.

Then the world went red, and it filled with the shrieks of sahuagin.

* * *

"E-Elatharia?"

Aerie's voice cut through the darkness that had engulfed her, high and nervous but not too afraid. The Transmuter gradually became aware of the almost overpowering stench of fish and the warm wetness beneath her hands and her bare knees, of a cloak being draped over her shoulders. She was breathing hard, her hair hanging loose about her face and her joints aching strangely. She blinked slowly, and the darkness began to give way to light once more. She saw an expanse of white blood across the floor beneath her, a trail of strange organs scattered all the way back to the torn body of the sahuagin king, past Aerie's booted feet. Elatharia's eyes widened as she saw the carnage in the room, and the sight of several of her companions eyeing her warily from a cluster by the cage, though Captain Alyttyl was yet caught in battle. He was the last sahuagin left standing.

"Did I…do all of that?" Elatharia gasped as she hauled herself onto her knees, drawing the cloak about herself tightly and trying not to think about how many of the others had seen her bare now – at least the cloak was her own, salvaged from her bag of holding which was now in Aerie's small hands. The avariel crouched down to look at her with large, anxious eyes, her angular features failing to achieve even a reassuring smile.

"You…you d-did a lot of it," Aerie admitted softly, "And I th-thought I would n-need to make you sleep again like…like last time. B-but you didn't seem to…to want to hurt us, l-like you knew who…who we were."

Well, that was some consolation. It did not stop the veiled horror in the eyes of those who travelled with her – at least those who were not still trying to subdue Alyttyl. So Elatharia took the bag of holding and her mask from Aerie, turning away and busying herself with pulling on her clothes. When she turned back around, the avariel had retreated over to those gathered by the cage and for the moment Elatharia chose to take stock of more pressing events. A number of the sahuagin were still alive, floundering in the air – it looked as though her companions by the cage had chosen to cower there as the beast she had become rampaged through their enemies, and now that she was returned to normal they resumed their task, now more one of mercy than anything.

Korgan was now caught in a battle of strength with all four of Captain Alyttyl's arms. He had managed to break two of the sahuagin's spears and lodged two more in the blade of his axe. The dwarf was growing red-faced, digging his heels in and huffing loudly while the others set about finishing off the remaining and universally wounded guards, Jaheira just turning to help him, when a flash of white light sped through the air, colliding with Alyttyl's shoulder. The captain shuddered and then convulsed, a white arrow shimmering out of existence from its place embedded in his meaty shoulder, leaving behind a weeping, charred wound.

The injury was only enough to ease the strain of the captain's attack on Korgan, forcing him to back up now and defend on two sides as Jaheira joined the fray. Another arrow shot out and struck his other shoulder, staggering him more as the last of the guards was slain. This time, Elatharia followed the path the arrow had taken and spied her sister standing amongst the piles of gold, a white shortbow poised in her hands. Her eyes were focused, a faint frown on her face as she drew back the string and another arrow shimmered into being beneath her hands. If she had seen Elatharia's shapechanging rampage, she was making a point of ignoring it.

"It is over, you fool!" Valygar cried to the floundering sahuagin captain who was now falling to his knees, huge mouth sagging though he swung each spear out fast enough to force the seven closing around him to retreat again, "The coup has begun and your king is dead. Must you die for this?"

"Weak air-breathers! Surfacers!" the captain spat the word like a curse, "I must die for the failure to defeat weak…"

Aerie gasped in shock as Korgan took the sahuagin at his word and swung his axe even after those words, spraying white blood across a few rather unsuspecting party members. When Elatharia caught the dwarf's eye and nodded wearily, he gave a vicious and hearty laugh, lunging in for the kill. The gruesome sounds of his deeds were audible enough without anyone even considering watching.

Aerie flitted over to Haer'Dalis, who was nursing a deeply gashed arm, but otherwise no one else seemed badly hurt. All of the martial group members were breathing hard however, faces showing the strain of a situation which they had only just created rather than resolved. There were more than a few bruises and cuts, but everyone seemed mobile – if a little shaken by the sudden battle after so long without food…and no doubt from Elatharia's dramatic transformation.

"We must get out of here quickly," Jaheira snapped, though her eyes lingered on Elatharia warily, "Jan, the instrument?"

"Ready when we are. But we will need to get to the sea floor for it to be effective. And preferably without our leader turning into a demon and shredding us all midway," the gnome pointed out as Elatharia joined them. She shook her head at him wearily, but that was not good enough for Jaheira.

"Will you be turning into that…thing again, Bhaalspawn?" the druid demanded, stepping in front of the Transmuter, looking her up and down pointedly. "You seemed prepared to do it. Can you control it, or will you be compromising our safety for a third time?"

"J-Jaheira!" Aerie sounded indignant, but Elatharia waved a hand to dismiss her.

"I won't," she told Jaheira stiffly, tilting her chin resolutely when the druid gave her a doubtful look. The others were watching closely, but no one offered any comments. The situation was too pressing to argue about one more danger. "The…the beast is too tired to come back." _More like sated_.

"Gods help us if the priestess was lying," Anomen grunted as Mazzy fastened his armour as quickly as her blood-slicked hands would permit. "And if not then I shall sink and stay well sunk." From the nervous way his eyes flitted away from her, Elatharia guessed that he was actually trying to change the subject away from her dramatic metamorphosis.

"No great loss there then, knight," Viconia drawled. The words made Elatharia think of Edwin and she flinched as she stepped past her companions, towards where her sister was picking through the treasure, her new bow slung over her arm.

"Enough, all of you," Jaheira snapped, "We need to gather our things and head out."

With no sign of any more sahuagin returning to the gruesome throne room, the party did just as the druid suggested, retrieving weaponry and backpacks. Imoen gathered up as much gold as possible, insisting that she pour as much into Elatharia's bag of holding as they could manage before the others were ready. There was only a hint of remembered enjoyment in her eyes, as if she thought the actions might bring back the past. But at least it was a start. Elatharia was certain that Imoen must have seen her become the Beast but never once did she comment on it, not even when they were well out of earshot of the others. And though it was concerning, Elatharia understood that there really was not time to consider what had happened. They needed to escape.

At last they were ready, Mazzy and Anomen as heavily armoured as always, Korgan covered in blood, Imoen and Jaheira each carrying new weapons from the treasure pile and all of them reunited with their backpacks. Sniffling sadly, Aerie was only just pulling hers onto her shoulders as the others headed for the far pool which would be their exit. Apparently Boo was not amongst her possessions, either.

Elatharia paused at the pool around the throne only long enough to catch a glimpse of the streamlined grey mass circling below, the beast the sahuagin had called Sekolah's Child. A shark. Of course. She might have shuddered to consider such a fate, if the others had not been getting ahead of her.

They picked their way through the pile of dead sahuagin, past their scattered food and the gory remains of the dead king, pausing at the edge of the exit pool. The gates below were visibly open, presumably left in such a state by Senityili. Jan grinned at them all, holding out his device.

"I ought to go first, really, I suppose. I'll wait at the bottom with the spell enabled. Sorry about the heavy landing." He winked, and then pinched his nose before taking a deep gulp of air and jumping into the pool with a huge splash which did not fail to spray any of them.

"You're next, knight," Korgan chortled as the water churned with Jan's descent, "Ye'll sink just fine in all that plate, like ye said."

He gave Anomen a hard shove, and with a yelp of surprise and no time to right himself the young priest of Helm tumbled into the water without time to catch a breath. In a froth of bubbles, he did visibly sink, flailing all the way. To his credit, and amidst the protests of the others for his assault on the knight, Korgan made a point of following. Mazzy went next, along with Valygar and Jaheira – the halfling sank with the weight of her armour, and the latter two proved proficient and powerful swimmers.

"My Blackbird?" Haer'Dalis held out a hand for Viconia which the drow scorned as usual, though the tolerant look she sent the tiefling hinted at a smile. They dived in together, both gracefully poised and with hardly a splash between them.

"I…I don't swim all that well," Aerie fretted as Imoen followed just as skilfully, her new bow safely stowed in Elatharia's bag of holding. "I…We avariel have less dense bones than those of the earth. We are lighter, and float more readily."

Elatharia grimaced, though the solution came to her just as quickly as her irritation.

" _Stoneskin_ will make you denser. You have it memorised?"

"Y-yes," Aerie nodded, and set to casting immediately. After a split second of thought, the Transmuter performed the same incantation upon herself and they ended up jumping in together. Unlike Aerie, she was a reasonable swimmer – Imoen had made sure of that in their youth – but she did not want to waste any more time than necessary with so many unknowns ahead. And the long skirt of the Robe of Vecna would hardly be conducive to successful underwater movement.

Water rushed by, loud and cold, for a blessedly brief period before Jan's spell reached them. Returned to a dome of air, both avariel and Transmuter fell gracelessly to the wet sand at the bottom of the cylindrical chamber of bones. That must have been the heavy landing Jan had mentioned.

"Alright. Everyone's here. Let's get outta this ocean!" Korgan roared while the others were still pulling themselves to their feet, spitting sand and salty water, drenched and already shivering again. Elatharia was at least relieved that the thin grey film of _Stoneskin_ protected her from becoming soaked like most of the others.

As it turned out, all of them were as eager as Korgan to escape, though the priestess's instructions had been rather vague. Elatharia kept her _Waterbreathing_ Transmutation at the forefront of her mind as they ran out as one through the open gates, Jan's dome of air keeping them dry, breathing and upon the seabed.

Beyond the palace, in the twisting opaque mass of the sea there roiled a mighty battle. It thundered all around them, sahuagin clawing at each other when spears would not do, whole structures of seaweed now formless and adrift. Here and there bursts of light heralded the use of spells, but all of it was happening above the fleeing air-breathers. Not a single sahuagin came close to their air bubble or even had time to glance their way as they ran, under the power of another _Haste_ , for the cliff wall ahead.

They had to stop once to imbue Aerie and Imoen with spells of _Strength_ , but if they ran for a long while Elatharia was too focused to notice. The sea rushed by, blurred and thunderous above them, the wet sand churned beneath their feet. She kept her thoughts on the cliff face ahead as Korgan whooped to see the white-coral gateway Senityili had promised them.

Beyond the unguarded opening rose a vertical tunnel of rock within the cliff. It was clearly graven by humanoid hands and a unified purpose, for its walls were rounded and straight but for a spiralling series of hand and foot holds. The water shimmered up above, though blackness yawned beyond a conjured light of Elatharia's as they ventured forth.

Jan twisted something on his contraption and the bubble realigned to arc around them more effectively as the group took up the treacherously slippery climb, keeping the gnome and his invaluable contraption at the centre of their number.

When at last the water broke over their heads and they hauled each other up onto flat stone, gasping and slumping against the cramped walls of some unknown cavern which had never seen the sun, Elatharia's light revealed a more natural-looking tunnel ahead, Viconia already crouched and silent at its opening. Her anxious eyes were aglow with the red of infravision as they stared into the unknown dark.

"I can't believe we did it!" Aerie gasped.

"An' I never intend t' swim again, I tell ye!" Korgan fairly bellowed.

Elatharia cringed, and Viconia turned around sharply, gesturing angrily for a silence which few noticed. That was only achieved when they heard the slap of running footsteps and an unfamiliar, gurgling language.

"The kuo toa," Viconia warned as she ran back to join the main group, sending a hateful glare their way, "The priestess warned us they would be here. They will fight us. And if we get through this, I would advise total silence and the banishment of that light. We are in the Underdark now, and here most of you will be as helpless as you were in the ocean."

A few curses were muttered, but the weary group formed up and readied themselves for another fight as a number of spindly-limbed bipedal forms came into view, the huge frog-like faces of the creatures spitting hateful gurgles their way unmistakeably those of the kuo toa. Korgan actually bellowed a laugh as he set his feet and levelled his axe.

"Ha! I'd wager these're just more sahuagin, an' I've still a score t' settle. Bring 'em on!"

Elatharia sighed, and handed that new silver shortbow to her sister before launching into a spell.


	44. Of Chaos and Eternal Night

**With thanks to all those reading and to those reviewing - your support is, as ever, greatly appreciated. :)  
Oh, and the chapter title here comes from Book I of John Milton's 'Paradise Lost'.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 43: Of Chaos and Eternal Night**

* * *

Queen Ellesime came here to listen to the Stones, but always found herself drawn to the pool whose banks bore so many memories of her youth – both fond and painful…and sometimes interchangeably so. Here she sat upon the vine-covered bench and watch the water wherein rippled the reflections of her world, always dominated by the mighty Tree. She did also come here for the quiet and the precious solitude, here where the stones peered out at her with empty eyes and the mossy ground was soft and cool beneath her bare feet, hidden from her courtiers and her people by high ferns and bell-fringed chime-trees.

Those trees – and the Tree – whispered in the faint breeze, their bells chiming a reminder that autumn was here. Though Suldanessellar would never suffer the winter, sheltered by the Great Tree within the circle of the Uiscad River, the air would grow colder and frost might fringe the grass in the early mornings, reminding those of the City that a world remained beyond them – beyond even the Wealdath, the forest at whose heart they dwelt.

The sky was speckled with clouds today, the sun filtering through the Great Tree's evergreen boughs and somehow washing the flowers arrayed below with brighter light than before. For the whole city would have stood in the shadow of the Great Tree, if it had cast a shadow. It rose up far, far above the highest treetops of the Wealdath forest around it, a mountain in a sea of hills, its roots too steep to climb where they crawled above the ground before plunging deep below the earth. Without the Tree there would have been no Suldanessellar, not any city so splendid and untouched as this one. For it warmed the waters that ran through here, created a border of protective magics and fed the power of the Stones. It kept away the winter, and brought the rains only when they were needed.

Several hundred feet in height and more than half a hundred across, with great spiralling boughs as broad as the trunks of the Ancient Oaks of the Wealdath, the Tree more than dwarfed the palace which stood at the edge of the gardens, a weave of living silvertrees and ghostvines, crowned with ever-blooming blue and white flowers – Monarch's Jewels, they called them. The story went that Ellesime's grandmother had been lured up into the Great Tree by Corellon Larethian, who seduced her. And he was so besotted with her that he gave to her the seeds for the Monarch's Jewels, which were sown into the roof of the palace. Thereafter, it was said, those flowers would bloom so long as the monarch lived. They had fallen when Ellesime's father died, and were in bud again before her coronation – now the air was always full of their aroma.

From her bedroom, Queen Ellesime could always hear the comforting chime and whisper of the Tree in the night when her conscience and loss would not let her sleep. It soothed her and frightened her by turns; and now, here in the gardens where its power was strongest, it told her that she had company long before her own senses could acknowledge the insight. By the time the faint rustle of elven mail and quiet, urgent speech could be heard the queen had stood from her bench, full of ill memories, and settled her crown once more upon her elaborate coils of blonde hair. Her long skirts covered her bare feet as she shifted and took up the still, composed posture of the monarch she was meant to be.

The guards shortly stepped around the high ferns, their emerald chain armour shining in the bright light of the Tree, faces stony as they bowed and parted to permit their charge to approach. Queen Ellesime knew him well; High Knight Elhan, his helmet tucked under one arm, his plain mail shirt still stained from the road and his long braids of copper hair dishevelled about his chiselled face, bronze skin marred by a long cut across his jaw. He was a good person, but ever did his arrival mean bad news.

"You bring news from _In Tempul Maige in Chatha_?" the queen prompted as he bowed, and though she was careful to keep her tone gentle, she could not hide her urgency. His green eyes were wide and wild as he raised them to meet her scrutiny, still on one knee upon the moss.

"Ill tidings, my queen," he warned, "And too urgent to wait. Forgive me for breaking your solitude, but I have ridden since the hours before sunrise to bring to you this most terrible news. The drow have begun anew their assaults on our temple – and the latest was far more vicious than before. They came in large numbers and dragged away a number of our men as captives."

"Hostages?" Ellesime urged him to his feet, horror quaking in the word. "Then this was no raid. They want information…and will come back soon. You must have reinforcements at once! I will send our best Bladesingers out with you immediately, and priests as well to aid with the wounded."

"My thanks, my queen," he bowed his head, but made no move to leave. Concerned, Ellesime bridged the gap between them and pressed a delicate hand to his uninjured cheek.

"Old friend, what is it?" He raised his head again as she spoke, his brow furrowed and lips pressed together tightly as if the words he must now say were words he hated.

"We cannot risk the city, my queen. It is the duty of the Knights to protect _In Tempul_ – and to protect you and our city from all threats. Worst of all the drow. We cannot…"

The truth was all too familiar, and dreaded. Ellesime's stomach flipped, but she remained unmoved visibly while her heart broke. These elves were sworn to fight to the death. Whether that be with the hope of returning home – alive or dead – or not.

"We cannot do this without veiling the city. You are right, of course," she agreed carefully, nodding just faintly, "You shall have both Rhynn Lanthorns. The city shall be hidden to all from the outside, and may the horns guide you home come victory."

* * *

The first thing Viconia did when faced with advancing kuo toa was to summon up a globe of darkness. She heard the startled shouts of her human companions as they stumbled back into the conjured light and a grim smile spread across her face. Let it be their first lesson in the Underdark. Here, surrounded by stone that had seen only the faint glow of luminescent mushrooms, where predators preyed on predators, one did what one must to survive. For oneself only, even at the cost of others.

The nests of seaweed knotted along the walls had proven immediately to Viconia that this fairly large cavern was a sleeping area of sorts for the kuo toa. No doubt the loud exclamations and bright lights of the surfacers had brought them running from guard-duty and the like to defend their territory. And to find something fresh to feast upon.

Bracing herself against the ridged curve of the cavern wall, Viconia readied the Flail of the Ages and listened, awaiting her turn to fight as she mouthed the words for Shar's dark blessing. It was enough; she felt the resolve and strength of her goddess flood her immediately. Meanwhile, the cavern echoed with the shouts of the surfacers, the ring of steel, and the gurgling of the kuo toa whose large, wet feet slapped gracelessly upon the floor.

There was the crackle of Imoen's new bow, and an answering guttural scream of pain. There were the voices of Elatharia and Aerie hurrying through spellwords. The Bhaalspawn finished first, and Viconia recognised the increased vigour which settled upon her as _Haste_. Beyond her sphere of darkness nothing could compete with Korgan's joyous roaring, but Viconia knew the instant that foes breached her sphere. She could hear the heavy slap of each step, the rasp of each laboured breath – and she could smell the pungent stink of these tiresome amphibious bandits.

The drow ducked beneath the whistling swing of a spear, surging forward in lieu of the more predictable retreat and bringing her flail to bear. She heard a satisfying smack and sizzle as her flail met thin, damp skin. The creature shrieked and lurched back; and Viconia threw herself to the side just in time, though she still felt the edge of her other attacker's spearhead scrape against her armoured side. The black dragon scale protected her, but the second kuo toa's lunge might have unbalanced a less experienced fighter. As it was, Viconia simply span around, using the impact to help her pivot faster and increase the weight behind her next swing. Just in time; her flail smacked aside the next jab of the unseen spear and hooked on the shaft. Holding on and grunting a little with the effort, Viconia hauled back on the handle of her weapon.

Gurgling something hateful, the creature was forced to turn as she moved in an arc around it, listening carefully to the gasps and footsteps of its wounded companion. Both drow and kuo toa staggered to the side…and the amphibious monster resisting her pull jerked with a gasp. A wet squelch followed, and Viconia grinned victoriously, spitting a command phrase and dismissing her globe of darkness, yanking on her flail to release it. The amphibian's spear clattered to the ground – and there, plainly in the light, the kuo toa flopped onto its face, its hapless companion's javelin embedded in its back and thick pinkish blood leaking across the cavern floor.

The unwitting murderer blinked its bulbous eyes, lipless mouth flapping in confusion. It appeared to have fallen fully for her trap, and now backed up as Viconia advanced, one thin arm cradled to its side from her previous assault, the greenish skin blistered and torn. It drew to a shuddering halt shortly, a blade erupting through its narrow chest. As the second kuo toa fell…Haer'Dalis was revealed to Viconia. He flashed her a smile as he moved to help the others, who continued to fill the cavern with the din of their battle.

"You seem to have stumbled upon your proper place, _jaluk_ ," Viconia crowed as she reached the tiefling's side, careful not to slip on the blood-slicked ground, "To step in and spare me the trouble of finishing a tiresome job."

Pausing now instead of advancing on the tangle of battle, Haer'Dalis glanced down at her with a crooked grin, one eyebrow quirking.

"Not always true I hope, my Blackbird?"

She did not deign to respond to the tiefling, who only laughed heartily at her dismissal – but when he moved to join the fray again, Viconia caught his arm just as Elatharia's _Chain Lightning_ tore through a number of reinforcements and left them twitching and smouldering upon the ground. Haer'Dalis twisted back to look at her Viconia when she tugged at his arm again.

"No," she hissed, "Our…companions look well-suited to finishing the battle," she nodded to where Korgan's axe was filling the air with arcing sprays of pinkish kuo toa blood and the other fighters had formed up back to back, each engaged one-on-one with the gangly, frog-headed foes. "We need to look ahead – where darkness is our ally."

"You believe there are many more of the creatures?" Haer'Dalis's brow furrowed, but he kept in step with her as she darted around the edge of the cavern. "They seem rather too dull-witted for cunning."

"They are indeed," Viconia agreed, pausing at the mouth of the dark tunnel in spite of the choking stink of smouldering kuo toa corpses. "But these fallen kuo toa were freshly wet – we are close to a water source other than our entry point. Any number more could be passing nearby." A glance back across the cavern showed that Elatharia was looking her way between spells; a few quick hand gestures of drow sign language explained her intent and the Transmuter turned back to the fight with a nod, falling into her next spell.

"Then…your plan, my Blackbird?" Haer'Dalis inquired in a low murmur, ducking a little as they stepped over the blackened corpses of four kuo toa and through into the dark tunnel ahead. Viconia gestured sharply for silence and the bard blessedly said no more.

This passageway was narrow and low, a cluster of Underdark mushrooms glowing a faint green in one natural alcove. The place was otherwise rough-hewn and stank of kuo toa – a few paces more and it branched off to either side. To the right: dark, still silence. To the left: the rush of water and the burble of more kuo toa conversing nervously. Nodding to herself, Viconia flitted this way, pausing only briefly to take in the scene ahead.

Two more kuo toa stood at the edge of a rushing river which looked to be just deep enough for amphibious travel. More nests littered the floor, the whole place reeking enough to gag, and by these two creatures was moored a small, rickety raft upon which were bound two small, humanoid figures dressed in tattered cloth. One glance at their small, struggling forms, at their coarse, bearded faces and thickly muscled but short limbs and Viconia knew them for svirfneblin; deep gnomes.

How curious. These two jumpy kuo toa appeared to be guarding the prisoners, for they were utterly alone in this low, broad cavern and when Viconia stepped out into the faint glow of more luminescent mushrooms, they took one look at each other and gurgled the only word in their gruesome language which Viconia knew: _drow_. When she snarled at them theatrically they leapt back and dived into the water, fleeing rather than risk a drow raiding party, leaving their prisoners without a thought.

Looking over her shoulder to meet Haer'Dalis's incredulous black eyes, Viconia burst out laughing.

* * *

When the last kuo toa fell to the ground all the fighters were breathing hard. Korgan was grinning through layers of blood and gore, while Anomen was just helping Jaheira to sit back against the far wall of the cavern so that Aerie might heal the long cut in her leg. Mazzy and Valygar were both nursing bruises and a few minor cuts – the halfling's face was newly marred with a black eye – but neither looked happy to sit back, murmuring anxiously to each other as they crossed the room toward Elatharia and Imoen. The Transmuter was just relieved to have kept her own form for the duration of the fight this time.

"Anyone wish we hadn't escaped this way?" Jan inquired as those still fully mobile or not involved in healing activities formed up in the centre of the cavern, all of them eyeing their cold, rocky surroundings with unease. Darkness encroached on their conjured light in all directions.

"Never, gnome," Korgan grunted, nodding toward the pool out of which they had recently emerged, "Though I've half a mind t' shove ye back in fer suggestin' it."

Jan sniggered, though the dwarf waved his axe in his direction. The gnome was still only half visible through layers of Illusion, his form blurred and semi-transparent.

"The drow and the tiefling vanished from the fight," Valygar intoned, his gruff voice kept low as if that might aid them after Korgan's thunderous words. Elatharia grimaced his way, shifting uncomfortably as her irritation with the ranger set the beast within her crawling under her skin. How odd to realise the truth of that feeling after so long.

"They done moved out to scout," Imoen put in softly, eyeing Valygar thoughtfully and yet so blankly, "Killed the kuo toa yonder," she gestured to the creatures fallen by the wall behind her, "And headed off that way," she pointed to the only dark tunnel adjoined to this cavern. Valygar followed her gesture with a frown.

"How do you know she did not simply intend to abandon us?"

"Sign language," Imoen reminded him, "She told Elatharia, but I done saw too."

"And ye believe the drow, girl?" Korgan scoffed. Imoen blinked at the dwarf and ranger both as if that made no sense.

"How would that benefit her?" Elatharia pointed out, "A drow alone in the Underdark is more vulnerable than they would be in a group."

"Hmph," Valygar shook his head and continued to glare, "I do not…"

"Looks like they're back now," Jan put in, nodding to where Viconia and Haer'Dalis were emerging from the dark tunnel – a lot less weary and gore-splattered than most of their companions but dragging with them two grey-skinned, white-bearded gnomes in tattered grey cloth and bound with seaweed twine. Both looked dazed and weary, stumbling and swaying with every step.

"We found these svirfneblin ready to be taken downstream," Viconia explained as Haer'Dalis released the two captives, cutting their bonds with one of his shortswords. They staggered free with gasps, rubbing at their wrists and murmuring something unintelligible in an unfamiliar somnolent language, huddling together and peering nervously at the surfacers around them with mounting confusion – though they made no move to flee.

" _Kam-am-ga ekka_ ," one fairly exclaimed, twisting about to look up at Viconia, both squinting a little in the light. Their features were coarse and broad, their charcoal-grey skin thick and lined. They chattered nervously for a moment before Viconia snapped at them in the drow language and both grew still, pale eyes wide and fearful.

"Well this is a problem," Jan sighed, "How curious. Underground gnomes! Never did I think I would meet Underdark Kin. Except that time when Uncle…"

"Shut it, gnome," Korgan was snarling, though Elatharia had already stopped listening.

Her thoughts were focused on a spell she had rarely used outside of Candlekeep lessons as she approached the closest svirfneblin, one hand outstretched and her brow furrowed in concentration. The deep gnome wavered but held his ground as her palm settled on his shoulder and she spoke a few command words, her free hand twirling in the intricate gestures of Alteration.

"…not of the stone, these ones. From far away – surfacers. Why would they travel with a drow? Are we going to be alright or do you think we should run now before they do something?" the svirfneblin's translated voice was deep and rumbling, each word drawn out in pace with his slow language.

"You don't need to run," Elatharia advised, and the svirfneblin jumped. He felt his ears suspiciously while his companion continued to speak unintelligibly at his side and Elatharia backed up. After a moment, he sagged in relief.

"Then take my thanks, strangers," he offered to Viconia and Haer'Dalis, "We had truly believed we had reached the end of this life."

"It was our pleasure, I sur…" Mazzy began, but Elatharia cut her off.

"Do you know the drow city of Ust Natha?" the Transmuter demanded, and both svirfneblin blanched to hear the place name.

"O-of course, stranger. You are in league with the drow?" they glanced Viconia's way and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head distinctly.

"No. But we need to get there. Is it far?" Elatharia pressed as Aerie, Anomen and Jaheira finally joined the main group, asking what was going on and hearing the news from Mazzy and Valygar.

"No no, not far, past our village," the svirfneblin shifted uncomfortably, eyes lingering a curious moment on Jan.

"Well, can you show us the way?" Viconia suggested.

The deep gnome blinked, and then shook his head fiercely, conversing for a moment with his companion in their shared tongue.

"Only for a price," he said at last, face carefully blank while most of the surfacers balked at such words.

"A price?" Elatharia exclaimed, "We just saved your lives!"

"Our lives mean nothing if the demon who lurks within our city is not slain. Help our people and we will help you. Half way to Ust Natha it is! Help our city and we will help you, yes?"

"Ugly gods! A little proddin' with a fine blade should loosen their tongues," Korgan grumbled viciously.

Aerie gasped at this, audibly above the ripple of outrage which ran through the noble members of the group, even as a chill ran through Elatharia's veins at the thought. _Ah, the Child of Bhaal has awoken. It is time for more…experiments_. She rubbed at her wrists, swallowing hard, and a glance her sister's way showed Imoen hugging her arms to her chest and staring steadfastly at the floor.

"Ah, ye're all cowards an' hypocrites!" Korgan spat, "Here, I'll do it meself. Ye're needin' to get t' the drow sooner an' I'll oblige…"

"Enough, Korgan!" Mazzy exclaimed as the svirfneblin backed up sharply from him, the halfling stepping between the grimy dwarf and his would-be victims. Her hand had gone to her sword hilt and her blue eyes were hard. Korgan grinned at her and Haer'Dalis backed up a few paces, hissing something in Demonic as her paladinic aura reached him. Viconia watched him curiously, one eyebrow raised.

"How…how c-can you say things like that, you m-monster!" Aerie exclaimed, shaking off Anomen's hand when he appeared to try to stop her confronting Korgan. "These p-poor gnomes have s-suffered g-gods know what and…and you want t-to hurt them?"

"There is really no time for this," Jaheira complained, her eyes flashing angrily over Korgan's leering face, "These gnomes will at least take us partway to our new goal, since the surface is lost to us for a time. Though it makes me wonder what good the drow is if she cannot take us to a city where she once lived."

"Oh, by all means druid, blunder out into the darkness with your light and your loud, plangent voice. I am sure you will make your way safely to your precious Wealdath. And once you are there, perhaps you could lead me to Myth Drannor? I am sure you know the way without a map," Viconia snarled back. Korgan looked from drow to druid with his bushy brows raised, then barked a laugh.

"Heh. Maybe it'll be a fun journey after all. Might even see one o' these two die a hard death," Korgan chortled, backing down at last, "My bets're on the druid dyin'. Or maybe me prayers!"

Mazzy just shook her head at that and stepped back as well, as if she did not realise that he was telling the whole truth.

"I'd be for going," Jan piped up, and Mazzy nodded forceful agreement. Viconia inclined her head, as did Valygar with a shrug.

"Of course we should help!" Aerie insisted, looking up at Anomen pointedly until he agreed with a fond smile.

"Alright, we should," Imoen muttered at last when the others seemed in accord. Elatharia sighed, her chest tightening at the thought of what waited in Ust Natha.

"Very well," she told the deep gnome and his oblivious companion, "And we will hear what you have to say. If it will help us, we may help you."

* * *

Never in her life would Aerie have expected to see the Underdark – and see was a broad term in these circumstances. Viconia had insisted that they dim their conjured light to a faint flicker, and the shadows were deepest black as they danced across the low ceiling of this cave. The close walls of stone were irregular and damp, pressing in from all sides for an avariel brought up upon a mountain and who once could have expected to fly miles in the open sky. Her chest was tight, her breath short and rapid. When Anomen had tried to calm her, she had found herself pulling from his touch, scrambling away and crouching with her head in her hands, as if the extra pressure would stop her mind spinning.

The whole group was quiet; weary and wary in equal measure. Viconia had insisted they wait a while and rest before heading out to the svirfneblins' city, since they had not slept in gods knew how long. With the drow and Haer'Dalis standing guard at the corridor of this chamber, most of the others were trying to relax their limbs even if sleep was eluding them. Everyone was a little battered in some way, eyes watchful and a little frightened in blank faces. Salt from the seawater was visible in a fine dusting on their drying clothes, mixed with the blood of sahuagin and kuo toa, and everyone's hair hung in stiff clumps. Aerie felt tired and dirty. None of this was helping.

Only Korgan had succumbed to sleep; he had flopped onto his back and started snoring seemingly at whim. Valygar and Jaheira were clearly taking shifts, though both looked wearier than they perhaps realised with bags under their eyes and deep, stressed frowns. Mazzy had tried to coax Aerie to do the same, but the avariel had shaken her head and promised to rest when they reached the svirfneblins' city. The paladin was clearly concerned, her eyes searching the darkness, but eventually moved to the side to attempt to catch some sleep. Anomen followed her lead, and Aerie was at least relieved not to have him watching over her so closely.

Meanwhile, Elatharia was sitting against the wall of the cave closest to Viconia's watchpoint, Imoen's head on her shoulder. The pink-haired girl was pale and empty-eyed. In truth, it looked like the Transmuter was just as blank at heart; neither sister was attempting sleep. Their stillness was underscored by an eerie calm, a kind of emotionlessness that was a few shades too extreme to be borne of the same tiredness exhibited by the others in the group. And of course Elatharia had turned into that Beast not all that long ago – though she had promised it would not be happening again any time soon, no one could risk becoming too complacent with the threat of such a danger.

The svirfneblin had elected to stay with them while they rested, apparently trusting the group to keep to its word, and their first acts as free gnomes had been to gather the bodies of the kuo toa in the centre of the cavern, piling them up and gloating in a slightly too-manic manner which hinted at distress before choosing two of the amphibian creatures to lash together, ready to drag them as trophies back to their city. Only once that was done did they sit down, rubbing at chafed wrists. They watched Jan with the most curiosity, and after a little while he went over to them and they struck up an unexpectedly civil conversation, aided by Elatharia's _Tongues_ spell.

"We should set off soon," Viconia told the group at last, stepping back from the side of the passage. If her own lack of rest bothered her at all, it did not show. She seemed remarkably relaxed – and hardly tired. Her eyes flashed red as they readjusted to the faint light of the chamber, sweeping across each of the party members before settling upon Aerie. "Stragglers cannot be helped. If we are to reach the svirfneblin city safely, we need to stick together and stay quiet."

"What! Ye push me again, ranger, an' I'll have yer hands fer trophies!" Korgan exclaimed automatically when attempts to verbally awaken him failed and Valygar resorted to shaking him. After a moment of shock between dwarf and ranger, Korgan grinned. "Some nerve ye've got there, lad."

"Hm. I take it my hands are safe?" Valygar inquired in a low tone that hinted at humour, of all things. Jaheira watched him strangely as Korgan agreed.

"Well, your request for silence seems to have had a rather opposite effect, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis noted as he paused to offer a hand up to Elatharia. She took it, to Aerie's surprise.

"Who made you leader, drow?" Jaheira demanded, stretching stiffly before shouldering her pack and stepping up to the centre with the others. Viconia sneered, but it was Elatharia who answered.

"Did you enjoy answering to me better, druid?" She ignored Imoen's faint nudge. "Viconia is our best chance in a place such as this. Think of her as an advisor, if that helps your fragile morality."

"It doesn't," Jaheira promised, folding her arms.

"Enough've this arguing," Imoen put in when another nudge to her sister failed. Her voice was a lot stronger than Aerie had expected, and her words were surprising enough to silence the whole group. "We've no way've knowing where we are without gettin' to the svirfneblin city or Ust Natha, and no way to reach the surface otherwise either that's any closer. We've no Conjurer to use his teleportation tokens and get us out of here, after all."

Elatharia stiffened at that, her cheeks flushing. Her words were stilted when she spoke in answer.

"True. But Edwin couldn't have helped us anyway; he brought both tokens with him. Together."

"Well. Then we really should set out," Mazzy agreed, glancing over her shoulder to where Aerie remained crouched against the wall. The water in the pool that had brought them to this place was lapping endlessly against the stone, its slapping constantly drawing the avariel's anxious attention.

"Anyone got any water, or somethin' useful like that?" Imoen suggested. A few shrugs and shakes of heads answered her. She rubbed at her arms, clearly shivering, and Aerie realised that the girl really did look too pale. When had she last eaten or drunk something?

"There is a stream in the next chamber," Viconia offered, "Kuo toa are freshwater beasts. But it would be risky to return that way; clearly the creatures use it for travel all the time. In truth, they could return at any moment…"

"I have a veritable store of turnip juice just waiting for use!" Jan fairly crowed, and a number of the group blanched. Viconia and Imoen, however, both nodded.

"Stow your high complaints," the drow advised, "This is the Underdark. You ought to save your superiority for battles." She eyed the gnome for a moment as he fished around in a pocket, his arm disappearing up to the shoulder, and began to pull out a number of tubular canteens, each sloshing with the dreaded liquid. "Take a bottle each. I assume this is not alcoholic, gnome?"

"Not a bit, drow," he answered jovially, proffering the first bottle as Imoen approached him. There were quite a few winces as she unstopped it and drank deeply. If the taste bothered her, it did not show on her face – and she even took a few more sips before fastening it to her belt.

"It is the wisest course," Jaheira admitted after a few moments. She and Valygar were the next to take bottles of their own; Jan threw one which Korgan caught casually. The svirfneblin each took one a little more warily, asking what a turnip was and whether it was an animal or a mushroom.

Seeing the others so close to heading out, Aerie forced herself to unfurl enough to get to her knees and then shakily to her feet. Her head was ringing and her chest ached but the last thing she wanted was to be left alone here in the dark. Mazzy caught her eye and smiled, handing her a bottle as she crept up to join the group. It was surprisingly heavy in her grip and smelled a little less awful than she expected when she pulled the cork out to check.

"I am sorely tempted to go to the stream, gnome," Anomen complained, screwing his face up as he took one of the last bottles, fastening it to his belt without further inspection as if the very material of the canteen offended his fingers. The sight saddened Aerie; for a man who wanted to be so good, the young knight could be very prejudiced. She tried to send a smile Jan's way to compensate, but her chin trembled and her head spun; her eyes fixed upon the uneven, blood-stained ground instead.

"Enough whining," Viconia cut in, and for once the group's attention fixed on her. "Now is the time to cast any _Darkvision_ and silencing spells you have, wizards. Imoen, are you capable of participating?"

"Yep," the aasimar promised, though her face did not reflect her pseudo-cheerful tone. It did show determination, however, and that was clearly enough for Viconia.

"Then you, Haer'Dalis and I will stay ahead of the others and act as scouts. The rest of you…do your best to stay quiet. And keep up." She snapped a few quick words in the drow language with the svirfneblin which seemed to appease her regarding the path they would be taking, and then Aerie's concentration was taken up with casting the necessary spells for travel in the Underdark.

* * *

Viconia's insistence that Imoen join the scouts left Elatharia feeling more than a little uneasy. It was not hard to envisage a situation where she lost her sister again – or perhaps for good – after so long struggling to save her. But no one in the group was as good a scout as Imoen, and it would have been illogical to deny such a choice. Still, the aasimar was hardly dressed for it. She wore only her poorly dried clothes over Elatharia's leant spares along with a pair of boots, that new enchanted bow slung over one shoulder and Edwin's cloak stuffed into her backpack with her spellbook.

Between them the group had enough knowledge of spellcraft to enchant themselves with _Darkvision_ , _Haste_ and a number of individual protection spells. Aerie, Elatharia and Imoen had all brought up the protection of _Stoneskin_ upon themselves and it shimmered in a flexible, silvery layer over their skin. Perhaps it would throw any enemies who spotted them, and they would not immediately be taken for a surfacer group. Jaheira, still a little pale from her leg wound, had some significant trouble in calling upon her druidic powers so far from the surface but she did eventually manage to conjure up the strange, flaking coating of deep brown _Barkskin_ over her skin. Beyond this, it was a simple matter for Elatharia to alter a _Silence_ spell to work in their favour, and the group set off through the dark, cramped tunnels of the Underdark with the two svirfneblin doggedly dragging their kuo toa trophies at the back of the line.

There was an eerie silence about this place, painted in the grey of her mask's _Darkvision_. The air was cool and fresh once they left the stinking caves of the kuo toa outpost behind, but darkness was ever present, so thick and endless that Elatharia's mind perceived it as a pressing fog against her person. Aerie was certainly struggling with this; when they paused for the scouts to move ahead into one particularly low passage, a raised tunnel which required some agility to reach, Elatharia noted that the avariel was trembling and clutching at her sides, a thin sheen of sweat showing over the _Stoneskin_ protecting her from potential threat.

Most of these passages seemed humanoid-made to Elatharia, though they were roughly hewn, the ground uneven and hard, not like the smoother halls of the kuo toa which had probably seen the influence of water over millennia. The smallness of the tunnels suggested to her that these were made by the svirfneblin, or at least not the drow, which was some small comfort. Additionally, their deep gnome guides seemed fairly relaxed and confident; watchful but determined. Presumably they were within svirfneblin borders.

The flash of nimble hands in the corner of her vision had Elatharia turning back to look up at the tunnel entrance to see Imoen crouching there, gesturing in drow sign language.

" _All clear, but we can hear voices occasionally in the distance. Svirfneblin._ "

The Transmuter nodded quickly and stood from where she had been leaning against the wall. The others had huddled around a cluster of glowing mushrooms, drawn to the light of the variously sized luminescent fungi. That was another thing – the place seemed rather lacking in an ecosystem. Humanoid-made. No doubt there were wilder parts of the Underdark than this.

"We should move out," Elatharia told them, her voice as quiet as she could make it, and Aerie jumped in alarm at the sudden sound.

It must have been two hours since any of them had last spoken; she had been watching the turn in the tunnel ahead intently, but now her wide eyes met Elatharia's. She nodded tremulously and moved ahead as Haer'Dalis replaced Imoen in the entrance of the high passageway set in the wall of this corridor of stone. He held out a hand to Aerie, which she caught only by bracing one foot against the stone and jumping with an anxious gasp, legs kicking as the tiefling hauled her in. He looked to be supressing laughter at this – something at which Korgan failed, barking out a laugh which echoed painfully. Everyone cringed except for the dwarf, who rolled his eyes.

"Me grand-da were a duergar, ye weak-blooded pack o' cowards," he spat, thumping the handle of his axe on the ground for emphasis, "And Clan Bloodaxe stood half way into the Underdark afore I burned it right through. Any fool could tell ye this place ain't half as dangerous as drow territory."

"Still, a bit of caution wouldn't go amiss, dwarf," Jaheira fairly snarled as she pushed between him and Elatharia, ignoring Haer'Dalis's hand and catching onto the ledge in one practiced jump, pulling herself up into the passageway as the tiefling backed up for her.

"Hnh. S'no fun in waitin' fer an ambush, I say," Korgan complained, glaring at her ascending form for a moment before his dark eyes slid to Elatharia. "But I've no wish t' get a good silencin' from the Bhaal-kid."

Disbelieving of his respect for her powers over those of the others, Elatharia just raised a doubtful eyebrow at him – he answered with a disinterested shrug, and moved past her. Evidently the Ravager-thing that she had become was a lot more intimidating even than she had previously realised.

It took Valygar to boost him up, but Korgan had no trouble in throwing himself through the tunnel after that. The scrape of metal and a grunt suggested that he might have collided with someone on the way through, however. Sighing heavily, Valygar helped Mazzy up before accepting Haer'Dalis's hand once the tiefling finally reappeared. The two svirfneblin followed, scampering up with the aid of handholds which none of the others had spotted before hauling up their chosen kuo toa corpses. Elatharia watched their ascent closely, and then waved Haer'Dalis's hand away when he offered it to her. As it was, Anomen's voice stopped her anyway, the knight careful to keep his words to a whisper – but she still heard the awkwardness in them, even if his face had not been visible to her with her _Darkvision_.

"I believe the passage is too narrow for me in all of this mail," he admitted, frowning faintly up at Haer'Dalis's curious face. From up above, someone cursed to hear Anomen's information.

"Tis the only safe way to our destination, my Hound," Haer'Dalis relayed down, "Our svirfneblin friends promise me that, should you fail to make it through this tunnel, you will face a possible drow raiding party, a garden of poisonous mushroom-men and otherwise probable capture by the nearby Illithid, who will no doubt detect your foreign thought processes and venture forth to investigate…and conquer."

"I take it the tunnel is warded with svirfneblin magic, then," Elatharia noted, and the tiefling nodded once he had asked the svirfneblin and received the answer. The Transmuter sighed, turning back to Anomen thoughtfully. Perhaps this would be the ideal time to kill him and be done with it? They could certainly abandon him, if the others had moved on far enough…possibly. But no, Aerie would ask immediately if Jaheira or Mazzy failed to do so. And they still needed fireball fodder. So instead, she spoke. "I can shrink you, Anomen. If your pride can take it."

He balked for a moment at her words, before his back straightened indignantly.

"My 'pride' can take anything in the face of rightness, my…lady."

The Beast stirred at his tone, but a deep breath quelled it. Anomen noticed the shaking of her hands and took a wary step back, glancing up to where Haer'Dalis was now reclining in the tunnel entrance, waiting for them with a faint, interested smile on his face. After a moment, the knight's brow furrowed anxiously.

"…how much do you intend to shrink me?"

Elatharia levelled him with a disbelieving stare, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably when the echo of amusement tickled at her senses. She rubbed at her temple when a sharp pressure manifested there.

"Just enough to get you to fit, knight. Now shut up and let me cast the spell before something comes around the corner to kill us."

Those words did at least have their desired effect and a moment or two of concentration brought the appropriate spellwords to her mind. A few gestures and arcane phrases later, and she felt the hum of power leave her poised hands, fizzling through the air before a faint light swelled up around Anomen's bulky armoured form. He shrank almost immediately, body and armour both dwindling until he was perhaps half a head smaller than Aerie and Korgan, his girth much narrower than the dwarf's. Elatharia watched curiously as the miniaturised knight looked about himself in disorientation, blinking and frowning before looking up at her in poorly withheld horror.

"I…th-thank you, my lady," he said, though he certainly did not mean it, only to blanch and cover his mouth in horror when the words came out in a high squeak.

Haer'Dalis collapsed in silent laughter and was no use at all in helping the knight up into the tunnel. Anomen glowered at him hatefully as he struggled with the handholds used so readily by the svirfneblin, and when he did at last make it up into the tunnel his appearance was met with gasps of shock – or perhaps amusement – from the others.

All of this only served to highlight Elatharia's own lack of amusement, and it made her feel hollow. How long before the memories of all her feelings were lost to her? She sighed again, rubbing at her aching temple, and was quick to follow Anomen up when something dark shifted at the end of the corridor.

* * *

There was an odd silence to Ust Natha. Though, like any city, it could never truly be _silent_ it was still…and dark…and eerily tense. In spite of its spectacular structure and obvious opulence, the whole place felt like the dangerous district of a surface city many times magnified. Edwin was not entirely well acquainted with the dangerous parts of many towns – at least he had not been until circumstance and ill fortune had led him to seek refuge in Athkatla of all cities. But the haunts of the Shadows Thieves and the menace of Bodhi's vampires would never come close to the chilling and pervasive malevolence of Ust Natha.

It was at once exhilarating and disconcerting. Perhaps the fools of the Transmuter's party would suggest that Edwin ought to feel at home here watching from this tiny gothic arch set high in Matron Ardulace's sprawling palace, looking down upon complex, dizzying layers of walkways and spires to the distant bustle of the market and main town on the cavern floor. They would have said that Thay was not so different from a drow settlement, with its scheming and love of power and obedience. But they were fools, ignorant all of them. And if nothing else, back in Thay Edwin had been one of those powers, someone the common folk feared. One look at his red robes, and they were obligated to bow and step aside on pain of death.

Here he was a prisoner, closed off in this black-walled room with just the one window. His head ached with the necessity of holding and reapplying the _Darkvision_ spell; a candle did wait on the table, but it seemed unwise to light it. Of course wizards needed light here, to read outlandish tomes not written in enspelled ink but the advantage of light was a trick not to be wasted. So he waited in the dark, watching the city creep and murmur below him. One needed little intelligence to realise that, as an outsider, it was better not to stand out here. Conform, stay quiet, watch, learn. Be alert.

The creak of the door startled the Conjurer, and immediately he turned with a snarl and one hand raised for a spell…to see Bodhi smirking at him in the jagged ebon archway, her icy figure draped in the thin spider web layers of a drow dress. Her vampire status seemed to go down well with the dark elves, as if it elevated her a little above the other surfacers they so scorned.

"How are you finding your new home, Red Wizard?" she smirked, eyeing the small room with some satisfaction. Her gaze lingered on the broad, scarab-shaped bed.

"I should think you need not bother asking," Edwin spat, gesturing sharply at his surroundings, "I am a prisoner (and not even glorified…such indignity!) and all of it under your blackmail and for your benefit."

Bodhi smiled slowly at that, shifting to lean against the doorframe. Edwin's eyes flashed, his anger rising at her mockery, however subtle.

"And what is it that brings you to torment me now, vampire? Are the drow curious to prod your human pet?"

"Hmm. I think they are not so interested in one more male wizard," she pretended to sigh, her pout exaggerated and grotesque, "But my brother and I are preparing our vengeance – and, as my contingency of sorts or…my bait, I thought you deserved to see the truth. To see our goal, and what it is you will be aiding, however passively. Come, prisoner," her purring tone grated, jagged like shattered glass, "I would show you how foolish your Bhaalspawn and her sister are to hunt us, and how pointless it is for them to seek the return of their souls."

Edwin could not hold back his sneer, and for a moment his instinct to refuse such an open command warred with the necessity of his situation. But the burn of his ancestral necklace reminded him of the truth – what a terrible waste, to show that all their Enchantments had been in vain so early. So he straightened from the window sill, tugging at his doublet and smoothing out his frockcoat to remind Bodhi that she had not robbed him of his dignity (yet). She stepped aside to let him pass, still with that broad smirk, and the chill of her deathly body filled the air through which she forced him, jangling against his senses as she ushered him down the narrow, winding corridors of Matron Ardulace's palace.

The place was disturbingly silent, the air cool and occasionally scented with incense or some unfamiliar food. Occasionally a figure flitted through the gloom – and logically the complex must have been teeming with guards, slaves and relatives. Just once a pained scream rang out, and then all was silent again - except for the ringing of Edwin's boots on the polished stone floor, as obvious and out of place as a cow with a bell round its neck being led through some great king's palace.

At last they returned to the throne room, where Ardulace was once more reclining upon her throne carefully eating a few odd, dark fruits from a woven metal bowl. Here the guards were in evidence, at attention and just as silent as before. Irenicus was preparing something in the centre of the room, his gruesome mask of a face set in unwavering concentration as he leaned over a pattern of runes shimmering upon a smooth stone plaque. Bodhi bowed to the Matron, and Edwin cringed inwardly as he copied the gesture. When he raised his eyes, they met the red stare of Ardulace – and her snake-headed whip hissed threateningly even as a crooked smile cut through her angular face.

"Your human is bold, Bodhi. Have you not whipped him enough?" the Matron inquired, quirking an eyebrow as she curled her fingers pointedly around the handle of her weapon. "A wizard of sorts you say? And what peculiar patterns he has. Is it natural? Or some barbaric art practice?"

Bodhi sniggered, glancing up at Edwin as he bristled. How dare these drow name him barbarian!

"The tattooing augmentations of Thay are not the uncultured scrawl which ignorant eyes might assume," he spat automatically, and a ripple of surprise moved through the room. He almost felt proud for breaking up the silence; even Irenicus had looked up, piercing eyes steady on his face (and perhaps that was far from preferable) and the Matron's manservant, Solaufein, was staring at Edwin as if he had just grown another head.

Ardulace's eyebrows shot up, her smile twisting only momentarily into a snarl of disbelief – one which the Red Wizard matched with a sneer. The words had been said. Was he meant to show weakness?

"Male, you overstep beyond your gender, race and station," she growled, rigid in her chair now, "I am Matron Mother of the first house of Ust Natha, not a male to scold." Her eyes flashed to Bodhi. "Silence him, or the next time he speaks I will see his head sawn from his shoulders."

The guards were leering at him hopefully, and Edwin realised that this was probably time to back down. Unable to hide his disdainful expression, he did permit Bodhi to push him back to the side, his hands clenching all the same. The hard pressure of her bony hand on his chest only further reminded him of the glee he would feel in seeing the vampire's slow and painful _true_ death.

"My sincerest apologies, Matron Mother. He is a recent acquisition, a fresh slave. We have not broken him yet," Bodhi explained languorously. Even Edwin heard the lie – and how curious, to see the vampire mistress grovelling and intimidated by a more malicious force.

"Enough, sister," Irenicus's voice rang sharply through the hall, so full of power and thinly veiled icy menace that all eyes turned his way instinctively. Ardulace's expression smoothed out, turning curious – if not hungry. "The spell is prepared, and the casting will reveal to you our goal – the city you may take for your own upon the surface when our plan is complete."

"Do continue, Irenicus," Ardulace bade, leaning forward as he bent to take the appropriate spell components from the corners of the runic plaque, beginning a chant with a few quick gestures. How curious. Edwin had never witnessed such a spell – its forms and words were entirely unfamiliar, slippery in his thoughts and conducive only to worsening his headache. As if it were…

Realisation came a split second before the air rippled between Irenicus and Ardulace, resolving into a colourful image. Divination. Edwin's eyes widened as he looked upon the elvish city arrayed in the shimmering spell, a place of tall green trees and multitudinous flowers, where streams and pools glittered blue under a brilliant sky and homes were woven from living vines and roots. All of it stood in the dominating splendour of a huge tree, many times larger than any tree ought to have ever been. It seemed to reach right up to the sky, and the pulse of power was easy to feel even through this projected image.

"This is Suldanessellar," Irenicus explained, as the drow in the room shielded their eyes uncomfortably against the poor imitation of true sunlight, "Sacred home of the sun elves. It has been closed off, hidden utterly, after word arrived there of the massacre of its Knights at _Mag in Chatha_. And this is exactly how it should be – for now the Knights who return will come with the keys to finding this hidden city, the Rhynn Lanthorns. Without them even in a time of peace the city is hidden to all those who are not of the surface elf race. But with your aid we will kill them all – as they so surely deserve – and take these keys. We will march on Suldanessellar…and destroy it."

Too simple, obviously. Edwin sighed, folding his arms as he watched the Matron coo in delight at the very idea of slaughtering the sun elves. What shallow fools. It was obvious that Irenicus wanted something from that city. He had a soul – Elatharia's soul! – and he would now seek _power_ as all men of his ilk did, not just the mindless slaughter with which the drow seemed so enamoured.

But more than that, Edwin watched the shimmering Divination spell, and felt the stirring of anger and no small hint of confusion. Elatharia had claimed quite adamantly that Irenicus could not cast such a spell. She had lied to him, he knew it without doubt. And she did not lie without reason. Had she suspected him? Had she intended to use it against him? He might almost have been proud of such deceit (if it were not so galling). But he would have his answers. It was just another reason to outlive the vampire who stood before him, so proud and vain and blind. He would ask Elatharia – over Bodhi's _truly_ dead body.

* * *

 **Just a note on the place name used by the elves -  
 _In Tempul Maige in Chatha_ is Old Irish for 'The Temple of the Field of the Battle'  
 _Mag in Chatha_ thus means 'The Field of the Battle'**


	45. To Venture Down the Dark Descent

**Thank you so much to everyone reading and reviewing - and to everyone who's favourited and followed this story! ^.^  
** **As with the previous chapter, the title of this installment comes from Book I of John Milton's 'Paradise Lost'.**

* * *

 **Chapter 44: To Venture Down the Dark Descent**

* * *

The tunnel into which the group had climbed was only just high enough for Haer'Dalis to walk without stooping; it was too narrow for Korgan to pass through without sidling but the dwarf seemed remarkably unfazed – even at ease. His movements were fast and unbothered, in sharp contrast to his poorly disguised panic during their captivity.

Layers of Abjurations hummed all about them as they moved down the pitch black tunnel, the sense of their power a little dizzying to Elatharia, too slippery to recognise. The Transmuter's darkvision showed to her the endless spirals of protective runes which lined the walls, floor and ceiling. It was both a trap and a ward for aggressors – no Underdark creature would be able to see the engravings with their natural infravision, although it was hard to imagine that the drow were not wise to this trick after countless centuries of cohabitation. More likely this set-up was a warning to the other intelligent lifeforms in the area – and a barrier against the more mindless foes which skulked down here in the dark.

Their svirfneblin guides certainly maintained a strong sense of focused urgency as they led the group down this cramped, winding tunnel. It sloped up or down at occasional intervals but for the most part remained level, and never once did a passageway visibly branch away from the main path. Elatharia could not help but consider the possibility of this turning into some kind of trap. And if it were, the chance of escape would be a remote one.

Except for the odd, distant murmur of deep svirfneblin voices, silence reigned here along with the dark and the cold, but it was too alien to promote complacency. All imbued with silent movement and a means to see in the dark, no one wavered from their vigilance – not after the initial amusement at Anomen's enforced shrinking, anyway. Their passage through the stone continued without variation until, after some substantial but unmeasured time, their svirfneblin guides stopped. Holding up their chunky hands for the others to halt and facing the side of the tunnel, they began murmuring something in their somnolent tongue. The air fizzed and rippled, and the low grinding of stone sounded. The wall shook and then separated with a thunderous crack, groaning as it spread apart.

Cheering, the svirfneblin hopped through, waving for the group to follow them into the green-tinged gloom ahead. For the first time in gods knew how long the sounds of bustling civilisation filtered out to them; foreign chatter, shouts, the shuffle and thump and rumble of movement, the clatter of wares and clink of manual labour. The smells were stronger though not necessarily repulsive. It was all so alien – not least the svirfneblin language that echoed everywhere as Elatharia pushed her way to join Imoen and Korgan at the entrance in the tunnel wall.

A neatly hewn hall of stone stretched ahead, bustling with the squat forms of svirfneblin amongst peculiarly shaped stalls and closely clustered homes which were seemingly cut from the stone floor. The ceiling of the cavern was low; probably only just high enough for Haer'Dalis to walk straight-backed, the whole city built on level ground without variation, and few visible buildings deviated from the plain, squat theme. Of course all of it played out in perfect darkness – something with which the native svirfneblin clearly had no trouble; as the previous captives of the kuo toa hurried down the path to the city, dragging their gruesome trophies with them, the heavily armoured guards and a few nearby citizens were turning to look.

"You think we shouldn't follow?" Imoen muttered softly at Elatharia's side, her expression wide-eyed and anxious, "That's a whole lot of unfamiliar folk."

"Aye," Korgan grunted, "But the deep gnomes're a weak and cowardly type. Give 'em a few promises, an' even if ye're lyin' they'll take ye at yer word. Let's follow, an' at least get ourselves a bed fer the night. An' drain their stores o' liquor and food, too!"

"Night?" Elatharia furrowed her brows at him sceptically. He just grinned and shrugged.

"Shocking as it is for Korgan to display any wisdom at all, I do agree," Viconia said, though she was looking less than enamoured with the idea, her eyes fixed ahead. "And besides, I think the decision has been made for us." She nodded back out at the city, and Elatharia turned back to see the svirfneblin who had been their guides returning – now without their trophies, and with three of their kin following. Two were heavily armed, the third heavily bearded and deeply wrinkled.

"You should be entering our city, strange surfacers," the svirfneblin yet imbued with Elatharia's _Tongues_ spell intoned, "Not safe indeed, though the wards are strong. Enter, quickly."

A moment of doubtful looks soon turned into shrugs of resignation as the group stepped down onto the smooth pathway whose slow curve led onto the flat plane of the city. As soon as the last surfacers were through, the wall closed up behind them with an impressive rumble that had all of them jumping in surprise and twisting about to watch the stone meld together once more, a few bright sparks leaping as the Enchantment fused rock. Only then did Elatharia notice Anomen lingering at the back of the group, wide-eyed and silent in his new, smaller form. Korgan saw the direction of her gaze and barked a laugh.

"Keep 'im that way, lass. We've better things t' be doin'."

That drew a glare from the knight, as well as Aerie and Jaheira. Seeing their mutinous looks, Elatharia spoke the single spellword required to reverse the Transmutation, much to Korgan's disappointment, and turned back to the confused svirfneblin delegation, who had begun discussing something with Viconia in the drow tongue. The priestess waved her over sharply…and the Transmuter fought the urge to refuse on principle. Her hesitation drew a knowing smile from Haer'Dalis, which she ignored.

"I believe your translation spell has at last worn off, _khal'abbil._ But this…gnome…does have some piteous but manageable command of the drow tongue," Viconia gestured imperiously at the elder, impressively bearded svirfneblin, who watched their interaction closely with brows furrowed, "He has explained that he is in agreement with our previous guides; the way to Ust Natha will be shown to you only once we have saved this city from the threat that lurks beneath it, in its mines."

"Mines? Mines are always a bad sign," Jan piped up, and Elatharia nodded with a grimace.

"From experience, I can only agree," she eyed the two armed svirfneblin guards, noting their stationary and rather unthreatening postures before making the gestures for another _Tongues_ spell. The deep gnomes jumped and looked about themselves as the spell took effect. "You are too trusting," Elatharia noted, raising her eyebrows to the elder svirfneblin who appeared to have been speaking for his people. He blanched a little to hear her speaking his tongue, but seemed to understand.

"You are not drow – except for your leader."

"Oh, she's not the leader," Elatharia disagreed, folding her arms pointedly though Viconia scoffed. "And why would you risk asking for our aid? Perhaps it is your trusting nature that has you so threatened by whatever lurks in your mines?"

"By the stones that is not so! The beast – the demon – that came from the mines has lingered there for millennia. We could not be knowing that it would awaken now! But threaten us it does. You will help us banish it, for it has forced us from our livelihood, or you will not be for finding Ust Natha."

"And who are you to speak for your people?" Haer'Dalis inquired.

"I am Odendal Breachgnome. I sit on the council of the elders here. It has been my duty to send out the search parties for our lost merchants, and to wait by the borders for their arrival," he glanced fondly to the two returned guides, who appeared determined to stay in spite of their battered, weary state. "And for that we do thank you. But we have too many immediate dangers to our city to avoid taking aid when we need it."

"You sure do have a strange way of negotiation," Imoen noted softly, stepping up beside Elatharia, "An' just what type of other dangers are there that might be worse than a demon in your mines?"

Odendal shifted uncomfortably at that question, meeting the eyes of all four of his companions. He pointed one broad finger Viconia's way.

"Drow. A band strayed into our territory recently, strangers to the area. We ambushed them and slew them, believing them at first to be a raiding party from Ust Natha. But soon we realised that there had been too few of them, and they wore unfamiliar insignias. Under…questioning…the last of them told us that they were houseless mercenaries, hired by Ust Natha from Ched Nasad to deal with some local issues while the city is busy with larger plans."

Hope bloomed in Elatharia's chest, the sudden emotion dizzying as it filled the almost perpetual void which Irenicus's theft had left her with. The group of svirfneblin gawped at her when a grim smile spread across her face.

"He speaks of course of the second city of the drow. Ched Nasad lies some distance from here but the arrangement of which he speaks is not unusual…" Viconia's explanation trailed off when she noticed Elatharia's intent expression, and she did not even balk when the Transmuter gestured impatiently for her silence.

"How many drow mercenaries were there?"

"Some…six…" Odendal spoke even slower than before, watching her warily.

"And you still have their bodies? Or at least their equipment?"

The elder svirfneblin frowned deeply, but he gave an eventual affirmative.

"Ah, I believe I understand our leader's plan," Haer'Dalis grinned, and Imoen nodded.

"You have a plan?" Odendal, his companions continuing to emanate confusion, and Elatharia might have rolled her eyes if the feeling had been more prevalent in her soulless state. "Our agreement…"

"May be about to change – to one of far more mutual beneficence," Elatharia promised, "You see, as a Transmuter I might be able to eliminate this problem of yours. We already wanted to get to Ust Natha. And this way, it will mean we get to enter and you get to avoid retribution from the drow."

The suggestion took a moment to sink in, and when it did Odendal's confusion turned to shock. He and his companions shook their heads in disbelief, muttering to each other until the two guides at last loped away, their words suggesting that they were – far from going to seek healing and rest – going to call the council for a meeting on the matter.

"You would…impersonate drow in their own land and infiltrate their city?" Odendal sounded understandably incredulous, his hands waving between them, "And you are far greater in number than those we found – nor does it free us of the beast in our mines. We cannot possibly agree without…"

"Wait! Sir, I…I think I have an idea," Aerie interrupted, fidgeting nervously when all eyes turned to her. "I…I don't much like the idea of the drow city and I d-don't think I'd make a good drow." Korgan's laugh attested to that, and she winced – but continued. "S-so maybe some of us c-could stay to help you with your problem in the mines and…and if any of the others are truly d-determined to go to Ust Natha, they can help you that way."

"More like help ourselves," Elatharia muttered under her breath, which earned her a pointed nudge from Imoen. Realising how much that had sounded like Edwin, the Transmuter cringed before turning back to the svirfneblin and nodding. "That does sound reasonable."

"Sounds insane t' me," Korgan grunted, "An' I'm not even sure which half o' the plan to think worse of."

"I agree," Viconia sighed, "But what choice is there? I can only pray that those males who do come with us to Ust Natha can find their proper places more naturally than they do upon the surface."

* * *

All eyes followed the surfacers as Odendal Breachgnome led them through his city, his guards keeping a few paces behind the group's stragglers. Whole streets grew still to watch the foreigners pass, and such scrutiny was enough to make anyone nervous, though Elatharia did not feel it personally. Or, if she did, it came as an echo – as though her memories were telling her body to respond a certain way, even while her consciousness refused to process it. By her side, Imoen was staring at everything with wide and slightly dazed eyes; it occurred to Elatharia that her sister had not been on adventures like this for many months now. Not since Irenicus caught them north of Baldur's Gate.

Behind them a loud clatter heralded Anomen's distracted collision with a stall; twisting about, the Transmuter saw him apologising as a svirfneblin merchant shouted untranslated complaints and swatted away his attempts to right a fallen set of brooms. Aerie was blushing violently not far away as she and Jaheira dodged around the chaos, the glaring druid still limping a little from their encounter with the kuo toa. Jan and Korgan were making no secret of their amusement from the back of the group, though that earned them some confused frowns from the locals, too.

"Can you not permit us the entertainment of understanding what the creature is saying to the Helmite, _khal'abbil_?" Viconia inquired as Odendal urged them on, now turning down a broader street at the end of which stood a much broader building – though it was no more ornate and retained the squatness of the city's other constructions, cut of the same stone and painted in greys by Elatharia's darkvision.

"That kind of spell would require a lot more concentration," the Transmuter denied, "And I've expended almost all of my magic already today."

"You will need to cast such a spell when we arrive in Ust Natha," the drow reminded her needlessly, and there was perhaps a hint of strain in her voice as she said it, "It will be a miracle if we can deceive them with your Transmutations, especially if ones such as the knight and the dwarf come with us."

"Then we'll have to leave them to help Aerie vanquish the demon," Elatharia waved the words away, only half-aware of her own mockery though the comment made Viconia snort.

At last they stopped at the end of this deserted street, in front of the broad building, and Odendal gestured for them to pass through the low front doorway, which swung open as if they had been expected. Elatharia caught a brief glimpse of a slighter svirfneblin form as Odendal's guards passed through, this one beardless. A female, perhaps?

"This is the Council Dwelling," the elder stated, "You will find lodging in here to rest before you fulfil your promises to our city, and while the council debates the best course of action."

Aerie, Anomen and Mazzy all nodded, heading past Odendal to duck below the door, but when Elatharia held her ground they hesitated.

"I need to see the bodies of the drow you killed," she disagreed, "And I need all of the information that you…acquired from them."

"After the council…"

"Now," she disagreed, perhaps more sharply than she had intended. Viconia watched her with a curious half-smile – Jaheira did the same, with a frown.

Odendal wavered, clearly impatient to get to the council and relay to them her suggestion of a compromise, but in the face of her insistence he nodded and told them to wait there, scurrying away inside the building and barking some orders at the servant who had opened the door for them.

"Is that…that really necessary?" Aerie asked, "Sh-should we not eat and rest? Surely someone will bring you the information…"

"I trust my own eyes over their words," Elatharia disagreed, though the thought of a moment of quiet and a chance to get some food made her feel utterly weary. She glanced at her sagging group and sighed, shaking her head. All of them were still speckled with the salt of dried seawater, and all of them reeked of Jan's turnip juice. "You won't all need to come. Viconia, Haer'Dalis – I will need your input. The rest of you can go inside and get some rest."

Most of them seemed relieved to hear it, nodding and murmuring all but incoherently, but as Aerie, Mazzy, Valygar and Anomen disappeared into the building, past the small deep gnome servant who was peering at them from the low corridor, Jaheira stepped up and met the Transmuter's eyes levelly.

"I trust my own eyes more than hearsay also, Bhaalspawn," she said coolly, "I will be coming with you."

Elatharia straightened to hear that tone, but before she could speak in retaliation of such intense distrust Imoen groaned and swayed a little, clutching her head. The Transmuter caught her by the elbow instinctively, peering at her younger sister's drained face. She had assumed that Imoen would stay by her side but evidently this was unwise.

"Imoen!" Jaheira exclaimed, taking the aasimar's other arm and fairly hauling her away from Elatharia, her usually hard face painted incongruously with pinched concern. "You must go inside and seek food and rest at once. None of us have eaten for Silvanus knows how long, and you of all of us need to build up your strength."

For just a moment Imoen's eyes flickered with rebellion, but she seemed too tired to argue and turned to go, Jan going with her to offer a shoulder to lean on. Once they were out of sight, Elatharia turned to face Jaheira again, raising her eyebrows at the glaring druid.

"Are you going to blame me for that, too?"

"I do not need to," the druid snorted, her lip curling.

"Hnh," Korgan grunted, thumping the smooth stone ground with the shaft of his axe and eyeing the deserted crossroads of the city distrustfully, "I'm one fer comin' too, even if the druid and the wizard're thinkin' o' spillin' each others' guts. Or maybe because o' the fact." He paused, still shifting uncomfortably, his scarred and lined visage twisting. For the first time, Elatharia noticed the spark of infravision-red dominating his pupils, testament to the duergar heritage he had mentioned earlier. "Heh. Never have much liked the quiet. Tends t' mean trouble."

None of those who lingered out there could disagree with that piece of wisdom, all of them on edge. The distant bustle of the deep gnome marketplace was still faintly audible, but there was a strong sense that this city was stiller than it ought to have been. Here the smell was mustier, damper and the air eerily still. Occasionally the hint of smoke drifted by with the odd chill breeze, and some unknown livestock animal brayed in the dark.

"There are few things like demons to destroy a whole city, fellow sparrows," Haer'Dalis reminded, leaning back against the wall of the large council building almost nonchalantly – but for the proximity of his deceptively relaxed hands to the hilts of his swords.

"Then I am, for one, glad that I will be going to Ust Natha," Viconia put it in. Jaheira rolled her eyes, but the drow smiled at her smugly, "And you, druid, would make a most convincing drow leader. Your hard face and sharp tongue are most appropriate for such a roll."

Both Korgan and Haer'Dalis laughed at this, but Jaheira's face registered first horror and then rage at the thought. The arguing of her companions was making Elatharia dizzy, their emotions jangling against her thoughts disconcertingly. How long had they gone without rest? And just when would she have a chance to wash away the taste of turnip juice?

Jaheira never did get a chance to respond, for Elatharia held up a hand for silence as soon as she heard heavy footsteps approaching down the entry corridor of the building beside them. All too on edge to dissent, the group stilled at once, just as Odendal Breachgnome returned with a younger, slighter deep gnome at his side. From the narrower waist – if not the equally broad shoulders – and the utter lack of a beard, this was another female. Dressed in at least two long, quilted tunics and thick breeches tucked into multitudinously buckled boots, this newcomer looked up at them with sharp, restless eyes.

"Strangers, yes. One amongst of you is a shape-wizard, perhaps – perhaps?" she asked it in a much lower voice than one might expect for someone of her three foot stature, though where her male kin spoke with a rumble hers had just a hint of gravel.

"Yes," Elatharia agreed, "I am a Transmuter. And who are you, who speak our surface tongue without magical aid?"

"Good," the female svirfneblin bowed just faintly to Odendal, who turned back into the building with only a cursory glance at the surfacers standing on the street. "I am of the Council, a summon-wizard." _A Conjurer_. Elatharia's stomach flipped, and her hands clenched in her cloak. "Lulthiss Kamarasta. I have studied many of the world above, but the speaking of your surface languages are not easy. Your Common Tongue only do I know," she glanced at Viconia, "Though also the speech of the drow."

"The Common Tongue is preferable," Elatharia agreed, though Viconia huffed, "Have your council decided to 'allow' my suggestion?" She sent a weary glance Viconia's way. "I had not expected them to give us access to the drow before they made a decision, but at least this way we might get to see for ourselves."

"It is good with us," Lulthiss agreed, long braids of beaded white hair swinging as she nodded, stepping out onto the street to join them without any apparent guards. Her skin was blue-grey, her face strong-featured and masculine by human standards, with low brows and a broad jaw, "We will permit half of you to go to Ust Natha to impersonate the drow and we may aid you in your disguise should you be of needing it."

Viconia's humourless smile matched Elatharia's to hear those words. She stepped forward, and Lulthiss backed up a little with slightly widened eyes, hands poised at the pouches on her belt – ready to begin casting if the drow threatened her any more than her mere presence did already.

"This news is entirely to be expected, svirfneblin. It seems that you have got yourself into some serious trouble by killing those drow."

"We are lucky, indeed – indeed," Lulthiss nodded, her small eyes straying to Elatharia, "That you are ready for offering us aid, though it be for your own ends also. But come, come. There is evidence you must be of knowing to fulfil your plan."

* * *

"The svirfneblin spoke truly. These are houseless mercenaries."

Elatharia nodded to hear Viconia's words, although she could not comprehend how the priestess could deduce that so quickly upon seeing the six dead drow. The corpses were still fresh and more than a little gruesome to behold, dragged into this abandoned warehouse close to the eerily silent path down to the mines, a steep flight of stairs cut into the floor of a low tunnel on the border of the city.

"That's a hard death they were given," Korgan grunted, nudging one gory limb with the toe of his boot and smearing some more blood across the floor, if that were possible.

"It is not easy to kill drow," Viconia agreed, though her face twisted in distaste at his behaviour. From where she stood in the doorway, the curl of Jaheira's lip showed that the druid certainly disapproved. "Even the houseless are highly proficient fighters – and to become mercenaries, as the svirfneblin have said these drow claimed to be, then they must have been a strong force. If Ust Natha called for them in this manner then they will have the appropriate documents. Perhaps you could aim your callousness towards finding such papers, dwarf?"

Korgan eyed her sourly, but when Elatharia nodded her agreement he shrugged and set to work rummaging through the pockets, bags and belt pouches of the dead drow as if answering a challenge of sorts. It was a rather moot point that he was making, but it worked in their favour. None of those present in the warehouse were less squeamish than Korgan, that was certain.

"Do you think you could recreate their costumes with your Transmutations, my Raven?" Haer'Dalis asked, gesturing to the bloodied black garments of the fallen drow.

Elatharia sighed, twisting her face doubtfully as she peered down at the closest corpse. Each of the dead wore distinctly different garments, though all were in black. Three were dressed in armour, scale mail of sorts, with a number of complicated buckles and joinings. Two more – the only females – wore half plate, the metal strangely dull, one with a mithral shirt much like Viconia's peaking out at the neckline. The sixth was clad in dark cloth, the multiple pouches across his torso and at his belt undoubtedly holding numerous spell components. The evidence suggested that here lay three fighters, a pair of priestesses and a wizard.

"I'm…not certain," the Transmuter admitted at last, "The more different something is from someone's appearance, or at least to what I am used to, the harder it is more me to create it – and certainly for me to _keep_ recreating it." She scratched her head thoughtfully, glancing back to Haer'Dalis and Jaheira, Lulthiss peering in at them from the street. "I think it would be easier if we took the clothes, at least what we can salvage. I can transmute us into forms that can wear them comfortably."

Viconia groaned at the thought and Jaheira looked decidedly sickened, but Haer'Dalis nodded as if that were the most reasonable thing he had heard in a while. His dark eyes twinkled with intrigue, and possibly even excitement.

"A good plan, my Raven. There is nothing better than a costume to remind a budding actor of their charade."

Without further comment, the tiefling set to helping Korgan, and Elatharia considered that perhaps Haer'Dalis was far less squeamish than she had given him credit for, too. But when her eyes slid to Viconia again there were more pressing considerations at hand.

"You said that they know you in Ust Natha. How plausible would it be for you to return as part of a mercenary band?"

The priestess flinched just slightly before affecting confidence.

"It would be easy to believe, _khal'abbil_ ," she admitted, though it seemed to pain her, "I am houseless, after all. And I did leave before they could learn of my heresy. It will not be a lie I can keep forever, but I can play at being a priestess of Lolth again for a little while." She nodded to the two dead priestesses, and Elatharia felt an echo of relief. That was one less person to transmute.

"Ha! Found it!" Korgan exclaimed, pulling free a bundle of scrolls. With barely a second glance, he tossed it Viconia's way and the drow caught it with graceful ease, pulling the tie free and unfurling the pages, reading the magically heated ink without aid of light and frowning thoughtfully but soon beginning to nod to herself.

"This is a standard contract. The mercenaries have been sent by a third party and it is unlikely that those in Ust Natha will know an exact inventory of the hirelings they are receiving. They do expect a minimum of five houseless drow; at least three fighters, a priestess and a wizard," Viconia grimaced, "It will be rather…unorthodox to have a pair of _female_ wizards, as I assume our leader will not be parted from her sister, although a surly houseless fighter is not unheard of," she seemed to take too much enjoyment out of gesturing Jaheira's way, but the druid did not bother to rise to the bait. Glancing up into the silence, Viconia waved Haer'Dalis away from the second dead priestess before he could add her possessions to the pile he and Korgan were creating in the centre of the room. "You have enough. My own belongings will pass scrutiny."

"Alright," Elatharia nodded, eyeing the pile of clothes rather than consider the now mostly naked bodies of the ambushed drow, "Let's pick up the gear and leave. We can discuss the rest once we get back to the others."

Haer'Dalis breathed a sigh of relief, grinning almost bashfully as they all gathered to take something of the gear back with them. He caught Elatharia's eye as they were leaving.

"'Tis like a day's work with the Dustmen of Sigil's mortuary. Such a dreary faction never did much appeal to this flighty sparrow. But the play to come – that holds far more promise!"

* * *

By the time that they returned to the large council building to join the others, Elatharia was fairly ready to collapse with weariness. She hardly noticed as Lulthiss left them at the end of one of the many identical, cramped corridors in this plain stone building, her eyes prickling with the need for sleep even as her stomach's grumbling reminded her that food might be a good idea. She had certainly not expected to step through into a brightly lit common room, furnished with soft – if low – cushioned benches and thick rugs of unfamiliar fur.

Those companions who had stayed behind were clustered around a peculiar assortment of food by a heartily crackling fire, readily eating in remarkable quiet. All of them looked to have washed, their hair still damp and their travelling gear shed in favour of spare clothes. Aerie was the first to look up, eyes wide and still understandably anxious as Elatharia and the others filed inside. A large, seasoned mushroom fell from her grip onto the platter before her when Korgan dumped the bloodied clothes he had been carrying on top of the nearest rug. The other new arrivals hesitated, but since the damage had been done they opted to throw theirs on his, too.

"B-Baervan! What are…" Aerie scrambled to her feet, Mazzy following – it seemed that Anomen had not yet understood the truth of the items they had brought. Imoen was staring, a faint frown on her face, but she seemed too weary to stand from where she had been leaning against the wall by Aerie's side.

"It is necessary," Jaheira admitted, though the words clearly pained her. Unlike Korgan, who was making a dismissive and enthusiastic beeline for the table of food, the druid seemed less than willing to shed her backpack and cloak. Behind her, Haer'Dalis and Viconia were peering back down the corridor before closing the door, murmuring to each other about the true safety of the situation.

"N-necessary to t-take clothes from the…the dead?" Aerie was exclaiming, though Elatharia hardly had the will to stay and listen. Rubbing at her aching head, the Transmuter stepped past the quickly advancing avariel, leaving Jaheira to explain the situation.

Peering around at the room, it seemed that the svirfneblin had gone to pains to make them feel at least a little at home; though the majority of the illumination came from the soft golden glow of one of Aerie's cantrips, someone had taken the time to bring candelabras and place them at intervals around the room. Light was sometimes necessary in the Underdark, Viconia had told her; wizards needed it for scrolls which had not been enchanted with infra-ink. But it was a commodity, and one most dwellers of darkness would prefer to avoid.

Even with the light, the place was strange. Like all of these deep gnome buildings, the ceiling was disconcertingly low, the benches so small that it would probably be easier to sit on the floor – much as Aerie and the others had been doing when they came in. The walls were bare, of dark grey stone, and several beds had been made up at the far end of the room though they looked to be little better than piles of cushions and blankets. Several more were visible through a small doorway. There was another archway to the Transmuter's side, and now something moved in the room beyond. Jumping perhaps more than she needed to, Elatharia twisted around to see Valygar pulling a shirt on, his hair wet as if newly washed. He eyed her with reciprocal suspicion even as he held his palms out in front of him automatically to placate her.

"You have returned with the drow garments. I assume that is what we will be wearing in Ust Natha?" his question was more of a statement, and Elatharia's shock quickly turned into confusion.

"You intend to come with us?"

The ranger's mouth set into a grim line, as if he could not deign to explain himself to her, but it was Viconia who spoke up as she came up to the Transmuter's side upon eerily silent feet. She was carrying her backpack and cloak in her arms but still wore her black dragon scale.

"That does seem wise, _khal'abbil_. The contract stated three warriors – I suspect the dwarf would be a liability in such a subtle charade. Valygar, Haer'Dalis and Jaheira will make much more convincing drow, assuming the tiefling can rein in his natural…flamboyancy," she looked Valygar up and down with an amused smirk, which the ranger bore with a glower, "This one certainly needs no training. Stay as silent as always, and as obedient to the druid as ever, and you will need fear nothing."

Viconia huffed a laugh as Valygar moved past them with a long, disapproving stare. It appeared he did not know how to respond to such words and preferred to learn the plan from Jaheira, who was now being ushered to the table for some food by Aerie and Mazzy. For his part, Haer'Dalis had already scoped out the main room and the second bedchamber; he dropped his cloak and backpack close to where Viconia was just stepping aside to do the same before leaning around the doorframe to look into the room which Valygar had just exited.

"Ah, herein awaits running water," his voice echoed strangely as he stepped through and out of sight. "We have indeed been long without fresh water and a real bath." The rustle of cloth and a splash suggested that he had succumbed to the lure of the water. "My Blackbird! It does appear that these peculiarly warm waters are _fresh_ and flowing!"

Viconia sighed to be so addressed, and the sound was noticeable for its lack of true irritation. Elatharia blinked at the drow as she caught her elbow, tugging as if she expected her to follow. When the Transmuter resisted, the drow's white eyebrows rose in amusement.

"As if I did not already appear to have one child to manage, now I have another. _Khal'abbil_ , we must wash, eat and rest if we are to disguise ourselves successfully and efficiently for the journey to Ust Natha," she tugged on Elatharia's elbow again, "If you will not bathe in view of us, then at least eat something in that time."

The words rang hollow to Elatharia, though her heart sped up as if her body expected her to feel some kind of anger…or perhaps indignation. As it was, she nodded wearily, rubbing at her temples and turning around to ignore the way that Viconia watched her with such analytical interest. She heard the drow sigh, and was relieved when she did not continue to prod her.

The others were talking with quiet intensity when Elatharia crouched down amongst them, reaching gingerly for the nearest assortment of svirfneblin food – at least that which Korgan had not already demolished. Aerie appeared to have been mollified by Jaheira's explanations, and probably by the reality that she would not be personally involved in the Ust Natha charade; when the Transmuter knelt by her side, the avariel sent her a faint smile, handing her a clay cup already filled with the amber liquid the others were drinking. Tasting it, Elatharia found that it was not the mead that it looked like but perhaps a cordial of sorts which lacked any of the sweetness she had expected. A platter of flat, dark bread sat at the centre of the table, and around it some dried meat, pots of seasoned mushrooms and some unfamiliar fruits which she avoided. Every bite felt forced, and her stomach churned when she swallowed. A glance past Aerie, to where Imoen was eating just as slowly, made her wonder whether her sister felt the same. Was this another side effect of their lost souls?

"Valygar and I will both be joining you, along with Imoen," Jaheira put in a little sharply, her pale eyes fixing on Elatharia's as if the Transmuter might disagree with Viconia's earlier recommendation. "It makes sense for the others to stay and help the svirfneblin. The fewer of us there are, the fewer possible problems there will be."

Those who would be staying all seemed to agree with this – though Korgan continued to ignore the conversation in favour of his meal. Elatharia just nodded like the rest, glancing up warily when the door creaked open and Jan slipped inside, grinning to himself. Haer'Dalis greeted the gnome as he returned from the washroom, freshly clean and dressed in a spare shirt and breeches, his long blue hair knotted behind his head.

"Have you been gone long, good gnome? Away on some tryst with a svirfneblin friend?" the bard's mocking tone barely drew a response from Jan, who just waved a new metal part up at him.

"This is the only place outside of Lantan that I have been able to find this type of wrench, I'll have you know. It pays to make friends here, Haerry," Jan's eyes sparkled with amusement when the tiefling predictably bristled at the use of the nickname, both heading towards the table of food where the rest of the group were gathered.

Aerie's faint touch on Elatharia's elbow drew her attention to the concerned eyes of the avariel.

"Are…are you sure this is such a good idea, Elatharia? You and Imoen are b-both not going to be your…yourselves after what happened," Aerie said, and behind her the aasimar glanced up at them, her tired eyes proving the point. But Elatharia just shrugged.

"There isn't much choice. We need to know what Irenicus's next move is, and since we're trapped here in the Underdark until we can get these svirfneblin to help us find our way out…then we might as well try and work out why he is – or at least was – in Ust Natha, too."

"Is the avariel tempting you away from your daring plan, _khal'abbil_?" Viconia asked softly as she knelt at the table between the Transmuter and Mazzy, newly returned from the washroom and now dressed in simple dark cloth.

"No," Elatharia denied sharply, ignoring Aerie's hopeful stare. Her skin was crawling again. A bad sign.

"Well, it is probably worth noting that those who have had their souls taken will experience strange and sometimes unpredictable side effects." The sly glance the drow sent her did nothing to persuade Elatharia to speak further on the issue. Meanwhile, Aerie was turning to Imoen.

"Are you sure you want to go with them?" she asked it in a high, gentle voice, and the aasimar looked at her with some confusion – but where once she might have exclaimed something more forceful, now she just nodded firmly.

"Alright, well that's settled then," Elatharia agreed, though when she stood to use the washroom, her eyes fell upon the heap of torn, bloody drow clothing. Her shoulders sagged wearily. "We will at least need to clean all of that before we wear it. I can probably mend them with a spell or two."

* * *

The others slept – even Aerie, whose elvish nature would not normally require such deep rest – but Viconia could barely achieve Reverie. She would have preferred nothing else, but to succumb to oblivion in the Underdark was a terrible habit at best and a suicide note at worst. Rule number one: never let your guard down. For a place so synonymous with violence and chaos, the Skyless Realms had a multitude of unspoken rules, all of which those headed for Ust Natha would need to learn fast.

If there was one thing Viconia would never have expected, it was to be returning to Ust Natha. At least the place had no reason to take her life, unlike Menzoberranzan and quite probably Ched Nasad. She had hoped to have forsaken drow cities long ago – even the surface world was preferable. It was such a trial to hide her lack of faith in Lolth, and so hard to live a life so utterly false. But she had managed it for a goodly time in Ust Natha; they would have no reason to disbelieve her. She prayed to Shar that the others would blend in well enough too – at least houseless mercenaries were not well known for their propriety, insofar as _propriety_ could be considered a drow requirement.

It was perhaps foolish not to pick a sentry, even here in svirfneblin territory. The deep gnomes were jumpy when they met them, and with good reason – obviously the drow raids had not lessened since Viconia left. It had not been very long at all, really. And even without that danger, their hosts could not be trusted to change the terms of their agreement if that agreement proved too much of a threat. Svirfneblin were cowardly when it came to drow and illithid in particular, and would turn over those not of their own kind in a heartbeat if threatened.

At the same time, sleep was probably the best option given the day they had endured since the destruction of Havarian's ship, the attack by the githyanki and their abduction by the sahuagin. Viconia's head was reeling at the thought, flashes of surreal memories fluttering through her calmer Reverie mind. So while the others slept, she sat by the fire, upon the awkwardly low bench which would give her a panoramic view from the exit all the way to the prone forms of her slumbering companions.

Korgan had been the only one to take the second room; as soon as the others noticed him lying down there, they all chose the beds in the main chamber, all the better to get away from his snoring. Jan curled up in a corner, still dressed in his leather-and-black-cloth robes, not even pausing to kick off his boots or pull off his goggles. He had tinkered with a tiny machine until his hands drooped and his own fainter snoring began. But it was hard to tell how deeply he slept; in spite of the snoring, his eyes never fully closed.

Mazzy and Aerie chose beds close together, and while the paladin took great care to meditate and then lie down with quiet calm, patient until sleep took her, the avariel wriggled and sighed restlessly, the last of all of them to achieve sleep. Nearby Jaheira and Valygar had quietly discussed the practicalities of the charade to come before both lying down with the practiced ease of hardened travellers. The druid's eyes glinted in the firelight for a long while though, for she watched Imoen's faintly curved back as the aasimar lay in silence. Viconia could see the girl was staring at the wall blankly, mouth moving to the shape of silent words. Both Jaheira and Imoen did get to sleep, or some semblance of it. The day had been too long, and not even the fear of dreams could keep them awake. None displayed this quite so poignantly as Elatharia, who tossed and turned in her sleep, muttering and gasping as if suffering. The Transmuter had lain down last, insisting upon mending the newly cleaned drow clothes with Viconia's supervision.

Haer'Dalis had made a show of nonchalance, lying down and closing his eyes with his usual cheer and grace. It was always hard to tell when he did drift off, and even after a number of nights sleeping at his side Viconia had never perfected the art of deciding whether or not he was actually awake. His breathing evened, his closed lids ceased their blinking, his expression smoothed out. But she had learned from experience that he could respond to events around him without a hint of fogged thoughts. It came as no surprise when he was the first up after only a few hours of rest, ducking briefly into the washroom. Upon returning he prowled soundlessly across the room and sat upon the floor beside her, his back against her bench.

The brush of his arm against her leg pulled Viconia fully from her Reverie and as if he had known it would, Haer'Dalis handed her a cup of water from the table without looking back at her face. Sipping on it, Viconia did not speak at first, listening to the crackle of the low-burning fire and the soft breathing of their sleeping companions. Even Korgan's snores had quieted to a bearable rumble.

"They have no idea of the magnitude of the task ahead," Viconia murmured, almost surprising herself with the vocalisation.

Haer'Dalis twisted about to look at her then, one hand absently curling around her ankle and gliding up her calf, his skin hot even through her leggings. His dark eyes were fathomless in the low light which forced her to see him in the human visible spectrum rather than her more natural infravision. His smile was barely there, just showing in the softer set of his face as he looked up at her, his hand stopping at her knee. Even then, her heart flipped nervously. Rule number two of the Underdark: never feel affection, or at least never show it.

"It is a brave thing that you do, even more than they," Haer'Dalis told her, "For they know not the danger that lies ahead, and you do."

Her fingers itched with the absurd need to touch his cheek, but Viconia just fisted her hand at her side and watched him as impassively as she knew how, arching an eyebrow at him.

"And you do not group yourself amongst those who know not what they face?"

"I leave that summation up to you, my Blackbird. I am a curious student of this place, rather than a headlong insurgent. I am most compelled to curiosity by the chance to see the world whence you come, I will not deny it," a hint of mischief sparked in his eyes, and her own gaze was drawn against her will to the curve of his lips as he smiled. "It intrigues me how you have coiled yourself up in this 'Underdark'. How you watch the svirfneblin with boiling eyes but snap at them with cold entitlement," he rose up to kneel before her as he spoke, his hands now resting upon each of her knees. "How you dread the return to Ust Natha, for you will never belong among your own kin – even while you claim to agree with the setup of that world."

The words cut deep, and Viconia ground her teeth as their eyes met on level terms. She wanted to slap him for his insolence, to drag him closer for the way his presence and his voice and his manner all poured into her senses…and she _needed_ to push him away for his own good. But instead she stayed rigidly still, biting back on every word she said even as her chest tightened as he watched her.

"If you were to address me so in Ust Natha, you would be flogged. If you were to touch me so in that place, in public – or without my express instruction in private – you would be hanged. If you were to do both, you would be thrown to the driders."

Her words only made his smirk curve further. When he leaned closer, Viconia found that her will to push him away was sorely lacking, the press of his mouth against hers closing her eyes, her lips moving with his against her conscious command. His hands covered her fists now as he pushed closer, daring just the faintest drag of his tongue against hers before drawing back sharply, leaving her gasping like a fool.

"Then let that remind you that I am no drow, and that you do not belong in that world," he told her with more seriousness than she had expected. There was the hint of a growl in his voice as he continued. "But we will play this game, to learn what we may of Irenicus and Bodhi's motives. Perhaps we will even corner the Red Wizard and stop the Raven from tearing out his heart. For her own good, not his."

"We must act out our part as mercenaries to the letter if we are to achieve any of these aims," Viconia reminded him, her breath coming easier as he released her and sat back on his heels. She folded her arms tightly. "Drow do not trust, they do not hesitate and they do not show fear. They hold many secrets and are fully expected to kill and lie to keep them. A drow without secrets and the will to keep them is a dead drow. Males hang back, stay quiet and do as told," she looked him up and down with pointed doubt, and he snorted, "Females take command and back down only to females of higher rank in public. They will stab each other in the back given half a chance if it will give them a better vacancy in society to fill. Music is rare – flamboyancy rarer, except in battle. Your dual swords will do you in good stead, for male drow often fight that way. But try not to show your methods, for they will undoubtedly show you for a fraud."

Haer'Dalis acceded the truth of that with a nod, still smiling – infuriatingly.

"It will be a challenge, but not one this sparrow will fail. Indeed, I look forward to it."

As he moved away to take some of the last remaining food for his breakfast, Viconia eyed him thoughtfully. She found her eyes drinking in the sight of him this way, tall and otherworldly, ruffled and carefree. As soon as Elatharia got up, they would be turning into drow for the foreseeable future. Somehow, in spite of all she had claimed, Viconia felt oddly sad at the thought of Haer'Dalis constrained by the rules of her kin's society.


	46. In a Place Such As This

**Chapter 45: In a Place Such As This**

* * *

Edwin stopped in his tracks when he saw what awaited him beyond the ancient wooden door. Bodhi had told him that he should come to this room – she had not told him that Irenicus would be there also. And now both siblings were looking his way as the door swung open before him, its warped black wood probably old enough to predate drow banishment below ground.

Bodhi was sitting at the far end of a long stone table, shunning the mass of unfamiliar food before her for a goblet of blood, the flickering golden light of the chandelier above her setting her sharp edges and icy complexion in stark relief against the dark walls of the vaulted chamber. Her reddened lips were curving up smoothly, baring sharp white teeth, and the crimson of her thin dress and glittering necklace were an affront to Edwin's culture. No doubt this was deliberate, and his anger flared when her smile only grew to see him taking this in.

"Must you parade him about like a pet, Sister?" Irenicus sighed, his pale eyes slashing across Edwin only briefly now as the Red Wizard stepped inside, loathe to show fear. The cold wizard gave a dismissive gesture, the muscles of his bare arm almost swallowed up by the layers of scars across his pallid skin, and strode from the central rug. His boots clicked on the smooth floor beyond until he reached a lectern by the wall, nestled between two stuffed bookcases. His bald scalp now veiled behind a black cloth hood, he took up a quill in one fine-boned hand and began to scratch at the book open before him. The writing was small, economically so, and the script of a style unfamiliar to Edwin.

"He _is_ a pet, Brother," Bodhi was disagreeing silkily, her words pointedly drawing Edwin's attention back to her. He had progressed to the table and stopped there, eyes fixed on Irenicus. Now the vampire mistress waved her goblet in the Conjurer's direction. "Sit, Pet. Eat some of this food which is so wasted upon my lifeless body." The word seemed to amuse her, and she pretended to hide a snigger behind her goblet as Edwin reluctantly pulled back the tall, rigid chair and sat. The thin metal of its construction was rather predictably woven in the repetitive web pattern he had seen on nearly every surface in this building. (Superstitious fools.)

"Surely you did not bring me here to eat?" Edwin gritted out, eyeing the large purple fruits before him without an appetite. The way they sprouted from a central stalk reminded him of grapes – but their faintly hairy, dark colouration and fat teardrop shape certainly did not. He picked at some of the brownish, spongy bread directly before him instead. No doubt this was not made with grain.

"No, correct," Bodhi acceded, leaning back in her chair. She ran her free hand over her dress and raised an eyebrow at him, mocking. "Do you like the colour, _Red_ Wizard? Does it remind you of home? Or of old foes?" Ah, the irony that she be dressed in crimson and not he, who had earned the right in blood and toil.

"Only those who have studied at Thaymount may wear red in Thay," Edwin dared, too riled by the mockery to stop himself. "(And one must take a specialism also,)" his eyes slid almost against his will to Irenicus's back and a cold sinking feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach when the wizard paused his writing.

"Ah. I did visit there, many seasons gone by," Bodhi nodded slyly, her tone one of an old friend sharing a trivial fact. (And those Edwin had never cared for.) "To visit my brother. He could have taken any specialism he chose. Or all of them. But even then, one must have the right breeding. The right ancestors. A terribly irrational, racist place is Thay at heart."

Edwin's fingers burned with the need to fling a spell her way even as his skin crawled at the idea of these two siblings lurking here before him, together.

"Exceptions are made for the truly worthy, sometimes," he heard himself say. As if he need apologise for something so efficient and successful!

Bodhi held her smile, but her eyes had grown hard. She jerked her chin towards his food.

"You are wilful for one held in thrall. Eat, prisoner mine."

And though his whole being rebelled, Edwin obeyed, tasting the bitter bread and grimacing. Too willing or too wilful, this was a fine line to tread to keep them oblivious. And oblivious they were, he was almost sure.

"Your taunting is needless, Sister," Irenicus intoned into the icy silence, his quill scratching once sharply before he laid it down and turned around. His eyes flashed like sharp steel in the flickering candlelight.

"Oh, Brother!" Bodhi pouted and rolled her eyes, but set her goblet down. "You look at him with the bored eyes of one who has seen him before, but he stares back with the frightened eyes of a clueless rabbit."

Irenicus actually seemed to consider a smile at those words, and Edwin's eyes narrowed to see such a look. He did not expect the wizard before him to nod in agreement at Bodhi's words, however. What was this? Not only did Irenicus have great skill with Divination which had been kept from him, but he had seen him before as well?

"I am more familiar with the look of him than I would prefer to be, Sister," Irenicus agreed, flexing his arms before folding them before his chest. At those words, understanding came in a rush.

"You took my form to kill Dynaheir before Minsc," Edwin said, and inwardly cursed himself. Of course! The witless Rashemi had told Elatharia as much – if only he had paid more attention he would have realised then that Irenicus must have Divination under his command.

"Indeed," the cold wizard nodded, though one bare eyebrow rose as if expecting further comment. "I witnessed his form _more_ than once." At this Edwin's own brows drew down in deeper confusion, his mind grasping in vain for information he had never been given. Bodhi fairly cackled to see his cluelessness.

"There are things in your old allies' minds that you wouldn't believe," she promised, her pale eyes holding his dark ones. "And my brother was quite adept at tearing them out, as adept as he has been at administering those useful geasa. To the bounty hunter, and the ship's captain…and now you, our newest pet," she leaned forward, her expression altogether too eager. "But even if that fails, you should know that an aboleth will be coming to town very soon. And I am sure you know what creatures like that are capable of taking. So, it is entirely in your best interests to answer our questions honestly and elaborately." Her fingernails clattered on the hard surface of the table, and he gripped the arms of his chair with force enough to turn his knuckles white. Yes, he knew what aboleth could do. "Elsewise, we might just leave you to the whims of the drow."

"And if I do tell you everything, and the aboleth does not find me a liar? (Indignity after indignity…)"

"Then I may bestow upon you a fate of far more glory," Bodhi promised with a baring of teeth, running one fingertip along the dark scar at the base of her throat now bared by the neck of her gown. Her eyes flared with wicked glee as she saw understanding curdle Edwin's expression.

He sat back, bracing his fingertips before him and ignoring the hard press of the rigid chair against his back. He had to stay _calm_ (and gods knew that was not his finest strong point) and not _give it away_. They may think themselves clever, but he would show to them that they were _fools_. So he schooled his expression with the most subtly unnerved look that he had ever conjured, and spoke in a low and careful tone befitting of a Red Wizard of Thay endowed with the ancestral Odesseiron Torc.

"Indeed, I see you are quite serious. Pray do ask. I shall answer in full."

He could dodge their first threat, but their second? Well, he just had to believe that there was nothing a good deal of heartfelt research could not remedy. Quite literally, in this case.

* * *

The svirfneblin had left them at the bottom of this narrow staircase, cut into bare stone at the end of one long, winding tunnel, and left them standing there fidgeting in magically patched drow cloth and armour. Viconia was glad that she did not have to wear those unfamiliar clothes, unlike the others. Her more costly attire would lend her the air of leader, and that was as it should be. One glance at the others, now newly transmuted into the forms of drow, and Viconia's superiority in this situation was a moot point. At least the deep gnomes had left them with one boon – they had given to the surfacers rings enchanted with the ability to speak flawlessly in the drow tongue, as these were apparently necessary to keep up trade with the folk of Ust Natha who did not stoop to learn lesser languages.

Her companions were eerily similar to their true selves, though smaller and slighter with the ebon skin and white hair of the dark elves. Of course the golden sections of Elatharia's hair and Imoen's blue eyes had resisted Transmutation; if it were not for the former's mask, her markings would have done the same. Fortunately, there was some variation of hair colour among drow – Viconia had seen a male with a striking shade of copper once in Menzoberranzan – and even more rarely some exhibited eyes which did not change to red with Infravision. But such complications were to be expected with creatures like Bhaalspawn. Not only were they a direct threat to her safety thanks to their inner monsters, but they were also difficult to transmute. Well, at least Ust Natha was familiar; if an escape was necessary, Viconia would feel better off doing it here than in some foreign surface city.

" _If you are regretting your decisions to come, you should know that it is altogether too late to change your minds,_ " Viconia signed to them, a luxury also permitted by those almost unnoticeable gnomish rings, once she had turned about on the bottom step and surveyed her companions with the appropriate disdain. It was rather satisfying to stand several inches taller than both Haer'Dalis and Valygar, even with the aid of the stairs. Drow males were noticeably smaller than their female kin.

" _I have the documents for our mercenary contract upon my person,"_ Viconia continued, _"And I know from prior experience that there will be guards waiting for us at the top of those stairs, where the territory of Ust Natha begins. This contract is with Matron Ardulace Despana, the matron mother of the largest and most powerful house of the city; I would imagine she will send her…dependent…Solaufein to deal with us. You must let me do the majority of the talking in these situations, and always follow my lead. Females – you will take no direct orders from males, at least not readily. Males, stay to the back of the group and keep your heads down but your eyes open. Do_ not _speak unless spoken to first. You are all houseless mercenaries, so you will not need to go by a surname, but you will need new first names."_ She paused while this sank in.

Eventually, Elatharia stepped forward. She had braided her newly altered hair over her shoulder as Viconia had recommended, and it displayed the sharply pointed ears of her current form – and also leant her a less severe image, which was less than ideal. But the styles of the drow must needs be followed. It was most peculiar seeing her face without the markings or the mask, however slightly more pointed and regular the Transmutation had made them.

" _I'm ready_ ," Elatharia signed, the gestures demonstrating her terse manner. Of course, she did not like being anything less than leader herself. Viconia bit back her smirk. Instead, she pointed to the Transmuter and uttered aloud the first common drow name that came to mind.

"Veldrin," she told the Bhaalspawn, who mouthed the name back and nodded. Next, Viconia gestured to Jaheira – who really did look the part in her ridged black armour and with that scowl. "Sziithra." The druid balked, before realising that the enchanted svirfneblin rings permitted her the ability to pronounce the name flawlessly. Imoen stepped up to join her sister, her hands fisted at her sides, and tilted her chin defiantly – as if to dare Viconia to suggest she might not be ready to take on this charade. There was just the slightest hint of her old fire, and it was a relief; the better the girl was, the safer this would be. "Merdin." A hesitation, and then Viconia reverted briefly to sign language, " _You and Elatharia – Veldrin – should probably_ _continue as sisters even in the lie. There are certain mannerisms or shared looks that would make others wonder about you elsewise._ "

Valygar and Haer'Dalis lingered at the back, watching and not speaking. Perhaps it was the ranger's usual way, but the tiefling was certainly doing his best to stay in-character. Though there was something a little too mischievous in his eyes even now – perhaps it was his part-demon nature shining through. Viconia prayed this would not become too much of an issue.

"Jerzon and…H-Haztafain," she told the ranger and bard respectively – and rather impulsively. As her voice caught, Viconia cursed herself inwardly for the sentimental choice and looked away from Haer'Dalis quickly before she could see his curiosity.

"Alright," Elatharia nodded slowly, glancing at Imoen's determined if rather shaky expression before continuing. "Let's go. We had better remember not to look too shocked by whatever we see up there – Ched Nasad, from whence we 'hail,' is a much bigger and more impressive city than Ust Natha by all accounts."

Well, that kind of pride was all drow, and it gave Viconia some much needed hope. She turned about and headed up the stairs without another word to the others, and knew that they must be following though the drow boots they wore were enchanted for silence.

She had only ever passed this way once before, when a particular ebb in her monetary funds had required her to go as hired healing help with a raiding expedition to the nearest duergar settlement. It was quite a climb up to the top of the stairs, just a narrow tunnel of smooth cold stone ascending fairly steeply and with only the faintest detectable curve to the left for most of the way.

The further they climbed, the louder the faint sounds of civilisation grew. The inevitable clatter and rumble of wagons and commerce, the braying of livestock – mostly rothé in these parts – and the eternal but faint smell of incense on the breeze; all of it was achingly familiar, and at once filled Viconia with a nervous excitement and a cold dread. The blasphemous symbol of Lolth hung heavy from her neck, though she knew from experience that Shar would grant her strength even so. Her goddess knew that she was not False.

Viconia's heart was pounding hard as they climbed those steps, part of her beginning to wonder if she ought to have been given one of those translation rings. It had not been very long at all since she was last here, a number of few years, but she had not spoken her native language to another drow once since. Well. How in Shar's name did _she_ feel so fraudulent? The thought swelled her indignation, and her lips curved with the reminder that she was at home here.

All drow of Ust Natha's border guards wore standard issue anti-infravision vests but she sensed the faintest signs of their presence just before this sharp twist at the end of the stairway revealed them. She smelled the overly aromatic oil one of these two undoubted males had used in his hair, heard the scuffing of leather and the tired breathing of guards about to be relieved for the next shift.

Viconia did not even pause to collect herself – such hesitation was not the drow way, after all – and stepped around the corner with fluid, silent grace, head held high and shoulders squared. The symbol of Lolth above her breast made her skin crawl, but it shone like a beacon of status to these two young fools waiting at the gateway into Ust Natha. Both typical wiry males, yet still stockier than their female kin, they leapt to attention and crossed their halberds before the woven metal of the gates whose every line of steel was limned in faerie fire, sending violet light dancing across the obsidian shards inlaid jaggedly around the tall arch of the entrance.

"G-greetings and Lolth's welcome, priestess," the male on the left declaimed automatically, his voice quavering just slightly when Viconia stood and watched him, her hand on her flail's handle. He was the one whose thick white hair was so steadfastly coifed into its long braid.

"We come from Ched Nasad, at Matron Despana's pleasure," she drawled with all the casualness she once would have felt, forcing herself not to watch the others forming up behind her. Elatharia and Jaheira made a point of flanking her; ah, their bickering and jockeying might make this a deal more realistic.

"Ah, of course," the second male spoke up now, disengaging his halberd and sweeping a bow. The gesture seemed to be the cue for the orc slaves waiting just beyond to begin winching the gates open; they did so smoothly, with barely a squeak of hinges. "Master Solaufein will be with you shortly. Please, enter."

Viconia bit back any response – such pleasantries were the ways of the surface, though she only ever uttered such mockingly anyway. She simply stalked ahead, her eyes fixed on the city fast rising up before her, and prayed that the others did not gawp too much. She sensed the guards tense at the sight of Elatharia; a female dressed as a wizard was as rare in Ust Natha as a drow on the surface.

And now as she reached the gates and stepped through as if it were her birth right, Viconia gazed upon the oldest drow city of them all. Ahead awaited its bustling market, the closest portion of which appeared to be the pens of slaves which stank of refuse and blood and sweat; orcs, duergar and svirfneblin peered out with hopeless eyes. A cart was stopped nearby, just against the steep wall of the cavern into which this city hung, a number of tired looking duergar clustered together and eyeing the sights warily. They were shorter and broader even than Korgan, their thick white beards no match for his.

Ahead the city soared above them, huge pillars of stone interlaced with delicate ebon pathways of drider silk – amongst them hung elaborate mansions, Houses, companies and the three educational establishments all in ordered layers. The noble Houses glimmered with varying shades of faerie fire, forcing the eye to shift in and out of infravision and thus easy to spot as they rose up above the bustling market and poorer slums upon the cavern floor. The higher the building, the larger it was – and the more important. And where the svirfneblin city had been all flat, squat planes with no colour or variation, here everything of note was built of sharp edges and dramatic curves. Where the surface cities showed their wealth with blinding marble, here they did so with shining obsidian plating and faerie fire. Everywhere drifted the faint smell of incense – for it burned always in the temples of Lolth. And when one was in the drow world, one was never far from one of those. Of course, her spider symbol was everywhere too. Upon the robes of priestesses and acolytes prowling across the lowest walkways that were still just in sight, upon pendants worn by nearly every dark elf one saw here – even the slave owner over there, and the males and females at the stalls ahead. It was dizzying, and vast, stretching out in a web of intricate construction and apparent chaos throughout the entire cavern, which stood some two miles in diameter at its narrowest point.

"Wait here, if it please you, priestess," the male called as the others stepped through to join Viconia; an irritated glance over her shoulder showed that he was rather sheepishly gesturing to a non-specific area disturbingly close to those clustered duergar – between their cart and a pen milling with rothé. The meaty four-legged herd animals brayed endlessly. Her lip curled, and she whirled on the helpless male. His eyes widened.

"You expect me to stand with duergar and livestock, _jaluk_?" Viconia spat, ignoring the startled stares of her companions, "I ought to have you whipped to the Narbondel and back again!"

"My…my apologies, mistress. P-please take up a spot more suited to your station. M-master Solaufein will be with you shortly."

"Indeed. If he is not you will regret it."

Turning sharply from him, she gestured for her companions to form up a little away from the duergar, closer to a more harmless stall selling trinkets. And here, trinkets meant pendants, brooches and rings all embossed with Lolth's sign. The spider made her sick.

Elatharia's touch at Viconia's elbow sent a jolt through her that she barely controlled; her expression was hard out of habit when she turned to meet the disguised Transmuter's eyes, which now glowed with the red of drow infravision. It was hard not to start again at the sight of her so altered; ebon skin, pale hair, no markings thanks to her transmuted mask.

"Is that kind of thing…" Elatharia hesitated, and then chose to sign the rest, " _Is it normal to make such a scene here?_ "

"It is, Veldrin," Viconia nodded sharply, her eyes turning back to scan the crowds of harried slaves on errands, and poorer drow stalking the markets with their hands never far from their knives. She made a point of using the Transmuter's 'name'. A reminder for herself and the others. "Here for a priestess to fail at such indignation – that would be a scene."

Elatharia acknowledged this with the faintest tilt of her chin, though Imoen's eyes were wide and glassy behind her as the aasimar took in the dazzling sight of Ust Natha. They would have to come up with a good way of explaining her 'otherness'. Viconia grimaced at the thought…only to wrench those thoughts fully back to the present as she spied a familiar armoured figure pushing his way through the crowd, taking a wide birth around the slave pens and keeping his eyes carefully on the worn cavern floor as he passed them to speak with the guards. Someone must have sent a runner out to him – or he had been waiting close by.

Solaufein was not Matron Despana's Male of the House, but rather some debt owing male from another noble family. His pointed failure to acknowledge the group's arrival was an open slight, though he performed it with his usual dour slump. Everything the scarred drow male did was apparently a chore, a great effort – and yet somehow every movement was one of speed and grace. He at once appeared to lag, and to do so faster than those who hurried.

A moment passed, in which Viconia deliberately did not watch his return steps, and then Solaufein addressed her directly in his usual deep drone. She slid her gaze over him slowly as he did so, noting the thick, jagged scar across his cheek and the old burns at his throat which were just visible at the collar of his ridged black plate armour. His features were particularly sharp for a drow, his large eyes a perpetual and strikingly pale green even with infravision, his white hair – long in the style of all drow – braided back economically behind his head.

"You are the mercenaries sent from Ched Nasad for my mistress's…errands," he stated, brows low and drawn together into their perpetual frown. Viconia raised her own eyebrows at him in expectation, until he held out one gloved hand. "You must show me your papers."

Viconia slapped them into his palm firmly, and he took the harsh gesture with his usual pursing of the lips. She tapped her foot expectantly and the others shifted uncomfortably behind her, but he did not hurry in unfurling the document and peering at it intently. Beside her, Elatharia crossed her arms and glowered the male's way. Jaheira was watching the crowds, her spear close to her side and her face as hard as ever. Good.

"The documents are satisfactory and I will be giving you orders shortly." His tone terse, Solaufein at last let the document roll closed with a faint clack, his black piwafwi cape shifting sinuously about his shoulders as he turned fully to face the group, eyeing each of them closely. Like the guards before him, his gaze lingered on Elatharia. He jerked his chin her way. "You surprise me, Viconia _De'Vir_ , cavorting with lowly houseless mercenaries. And mercenaries with a female wizard? I would ask…if I cared. Take lodging at the lakeside inn; when the Narbondel shows midday, come to Lady Phaere's quarters in the Female Fighters' Society." And just like that, he turned to go.

"You are bolder than I recall, male. You may be Matron Despana's pet, but you are still a male. And I am still a De'Vir." The words crawled from her unbidden, and Solaufein's shoulders grew rigid before he twisted back to face her, still with the disinterested glare.

"De'Vir is a fallen house of a city far from here. At best, we are equal you and I. Here you have returned to do my Matron's bidding. Remember _that_."

Without further fanfare, he strode back through the crowd and left the imposters to look to each other, trying not to breathe a few sighs of relief. Valygar and Haer'Dalis were both staring after him with entertainingly baffled expressions – Viconia would have enjoyed their education in drow hierarchy far more if she had not been so severely put in her place. Elatharia and Jaheira were turning to her expectantly, both primed to speak. Imoen was frowning faintly and staring down at her hands.

"As satisfying as it is to see you treated so brusquely, do you know of the inn he speaks?" Jaheira demanded, earning a sharp glare from Viconia.

"Here you are a lowly fighter, Sziithra," the priestess of Shar reminded the druid, spitting her fake name back at her, "Mind that you do not attempt to lash me so with your tongue again, or meet the lash of a whip."

Jaheira just sneered, though she did back off a little, looking Viconia up and down pointedly.

"I see no whip."

"Easily remedied."

"Enough!" Elatharia snapped it under her breath, "Take us to this inn. Does it at least…have rooms where we might have a little peace from this place?"

"Of course, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia sighed, "Though it stands at the heart of the slums and is populated primarily by visiting merchants of the _other_ races."

"Not an insult we'll care about," Elatharia reminded, catching Imoen's wavering eye. The girl offered her sister a faint smile before remembering that she was not meant to behave so softly here. Jaheira took her elbow in a firm grip before the Transmuter could.

Viconia turned to Haer'Dalis then, and with a jolt realised that she had been about to address him with humour. Her chest tightened nervously, and his eyes strayed to her clenched fists. The faintest softening of his eyes, a brief nod shared, and she knew that he would play his role. She turned from him and moved out into the madness of Ust Natha at the head of their group before she could think any more on how severely she, the true drow here, had almost broken their cover.

* * *

They had to get their souls back. Without their souls they would become like…him. In time. And gods knew what he might _do_ in that time. So they had to do it - for her, for her sister…and for whoever else Irenicus intended to be his next victims. Imoen was determined, in spite of the cold and ragged edges of her mind, that they find him and his sister and take back their souls. That resolve powered every steady step through the crowded, rowdy market of Ust Natha, it kept her shaking to a faint shudder and her eyes straight ahead though her thoughts were reeling, overcome with the mass of sensation, and her heart was beating fairly out of her chest.

The svirfneblin city had been busy, rumbling with endless sound, but here everything was harsher, stronger, more demanding of her attention. Her skin crawled with the threat all around – not just from being found out, but from the knowledge that here was Lolth's domain almost utterly and that every drow in this crowd could have murder on their mind. _Murder. Murder and death_. The beast stirred. Ust Natha may belong to the Spider Queen, but murder and death were Bhaal's. And Bhaal was her father, not just Elatharia's. _Silly girl. You have no idea, do you?_

It was a – relative – relief to pass through a gate and into an open yard. The fence was constructed of spongy grey material; mushroom skin, most likely, much like those fungi clustered at intervals across the smooth stone of the yard. The place looked deserted, all the way to the crooked building by the edge of the lake ahead, an expanse of water which looked to be the heart of the city, drow buildings clustered around its whole circumference. Upon its central island there stood a towering pillar of glowing stone, a column that disappeared into the webbed layers of walkways above.

"The Narbondel," Viconia explained as she ushered the group towards the rickety inn, little more than a collection of dry stone with gaps for windows filled with fogged glass. "When the light reaches the halfway point, we are expected at Phaere's quarters."

"And Phaere is…?" Jaheira asked, the twang of irritation in her tone proving her anxiety.

"The eldest Despana daughter. You would do well to name her Mistress and avoid her eyes. She is a high priestess of Lolth, and will not brook insolence from any beneath her station."

Viconia waited pointedly by the door, this of some hard, layered material which could not have been wood but resembled nothing else of which Imoen was knowledgeable. After a hesitant moment, Haer'Dalis realised that the only true drow of the group was expecting one of the males to open the door. He could not contain a flourish as he did so, bowing just faintly, and Viconia could not hide the roll of her eyes.

Imoen followed her sister inside automatically, and was taken aback by the soft firelight within. Her eyes adjusted immediately, as per her darkvision spell. Within, the air was thick with the smell of pipe smoke; the fire must have been an Illusion and little more. The stone ground was covered in frayed rugs, the walls of bare stone, and the hunched figures of orcs, deep gnomes and Underdark dwarves shifted upon creaking stools by dirty stone tables to stare at the group of drow entering. They did not look surprised – rather, expectant. A pair of svirfneblin cringed away as Viconia stepped forward, but the innkeeper rushed forth from the bar with his hands outstretched. Imoen's heart flipped at the sight of him. He was a human, thin and worn, his dusky skin sallower than it should be after too long without the sun.

"Mistress! I was given word of your coming," he promised in heavily accented Drow, head and back bowed in subservience (and perhaps to disguise his greater height), "We have prepared our best rooms for you, though we o-only readied three. W-we did not know of your number. If this is insufficient we ca-"

"That is enough, _iblith_ ," Viconia snarled, jerking her head towards the stairs in the left wall, "We would not want to sully ourselves with any more of your foul inn than necessary. Give me the keys, and brings us fresh water and food, if you can manage it."

He continued to mutter apologies, and Imoen spied layers of old lash marks on his neck and shoulders as he turned away to get the keys. She wanted to promise him that they would not hurt him, that he need not worry at all, that they were _like him_ and how she understood his plight better than he could ever know…but she bit her tongue and held her silence. Jaheira and Valygar were both too rigid as well, their eyes fixed on the human man and their thoughts no doubt veering in a similar direction to Imoen's. But Elatharia was far more impassive, a faint frown on her face as she eyed the Underdark dwellers gathered here before them. Her expression was unreadable.

Haer'Dalis intercepted the innkeeper as he reached out to hand the keys to Viconia, who folded her arms pointedly as the human blanched, stumbling over some more apologies as he gave them the appropriate directions to their rooms. Elatharia and Viconia turned that way immediately, and in the split second that it took for Imoen to follow she could not help but wonder at how the tiefling had read the situation so astutely. No female drow would take keys from a human thrall.

Imoen shuddered, and concentrated on keeping her thoughts focused where her mind's eye could not turn back in on the memories and the darkness. She followed the others as they headed up the stairs, taking in the bareness of the floor and the walls, the flimsy mushroom-skin ceiling with its rips and holes. There were several doors along this way, which suggested that the rooms here were small; the ones they had been allocated were up another flight of stairs in a back section of the building, all three doors in a row with only the one passageway opposite. They would have no neighbours, and only the servants (if there were any) would have any need to come up here. That was a relief.

The group hesitated in this quiet hallway, surrounded by dry stone and with only their darkvision to guide them, painting everything in blues, greys, whites and blacks. Viconia's eyes glinted oddly as she took in the group, tugging Haer'Dalis towards the middle door more to make a point than anything else. The tiefling looked faintly amused, though he righted himself with swift grace, leaning back on the door and watching the others. And one glance at the four remaining told Imoen all she would need. She tapped her sister on the shoulder and offered the strongest smile she could manage; Elatharia's face softened just faintly at this, and it was enough.

"I'll room with you," Imoen promised, though her heart dropped to see Jaheira's deep frown aimed her sister's way.

"It is probably for the best," Valygar offered, his hand on the druid's arm. She pulled away stiffly, automatically – only to offer him a less harsh and even apologetic look.

"For a moment I could have thought you were acting the part there, druid," Viconia crowed, flashing a cold smile Jaheira's way before brushing the issue aside with the wave of her hand. "We have perhaps three hours before the allocated time. I will come for you when you are needed." And with that, the drow stepped through into her room with Haer'Dalis following.

Elatharia opened the door on the right with a long, weary sigh; peering over her sister's shoulder, Imoen saw a narrow room with two stone pallets each furnished with little more than a bedroll and a pillow. Two washbasins had been left for them, filled with cold water. A window in the wall above the right bed gave them a view of the lake and the central Narbondel along with this strange, seething city.

The door clicked shut behind Imoen as she watched her sister sit on the edge of one bed, leaning her head in her hands before tugging at her unfamiliar transmuted hair irritably. Her fingertips skittered over the smooth section of skin beneath her eyes which was in truth her magically altered mask, and there was something like distress in her expression. She jumped when Imoen conjured a cantrip and crawled onto the bed, kneeling by the window and peering out into the gloomy city.

"Are you m-"

"You're still a mage, big sis," Imoen reminded the incredulous Transmuter, "Even they done need light to read by down here."

Elatharia's silence seemed to be an admission. She shifted to sit back against the wall, shuffling a bit in her unfamiliar drow robes and pushing at the strangely stuffed pillow distrustfully. Her skin was startlingly hot against Imoen's as she brushed past. The aasimar shivered all the same, chafing her arms and trying to keep her eyes on Ust Natha. The city looked positively nightmarish in her natural vision, all dark ebon spires and ridges set faintly aglow in the soft pinks, purples, greens and reds of faerie fire.

"I can done feel Lolth everywhere," she whispered without thinking, too long alone. Her stomach dropped when she remembered she had company and for a moment her vision swam, but she pushed through it. "Can you? It's like a crawlin' on my skin, remindin' me of the beast we…we became. And the murder – I can feel that too. It's this poundin' in the back of my head, and all these sparks…"

"Of golden light," Elatharia nodded, her eyes flashing with that painfully familiar inquisitive intensity. Imoen loved her sister's cleverness, and the reminder poured a flood of memories through her that made her sick with nostalgia. "I've seen it all my life, whenever I used to get angry. And that creeping feeling…" the Transmuter hesitated as she pulled out her spellbook, flicking through the pages absently as if this confession were too terrible to keep eye contact. "When we used to go into Oghma's temple in Candlekeep, or we used to catch Gorion praying to Lathander in the mornings. It's like I wasn't meant to be there, that it was wrong somehow," Elatharia did glance up then, "Didn't you feel it?"

Imoen shook her head. She opened her mouth to explain…to find that only silence followed, that catch in her throat holding in a scream. Her hands clenched in the black leather of her drow leggings and she looked back out at the rippling reflection of the Narbondel in the black waters of the lake.

"Never did, before," she forced out, swallowing down the horror.

Silence fell between them, in which Elatharia pondered her spellbook and Imoen stared out at the city, trying to gauge the layout and the mood. There were a lot more folk on the cavern floor, where all the buildings were ramshackle and clustered close. Up above, figures strode across the web of pathways with the speedy purpose of those not going far. The buildings were ever grander, more grotesquely beautiful, and the faerie fire was an endless flood of faint light – enough to find one's way by, but not enough to read by. Like the moon on the surface.

"D'you reckon we'll make it?" Again, Imoen cursed herself, cringing back from the words that now hung between them – and spoken too weakly, barely above a whisper. _Because I done talk to myself, because in that cell there was no one else to listen._

"Make it?" Elatharia did not sound like she had the strength to reach incredulity. Her spellbook thudded against her drawn up knees – a sign that she had been interrupted in her studies at a less than convenient time.

"I mean…d'you reckon we'll get our souls back afore we start to lose our emotions like…like them," Imoen backtracked quickly. What was she doing? She had been so effortless before! She forced herself to meet her sister's eyes, to plough through. "I mean I feel…m-muddled and tired and so darn cold b-but I'm not _empty_ …y'know?"

Elatharia blinked at her, frustratingly impenetrable. She looked down at her spellbook, tracing whatever symbol looked back at her there. It was not familiar to Imoen, from what little she could see of the notation at this angle.

"I do feel empty," the Transmuter disagreed, so softly it was almost inaudible. "Like…there's a big black hole in my thoughts, and somewhere deep inside the monster is waiting. The monster…it's always scratched at me, but now it's coiled just behind my conscious mind. And if I lose control, it'll take over."

"You don't seem empty to me," Imoen disagreed, though her head ached with the strain, " _He_ is empty, and you sure aren't like him. Not by a long shot."

Elatharia's eyebrows lifted in surprise, as if Imoen's words were some great and unexpected compliment.

"Do you know…how long it would take to lose our emotions?"

 _He has touched you as he has us._

 _I have looked for her in every one of those wraiths and they are as false and empty as my memories._

"No," Imoen shook her head sharply, closing her eyes tightly against the memories and the echo of _his_ voice in her mind. "I think it's a scale, not a sudden loss. We got time, big sister. But not all that much time."

If Elatharia heard the pained croak in her sister' voice, she acknowledged it only by averting her eyes back to her book.

"Alright. That's all we need. Get some rest, Im. I'll wake you in a little bit – and don't worry, I'll not be leaving you behind again."

Imoen nodded, her limbs suddenly stiff and hollow with the need to lie down, to turn away from the world. And where her heart ought to have swelled with the relief of her sister's words all she felt was _obligation_. The expectation of others, the need to get things done. What was freedom, really? And when she closed her eyes, all she saw behind her lids were his face, and every time her mind wandered towards sleep all she heard was his voice. In the end, she could only stare at the wall beside her bed, the stone hard against her hip and shoulder, and listen to the rustle of her sister's spellbook. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could pretend they were studying together back in Candlekeep and that the golden light behind her eyes was just the sun, shining down to warm her and banish all that cold…

* * *

"Viconia did not make it clear to us just how familiar she is with this city – or how familiar its inhabitants are with her."

Valygar's low, resigned voice startled Jaheira out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see him perched on the edge of the opposite bed, the window over his shoulder showing the distant flicker of faerie fire in this otherwise pitch black city. He did not look like he required a response, but she grimaced in agreement all the same, trying not to blanch at the sight of him so transformed into the smaller, more angular form of a drow. It was hard – for a druid who had learned most of her lessons among the elves of the Wealdath, there had been nothing more hated than drow. The sight of their ebon skin, white hair and red eyes outstripped demons and devils as the monsters of elvish stories – and histories.

"We will have to watch her closely, although I fear we are all but at her mercy for the moment," Jaheira offered. The spell had not changed her much physically except for her complexion and hair colour, but she could tell from Valygar's uncomfortable expression that he was struggling to get used to her transmuted appearance.

"Just one more reason to distrust them," he grunted, his temporarily red eyes taking in the small, barely functional room as if the reminder of their situation made the comment all the more poignant.

An awkward silence fell for a time. The ranger did not look anywhere near comfortable enough to sit back on his bed, keeping his hand close to the hilt of his sword and fidgeting in his unfamiliar ridged black drow armour. Jaheira could understand; her disguise as a female fighter had required her to utilise similar garments. Though not uncomfortable and really rather practical, having drow material so close to her body made her skin crawl distinctly.

In spite of these inconveniences and the dangers, Jaheira knew that she had no choice in this; Irenicus was here, and in order to catch him she would have to follow his movements. Since they had not found any obvious ways out of the Underdark yet, it made sense to come here. Only Valygar and Haer'Dalis had really had a choice – and Jaheira wondered if they were mad for coming. From all accounts, males were treated worse here than most surface nations treated women. So what in all the Hells was Irenicus doing coming here? As a man who clearly liked to dominate others, why would he choose to come to the one place where he would always be secondary? And of course this turned her thoughts to the account which Elatharia had made her read about his exploits with Imoen.

"I wish Imoen were not so trusting," Jaheira spat all but automatically, glowering through the window, "She does not realise how dangerous her sister has become."

"Indeed, though that is something that you seem determined to keep secret from all of us," Valygar hesitated, "And…does this mean that Elatharia has not always been this way? And Imoen, the two of you are clearly very close. The lockpick…"

"Yes. They used to call it Khalid's Lockpick, because he bought it for Imoen before we went to Durlag's Tower," Jaheira's heart ached as she spoke, her voice barely raised above a feeble croak, but Valygar's eyes were trained on her intently, "He and I thought it a foolish whim to go, after everything we had faced with Sarevok. But Imoen insisted – she said that it would be a real adventure. She was…was so happy when he gave her that present. And he was so pleased to see her excitement. I-Imoen is the closest we ever came to a child of our own," she paused, angry with herself for her weakness. She had to be strong. For her revenge. So Jaheira took a deep breath, fisting her hands at her sides, and reforged her frown as she met Valygar's eyes. "I must keep her safe, for him. And for Gorion, who kept her secrets so well."

Valygar inclined his head and opened his mouth to speak, but anything he might have said was interrupted as the door swung open with sudden force. Both ranger and druid whirled about, on their feet in a split second with their weapons at the ready. Her heart thundering, Jaheira snarled irritably when she recognised Viconia smirking at them in the doorway, arms folded. It took a moment or two more before the druid or Valygar put aside their weapons.

"Phaere will only want to speak with the females of our group. You may stay, male," Viconia waved Valygar away imperiously. The ranger gave her a hard stare, but sat back down with a sigh.

"You could have knocked," Jaheira growled, but the drow arched a mocking eyebrow her way.

"Hardly. It was not as if you were doing anything other than brooding in here anyway," Viconia drawled, "Now come along, _Sziithra._ " The sham name grated against Jaheira's very soul. "We must be punctual."

That was painfully true, so with one last pained look Valygar's way Jaheira fastened on her weapon belt and followed Viconia outside. Her darkvision had worn off, but even here in the crumbling corridor there was some faint light from the city outside, however incidental, and Jaheira's elvish heritage permitted her a manageable degree of visibility as Viconia pointedly knocked on the door to Imoen and Elatharia's room, an irritating smirk on her angular face. It took a moment before the Transmuter answered the door, eerily altered into her drow visage, and then she and Imoen were traipsing out of their room to join the others in the corridor, faces blank. They both looked tired, but determined. Few words were shared between the four of them before they set out.

There was nothing easy or comfortable about the journey along which Viconia now took them, back out of this dilapidated inn and into the dark, sure-footed bustle of the market. It did not help that such a place existed here, not when those who jostled to buy such twisted goods so often wore the metal collars of slaves. There was no laughter here. Only raised voices or harsh whispers. Footsteps were inaudible and the jangle of the chains and the braying of unfamiliar herd animals were the primary sounds. Males and slaves alike moved aside for the four females – the reminder of the success of their disguises only pained Jaheira more. She did not know whether to watch the deep shadows or keep an eye on Viconia's treacherous back.

When they reached the skeletal black obsidian stairway that would lead up to the first set of walkways, Jaheira almost walked headlong into a descending drow priestess. The female, adorned in shimmering mail with a hissing snake head whip on her belt, thankfully did not even spare her a glance. But the males behind her left lingering stares, both riding on muzzled red-skinned lizards the size of horses. Unsure of the etiquette, Jaheira gripped her newly acquired spear as tightly as she could and followed the others quickly. And as they ascended the stairs, passing the first level and continuing on to the second, she caught a glimpse of the distant spider symbol of Lolth adorning a vast spherical building at the centre of all the tangled walkways, like a great fat arachnid at the centre of its web. Her mouth ran dry, and it was all she could do to repeat her prayers to Silvanus just to stay calm.

Jaheira's thoughts were buzzing with the constant stress of vigilance when Viconia finally stopped them in front of a ridged cylindrical structure. From the door set in its wall, it must have been a building of sorts though its crystalline branches and the flicker of white faerie fire along its surface only helped to distract from this fact. And as she watched, Solaufein stepped out from behind one outcropping of the building, landing upon silent feet just by Viconia. The priestess of Shar turned to him as if she had expected it and there was no hint of smugness on his dour face, but Jaheira felt Imoen's hand squeeze her wrist.

A glance at the disguised aasimar showed the strain on the girl's face – and reminded the druid that they were here for a good reason. She caught Imoen's eye and gave a stiff nod, the best consolation she could offer in the circumstances, before disentangling herself from the girl's grip and following after the others as if nothing was more natural to her in the world than trailing after a pair of drow into the home of the eldest daughter of the most powerful matron mother in Ust Natha.

 _Silvanus, hear my vow and my prayer…  
_

* * *

Viconia had hoped never to meet Phaere Despana again. It was nothing especially personal, but Matron Ardulace Despana's eldest child represented everything about drow society that had driven her to escape. And it was not even the unswerving devotion to Lolth – by all accounts, Phaere was actually quite lacking in that department – but instead the reminder that all female drow were beholden to that faith and the scandal that could follow when they failed. The memories of all that had been going on when she left might have made Viconia smile if they did not remind her so poignantly of events much closer to her own previous life in Menzoberranzan.

In spite of these distracting thoughts, Viconia kept her wits about her as Solaufein led them into the Female Fighters Society. The high, crystal-lined walls shimmered with faerie fire even indoors and somewhere in the distance the grunts and clang of combat could be heard practice as they ascended the spiral stairs in the spacious vaulted atrium. And of course one could not go far without seeing the spider sign of Lolth; on some mosaic floor, or graven in the ceiling, or embossed upon a mushroom-wood door.

This was a place for the rich and spoiled daughters of matrons, and it showed in the ostentation of the building. No space was cramped, though the corridors twisted and knotted together in the manner of all drow architecture. Quite likely, the floor plan of all five levels made up the symbol of wretched Shar-damned Lolth. It was a multi-purpose complex despite its name – with bedrooms, baths, meeting rooms and hidden chambers for more clandestine activities as well stores of weapons, a compulsory room for prayer and a vast space for combat practice. Everyone here was a priestess or a servant. Solaufein was, quite probably, the only male permitted inside, and he ignored the mocking comments of those females whom they passed in their ascent to the top level wherein stood Phaere's quarters.

It was a relief to finally reach their destination, the whole level owned by Matron Despana and closed off at the top of the stairs by one door, guarded by two mail-clad females. Viconia had to force herself not to look around at Elatharia and the others as the door was opened for them and Solaufein without question, bringing with it the strong smell of incense and some spicy scent associated with the hallucinogenic drugs of rich drow females.

Within all was pitch black just as the drow liked it best, infravision showing to Viconia a small meeting room dominated by a long, cushioned couch. Upon this reclined Phaere Despana, draped in the layered gossamer thin cloth that was so fashionable here. She was holding a cup of black berrywine which would certainly remain untouched, two female servants waiting behind the couch with their heads bowed – ready to attend to her needs with appropriate subservience. A table strewn with various Underdark fruits and spiced mushrooms waited before Phaere and the walls were decorated with an abstract pattern of black crystals that made Viconia's skin crawl strangely. No doubt they disguised heavy wards.

"Ah, dog. You brought my mother's new lackeys," Phaere drawled, her acid-laced tone undoubtedly addressed Solaufein's way though she never once looked at him.

Infravision painted everything in shades of yellow to black, distorted by the drifting of heated air spiralling from the incense sticks around the room. It rendered the matron's daughter as little more than a poised wraith beyond the table, her body slender but muscular, her long fingers deceptively relaxed around that goblet. Her perfectly arched eyebrow twitched only faintly as she spat her words to Solaufein, her lips curved into a convincing smile – once shapely, they were now marred on one side by a jagged scar that tore through her right cheek, too. Before the scandal she had been the most enviable female in all Ust Natha; for the combined good fortune of her rank and status, her strength in arms…and for her looks. It was a feeling Viconia remembered well from her own grander days in Menzoberranzan – how odd to realise that in this, by keeping her secrets and having the bravery to escape, she had been luckier than Phaere Despana.

"I did bring them," Solaufein grunted, one hand clenching and unclenching at his side as if he would want nothing more than to cleave her head from her body with the blade at his hip. "And I am sure you no longer require my presence, _mistress_."

Phaere's smile never faltered, but her eyes were void of mirth as they finally settled on the male. She clicked her fingers at him and pointed to the corner of the room, sitting up with effortless speed and grace. Her feet were bare. But she was far from vulnerable.

"Stay there until I tell you otherwise," she snapped, and turned to look at Viconia before Solaufein had even begun to obey. Of course he would, or he would die at the hands of the driders. "Ah. I recognise you. Viconia De'Vir," Phaere laughed – a sound as pretty as the sharp edge of steel on rough stone. "I wondered where you had slunk off to – what a pity that you have fallen to working alongside these ragtag Ched Nasad mercenaries. And I had expected you earlier. Delay is not normally something I tolerate, and I will not make an exception for you. My mother and our house have great work to do, and thus we do not have time to carry out the menial tasks required of us. This is why we need you, as stipulated."

"Of course, mistress," Viconia forced the honeyed tone into her voice, all while imagining calling on Shar to do anything but comply. "We offer our sincerest apologies and are prepared to atone…"

"We were delayed by a raiding party of kuo toa. They had intended to attack the svirfneblin, but were impudent enough to turn on us as well."

Viconia wanted to close her eyes and cringe away from the reality of Elatharia's unbidden explanation, especially as Phaere's eyes flashed over the Bhaalspawn. It was cleverly worded and a good lie, but utterly out of line. A glance at Solaufein showed his eyebrows rising in shock, too. Viconia just ground her teeth and watched as anger contorted Phaere's face to hear a lowly female wizard interject. However, as a moment or two passed in ringing silence that anger smoothed out into narrow-eyed intrigue. Phaere's stare was still withering as it settled once more on Viconia.

"Your mercenaries are bold, De'Vir. Perhaps one can expect nothing else from Ched Nasad houseless _iblith_ , but you would do well to keep your servants in line," the threat was obvious as Phaere ran her fingertips along the snake whip propped by her knee, its three heads hissing into the air and all trained Elatharia's way. The Transmuter was very still, hands clasped behind her back and eyes fearlessly trained on Phaere, who was now sitting back into the couch with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Still…as much as I would enjoy reminding your pet of her place, your words have somewhat intrigued me. Kuo toa, you say?"

"Indeed," Viconia choked out, "We destroyed a nest of them on our way here – we had to track them back to their lair after they dared to attack us."

"Very good," Phaere crowed, clapping her hands twice and laughing in genuine amusement now, "How fortuitous! Those beasts have been causing our trade problems for some time. I would have sent you out to deal with them first of all, but it seems you have already done the deed. This is more promising! Solaufein, I may have an excuse to kill you sooner than I had hoped."

The male glowered and sneered in equal measure but was really quite incapable of defending himself against such a blatant comment. It made Viconia laugh, anyway. She had missed the honesty of drow hatred – and the relief of Phaere's words for the group's safety was too great to care about one dour male.

"We are here to serve, mistress," Viconia offered with a bow of her head.

"Of course we will have to send a scout out to check the veracity of your comment, upstart wizardess," Phaere purred Elatharia's way. "But this means you can set out with Solaufein today to meet the ambassadors. It will be an interesting test of your worth, I fancy."

"As you wish, mistress."

"Oh, I do." Phaere bared her teeth now as she leaned forward, waving her wineglass at the group of females before her, eyes lingering a fraction on Imoen. Her brows began to furrow.

"These ambassadors – should we expect anything in particular?" Viconia ventured when Phaere offered little else. The matron's daughter nodded smugly, her attention successfully distracted.

"We have a delegation from the illithid and the aboleth. I do hope you have nothing to hide."

And Phaere's smile only grew as Viconia failed to hide the shock and the fear on her face. Illithid…and aboleth. Two of the most powerful psionic races in the Realms; Surface or Underdark. How were they going to hide their secret now, when the creatures they were sent to escort could simply pluck the truth straight from their hapless minds?


	47. Whosoever Fights with Monsters

**I feel I ought to apologise for how long these Underdark chapters are - I'm separating them as sensibly as I know how, promise! :3  
Oh, and the chapter name does of course come from the quote at the start of Baldur's Gate:**

" **Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein."  
(** _ **Whosoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not thereby become a monster. And if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.)**_ **\- from 'Beyond Good and Evil' by Friedrich Nietzsche.**

 **Anyway, I hope you like this installment. W** **ith fair warnings for some violence...**

* * *

 **Chapter 46: Whosoever Fights with Monsters**

* * *

"These durn rockgrinders're keepin' all but a few spare words fer 'emselves," Korgan muttered, small dark eyes peering out at the svirfneblin council with open distrust, "Shoulda known the cowards were no better than the tall folk. Keepin' secrets from those they need t' save 'em."

Mazzy turned to look at him sharply, her blue eyes intense as always; for a moment Aerie thought the paladin was going to berate Korgan. Instead she gave the faintest, most grudging nod the avariel had ever seen from her.

"Indeed," the halfling agreed, folding her arms across her chest, "They could surely have cast a spell at least akin to Elatharia's to permit us understanding of their discussion. Instead they huddle away from us and murmur in their own tongue. Their plight may be honest, but we must be wary of what they tell us."

"Could've at least given us some o' them rings they gave the others," Korgan grunted.

"It is a miracle that they brought us into their council chamber at all," Anomen said from Aerie's other side; the avariel turned to see him hunched uncomfortably over his chair, the svirfneblin craftsmanship entirely ill-suited to his tall human frame. His brows were drawn down, his mouth set in a grim line. "I would half expect them to send us out with little more than the possessions we have and a shove in the back."

"A little extreme, oh noble one, but possibly also quite astute," Jan chirruped from somewhere beyond Anomen's much larger form, "Keep it up." His silence proved that he was entirely unbothered by the withering glare the young knight sent his way.

Meanwhile, Aerie was altogether too anxious to consider offering a contribution to the others' complaints. In her opinion, these people clearly need help. They were desperate, and clearly afraid, and possibly they had brought this subterranean threat upon themselves – but that did not mean they were not deserving of help! Still, they had been less than forthcoming. Although they had permitted the remaining surfacers to come to this council meeting, lined up before the semi-circular rows of ascending seats like actors upon a stage, they had entirely neglected to explain or translate what was happening.

Some fifty svirfneblin, all dressed in the same drab black and greys, had gathered before the surfacers in this large but rigidly rectangular room. No decoration hung upon the walls and no windows looked out upon the empty streets of this section of town. Even the floor was bare stone. There was nothing to detract from the intent eyes of the council arrayed before them – and now, once Odendal and Lulthiss had spoken for a time in their rumbling tongue, a long and hushed discussion had begun. Councilmembers had eventually gathered around the speaker's stand between their own seats and those of the surfacers, low voices murmuring endlessly and incomprehensibly.

There was a slight hint of frustration or fear in almost each of the deep gnomes' faces, but there was something altogether unfamiliar about them even to Aerie, who had spent many years under the guidance of a surface gnome. Just another reminder of how little she belonged down here in the dark, even if their hosts had lit the place up with a cantrip especially for them. All she could do was sit, fidget and listen to the distrustful complaints of her companions while they waited. They had not even been told what it was they were waiting for.

When at long last silence fell amongst the svirfneblin, Aerie looked up from her fidgeting to see Odendal Breachgnome and Lulthiss approaching them as the others dispersed. The deep gnome Conjurer clutched a fragile looking scroll in her thick, stubby fingers, and both regarded the expectant group of surfacers gravely.

"Here I hold the scroll to hold back the demon, once you have it killed indeed," Lulthiss explained, "No mage must you be, but rather priest. You will go now and prepare – when time is passed until night, we will be leading you to the place in the mines from where the demon does climb. Slay it, seal it up, and we will be in your debt."

"And what did you discuss with your council for all of this time, pray tell?" Mazzy asked, her eyes narrowing when the gnomes shared a glance.

"We were discussing reinforcements for you, and how well you can be trusted to aid us," Lulthiss admitted at last. She just blinked when Mazzy looked at her expectantly.

"Well, girl?" Korgan demanded, "Haven't ye somethin' t' be addin' t' that?"

"There…will be no reinforcements unless you fail," Odendal said at length, folding his arms across his broad chest without a hint of intimidation in the face of the dwarf's menace. His startlingly deep voice held the hum of a _Tongues_ spell, reminding them that he did not speak their language.

"So it is to be a sacrifice of those you have roped into your service?" Anomen growled, his disdainful tone unfamiliar to Aerie for its ferocity. She blinked up at his face in surprise, her stomach dropping a little. The look in his eyes as he watched those svirfneblin was bordering on hatred. "I would have expected nothing less than careless treachery from folk such as you."

Lulthiss sniffed and raised her chin at that.

"I was for the aiding of your group, as were many others. But we have lost many of our folk to this monster, many good miners and warriors – if we cannot hold back the drow as well, then we are doomed. If the demon cannot be stopped at all, then we will leave and search out another place to live. You are our hope, perhaps our very last."

"No aid is barbaric at best," Anomen disagreed, "Your people clearly lack bravery."

"Anomen!" Aerie hissed, horrified, but he did not retract his words. Instead he held Lulthiss's hardening gaze. She took a moment to visibly reign in her anger before turning to Aerie.

"Here, the scroll is best with you. We have heard tales of the avariel and their nobility, and your offer to help us against this demon has proved those stories true," she pressed the scroll into Aerie's much more delicate hands, her own fingers calloused by carefully gentle. Aerie blushed and smiled to hear such words, any appropriate response fluttering from her mind in the face of such praise.

"Come now then, surfacers. It is time for the preparations," Odendal added, gesturing for the exit and heading that way without further encouragement.

Lulthiss offered a slightly awkward smile to Aerie, a look that seemed so unnatural on her serious face that the avariel knew it was solely for the benefit of the surfacers. These deep gnomes were far more surly than their surface cousins. And now Aerie stood with the others, feeling more than a little sick about what was to come and trying not to crumple the thin scroll in her hands. Korgan was complaining bitterly and Jan struck up a conversation with both gnomes which seemed to focus solely on the details of svirfneblin language as they began to make their way from the chamber.

"You did…d-didn't need to be so hard w-with her, Anomen," Aerie admonished as soon as the gnomes were a good distance away, Korgan stomping behind them with the promise of some food ahead. Anomen sighed and shook his head, not meeting her eyes when she took his arm and looked up at his face. Mazzy paused a few paces ahead of them, looking back.

"They are clearly an ignoble lot, Aerie," Anomen disagreed, "To throw us to some monster without any aid, to demand such of us that could easily have been freely given. Instead they whisper together and keep secrets. It is the Underdark, I fear," he looked about them at the thick grey walls, his frown deep, "I am beginning to wonder if the good gods cannot see us so well down here."

Ah, so it was the setting that was the real problem. Aerie squeezed his arm, trying to seem comforting if not reassuring even while her own stomach churned and her head ached. She already missed the sun.

"We...we won't be here all that…that long," she tried to promise, though Anomen's eyes were doubtful when he finally looked down at her, "And r-remember that this p-place might be awful, but that d-doesn't mean everyone around you is. Sv-svirfneblin aren't so terrible. My uncle Quayle used to have a belt buckle made from their mithral-weaving. It was…was the most beautiful bit of art I ever saw a gnome make or wear."

"Hardly high praise," Anomen sniffed, and that sent a pang through Aerie's heart that could not be ignored. She stepped away from him, glaring now with a force that seemed to surprise him.

"That's…th-that's enough! I've never heard you talk like this b-before and it's n-not right! Don't be…be so judgemental and cruel, Anomen! These people need our help even if they're…they're not trusting us with everything. And…and I know you hate this place and B-B-Baervan knows I hate it too but that doesn't mean you c-can just insult everything around you and my uncle and all his relatives too j-just with one ill thought out comment!"

She turned away from him when tears started to well in her eyes, angry with herself now for lashing out – and for crying about it. She tensed when she felt his hand settle hesitantly on her shoulder, and sniffed miserably, shaking him off.

"J-just leave me awhile, Anomen. B-but I meant what I said," she muttered, closing her eyes and wiping at her face with her sleeve until she felt him let go and heard the click of his retreating boots. A moment later, a small hand brushed against her elbow and she opened her eyes to see Mazzy standing by her side, looking up into her face with serious, thoughtful eyes.

"You are good to be so generous to those whom others may misjudge," the halfling promised softly, "And Anomen does need some serious lessons in the ways of the rest of the world," a faint smile flitted across her face at that – though Aerie could not find it in her to feel such amusement. And that thought only made her feel guilty. "He does know you are right really, Aerie. But we should also be wary. Not everyone is as easy to live with as the svirfneblin, and I fear for our companions."

Embarrassed now as well as anxious, Aerie nodded. It was awful to think of the others playing out that charade in the drow city.

"I…I hope they'll be alright," she sighed uselessly, "And…if they don't return…"

"Then we will need to leave without them. We cannot wait forever or risk the drow coming for us next," Mazzy said firmly, and Aerie could not disagree. "Where they have gone there can be no rescue. We need to concentrate on what we have promised, and be patient – and stay calm. Alright?"

"Alright," Aerie smiled faintly, and Mazzy squeezed her elbow reassuringly.

"Then let's catch up with the others and keep our minds on the task ahead. A few of us killed Firkraag – how hard can one demon be?"

* * *

As soon as the lock clicked shut behind them and the hum of Imoen's wards told them they were as safe as they ever would be in this place, Elatharia let the Transmutations upon their bodies slip. She barely had time to consider the alteration to herself or her companions, for the rush of dizziness that came with her relinquishment of the spell had her clutching her head and slumping down onto her bed, leaning against the wall just to stop herself from toppling.

Amidst the crowded shuffling of the others, she felt a cool hand press against her forehead. She had closed her eyes against the blurring of her tired vision, but she knew that hand – and certainly the voice that accompanied it.

"Here, you'll done need to remember to drink if you're gonna have a chance of castin' that spell again."

Imoen spoke softly, a little tremulously, but there was humour in her voice as well. Too tired to acknowledge it, Elatharia just sighed, squinting at her sister's too-world-weary face before taking the cup of water she proffered. Bringing it to her lips, she was relieved to learn that it tasted just the same here as it did everywhere.

Meanwhile, Viconia was standing with her back to the doorway, arms folded and expression grim while Jaheira paced back and forth at the end of the beds. Haer'Dalis and Valygar were watching their returned companions with varying degrees of concern and curiosity – but for the time being they would have to make do without context.

"None of this is getting us any closer to our goal," Jaheira was snarling, fists clenched tightly at her sides. It was interesting to Elatharia how little the druid had to change to become a drow – the least of all of them. Did she really have no idea how close she was to the elves she so despised? "Irenicus is gods know where – perhaps he is even long gone from this city. How is running errands for some tyrant bitch's daughter going to get us any closer to learning his next plan, to keeping on his trail – to killing him?"

Across the room Viconia's eyes met Elatharia's and the Transmuter recognised the tenseness in the drow's expression and posture. There was anger there, but fear as well. The others were too distracted by Jaheira's ranting to notice, and perhaps the druid herself had not understood the magnitude of Phaere's orders, but Elatharia at least knew that of all of them only Viconia could truly comprehend their current predicament.

"We must infiltrate our way into this city's society to lull them into a false sense of expectation," Haer'Dalis suggested, leaning back against the wall with one foot perched on the post at the end of the bed. He wore the drow clothing with the most ease, having had no upbringing to condition him against the dark elves, and it certainly seemed that his expression was one of amusement now, not of concern. He gestured at the window over his shoulder, "Logic dictates that Irenicus and Bodhi must be – or must have been – having dealings with the leaders of this city. Phaere Despana is just one rung below the ruler of Ust Natha. If we do errands for her, and meet her, one would expect we will sooner or later be witnessing this city's leader and most likely those who having dealings with her."

"That is not enough!" Jaheira snapped, finally coming to a stop in the middle of the floor. She grasped at the air in frustration, teeth bared in rage, and the drow leathers which she wore with such unwillingness creaked with the suddenness of her movement. "We do not have time to frolic amongst this poisonous mass of evil. We must look for Irenicus, hunt him down while he may yet be here." Her eyes flashed over Elatharia and left in their wake a peculiar chill, her voice lowering. "We could kidnap their Red Wizard pet and force him to talk."

"Jaheira, you need to think about…" Valygar's quiet voice was drowned out almost immediately by Haer'Dalis's mocking laughter, and Jaheira shrugged off the Amnish ranger's touch on her arm.

"Really, Ptarmigan?" the tiefling was saying, leaning forward to catch her eyes with a stare that was suddenly not mirthful at all, "I find your railing to be entirely hypocritical. You know as well as I that the Sparrowhawk was _taken_ from us – as a prisoner he is unlikely to be privy to our foes' next move. And even I would suggest that a plan of such daring could never be executed…without our execution swiftly following. As you said, Irenicus may have moved on…"

"He hasn't." Imoen denied it immediately. She had stood sharply when Jaheira first made her angry suggestions, and now she continued as all eyes turned her way. Elatharia could not see her face, but she knew that stubborn posture. "That done makes no sense. Not yet."

"Of course. Why else would Phaere need to call up Ched Nasad mercenaries unless something unusual were afoot in this city?" Elatharia nodded in understanding while the others blinked, and her sister glanced over her shoulder with a look of relief, "Something that began with the arrival of Irenicus."

The others were watching them with intensity, though Jaheira's frown never lessened. When the Transmuter looked to Imoen questioningly, the aasimar turned from her just as quickly – but the wide-eyed look on her too-pale face sent a rush of unease through the elder Bhaalspawn's tired senses.

"What is it that you know?" the Transmuter was surprised by the hoarseness of her own voice, by the ringing in her ears that could not have been from the dizziness of spell fatigue. She felt sick as her sister's shoulders slumped in defeat and the aasimar sat down abruptly beside her. After a moment of silence, Imoen's eyes found hers now unwaveringly – and they were full of apology.

"He's done seekin' something," the aasimar admitted into the rapt silence. "He's got some vendetta with the city of Suldanessellar – that one they had painted on the wall of the entrance hall in Candlekeep…"

Jaheira's shocked gasp interrupted her, and the colour drained from her face.

"Suldanessellar? Then he means to attack the greatest elvish city in Toril. But it is hidden from all those who do not have a guide of sun elf blood…"

"It done hinges on something about…the Knights of Suldanessellar who guard _In Tempul Maige in Chatha_ ," Imoen explaining, still keeping her eyes on Elatharia as if the others were not in the room with them. "I don't know how, but he can find a way through them. He wants something from the city…a-as well as some kinda revenge. Against a woman called…Ellesime?"

"Ellesime is the queen of Suldanessellar," Jaheira scoffed, "I doubt one so wretched as him could have ever laid eyes on her."

Imoen's expression flickered uncomfortably at that, and she chafed her arms again but she did not disagree with the druid aloud. Her grimace set Elatharia even more ill at ease, though the Transmuter made the point of nodding to her all the same.

"That does explain what he and Bodhi are _doing_ here," Elatharia pointed out, ignoring Jaheira's sneer. "Ust Natha controls a gate into _Mag in Chatha_ somewhere nearby and few beings would be more willing to attack the Knights than the drow. They are here to muster military aid."

"Then your Sparrowhawk is bait, to lure you off the track or distract you from…something," Haer'Dalis offered, but Elatharia was shaking her head sharply even as she attempted to ignore the discomfort his phrasing brought her. The Beast stirred all the same, sending a faint shudder up her spine.

"No. I think they want him for information. They can't kill us until they know our souls are well and truly theirs now – so they will use Edwin as a way of predicting our moves and learning about our methods. If they think they can use him as bait, they will be proven painfully wrong."

Haer'Dalis smirked at her as if he did not agree, and she glared back.

"Still this does not solve the pro…"Jaheira began, only for Viconia to stand straight with an abruptness that forced everyone's attention her way. The drow was visibly seething as she swept her eyes around the room, sparing none of them her withering stare.

"Have any of you the slightest idea of the power of an aboleth?" Viconia spat. Even Jaheira backed up a little to hear that tone. "Do you even know what one is? And have you not heard of the illithids? Creatures that you primitive surface folk name 'mind flayers'? Has it never occurred to you that such a quaint nickname is very well earned?" The silence was telling, though Haer'Dalis and Valygar shared somewhat bemused glances. "Elatharia, Imoen. Do either of you know what an aboleth is, and what it can do?"

"Mindreading amphibians," Imoen blurted automatically. When Viconia raised her eyebrows expectantly, the aasimar just shrugged.

"They are highly intelligent and cruel," Elatharia offered into the void, "They serve no gods and create slaves of any of the sentient races, much like the mind flayers do. They believe themselves to be above all of the other species around them and work only for their own purposes."

"Yes," Viconia nodded tersely, for all the world like Ulraunt mid-lecture back at Candlekeep, "And now Phaere has told us that we are to go with Solaufein, meet the ambassadors of both the illithids and the aboleth – and Shar knows why such a creature is even on its way to meet the drow – and escort them from the illithid border to Matron Ardulace Despana's palace in Ust Natha. But of course, if we do that we will have doomed ourselves in the first place because such creatures will tear through any wards we have and rip the truth of your rivvin natures from your minds – and my complicity from mine."

"Ah," Haer'Dalis frowned, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully as he met Viconia's gaze. "Then we will have to offer them something. Or beg some kind of…terms. Creatures out for themselves will oft be swayed by such tactics, if the broker is clever enough with their offer. After all, we promised the svirfneblin that we would take the places of those drow they…met. And would it not be a terrible shame to fail at such an adventure?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you are truly insane, _jaluk_ ," Viconia groaned, rubbing at her forehead even as she took a step or two towards him. "But truly I see no other way. Elatharia, Haer'Dalis…Imoen. We need to come up with something that will work, and fast."

"Oh, if you think I will sit by and let you scheme without watching every move you make, you are sorely mistaken," Jaheira said sharply, and Viconia threw her hands in the air.

"Of course I expected you to attempt to meddle in something that you can never comprehend. By all means, attempt to bend your rigid philosophies to considering what an aboleth might want in exchange for careful silence," the drow told her. "Either way, we have no time to waste."

* * *

"Keep that well away from me tiefl… _male_ ," Jaheira snapped as Haer'Dalis trotted back over to the group from the nearby market with one of the sweet buns the drow favoured in his hands. He flashed her a smile that was all teeth and no sincerity before he remembered to step back and bow his head in an act of subservience.

"As you wish, Sziithra," he promised, pointedly keeping a wide birth of the tensely poised druid as he joined the group by the city gates.

Viconia hid her smirk from the bored gate guards, turning away from both disguised druid and bard as well – and her smile fell just as quickly to see Elatharia and Imoen leaning against the stone of the cavern wall. After some sleep, the Transmuter had at least managed to enact their disguises for a second time that day but the two vacant-eyed Bhaalspawn were a painful reminder to Viconia that these Surfacers were not all so good at acting like true drow. Unlike Jaheira.

Solaufein would be arriving soon and they would have to go on this errand for Phaere Despana. Perhaps they could escape if necessary, but the drow would hunt them down if they did – elsewise they would be relying on the unpredictable whims of the aboleth and its illithid allies. Viconia did not doubt that of those ambassadors it would be the haughty aboleth who would wish to take control.

"Will the merchants not be suspicious of the coin you handed over in exchange for your…food?" Valygar was just asking, eyeing the sweet bun which Haer'Dalis held with some significant suspicion.

"Aha! Not so, my cynical Eagle," the bard scoffed with some glee – such enthusiasm made Viconia want to haul the tiefling aside, to demand that he act more like a drow…but she dared not make a scene out of something so apparently trivial. So she just watched him gesturing expansively with the bun and tried not to look unsettled by his behaviour. "I witnessed that the natives of this fair city deal in round, flat coins of copper, silver, gold and platinum like the money of the world above – and all of a similar size to those of the Surface, too. This Sparrow used a few of his most worn Sigil coppers, too old to bear much resemblance to any specific region. No one will remark upon them at all." He punctuated this promise with a pointed bite of the bun only to wince a moment later, glancing Viconia's way as if to comment before realising that here he could not be so brazen.

"Regretting your choice, male?" the priestess asked automatically, oddly irritated by the rules constraining him. His eyes flashed in recognition of her intention and his arm brushed hers just slightly as he shifted to look at her. Behind him Valygar and Jaheira were already muttering together – but Viconia's attention swiftly turned back to the tiefling before her. The market was fast closing up for the day; they had only the audience of a few rothé in the pen by the river and the gate guards now.

"I find it is too sweet even for my tastes, my Blackbird," Haer'Dalis admitted, raising the bun between them. It was dark and without the colourful decoration of surface food, with only a dusting of dark sugar on top. His eyes flashed again as she stepped closer without thinking, catching his wrist as she took a bite from the bun herself. He watched intently, and she loved the power of it – until she grimaced as well, covering her mouth with her hand as she attempted to swallow. Haer'Dalis burst into fits of laughter to see this, tossing the offending item aside.

Snarling in irritation, Viconia caught him by the neck of his jerkin as he doubled up, forcing herself not to hesitate at his proximity – indeed, the jangling of her senses amidst all of the tension this city forced upon her only furthered her rage. To his credit, he did stop laughing after a moment or two when he saw her angry expression.

"You need not be embarrassed, my Blackbird, I find your moments of normal…"

"Enough!" she shook him – or tried to – and his eyebrows rose.

Only when she pushed him back around the cavern wall, past the point where Imoen and Elatharia had just been reclining and out of sight of the city did he catch at her waist to steady himself. Even so, he let his back collide with the stone of this alcove. She shook him again, and his grip tightened on her waist, hauling her against him with complete disregard for drow propriety. It was so unfamiliar being of a height with him, and it left her unable to duck away from his kiss. As his lips pressed to hers she found that she had no wish to avoid it, frightened and exhilarated in equal measures by the total lack of inhibition he had even in this place. She gasped and then groaned in frustration against him, her fingers catching his chin and forcing them apart just enough for her to speak. "H-Haer'Dalis," she hissed, "Your behaviour could give us away. We are waiting for Solaufein…"

"Then you clearly dragged me aside to reprimand me," the tiefling pointed out unconcernedly, "I very much doubt that any wizards are wasting their efforts to spy on we lowly mercenaries. And even so, I believe it could be said that you instigated this." He kissed her again, more gently and fleetingly, and the movement momentarily scattered her thoughts. He grinned to see her dazed expression, and awful fear flooded her in response.

Viconia pushed back fully with a curse, glaring at the disguised tiefling and hating herself for her weakness at the same time.

"We have to stay focused on the task, not dallying about with pointless fancies. We cannot risk…"

"Err…Viconia?" Imoen's voice made the priestess start enough to pull free the Flail of the Ages, and as the drow whirled on her the aasimar backed up with wide eyes. "Heya, it's just me. We done…found something you…might wanna see."

Too tense to speak, Viconia just nodded tersely and gestured for the girl to lead. Surely it could not be worse than the mission to see the aboleth. Without a backward glance the tiefling's way, she left Haer'Dalis with Jaheira and Valygar – a good enough excuse to avoid the conversation they were going to need to have at some point – and followed Imoen around the rothé pen. Viconia was relieved to see that the market really was all but empty by this time but for a few lurking figures flitting about their clandestine business upon the cavern floor.

"There. It's the same ship," Elatharia said as soon as Viconia and Imoen joined her at the far side of the rothé pen, the Transmuter standing on the very edge of the paved section of ground by the sloshing waters of the sluggish river. The elder Bhaalspawn nodded toward the harbour not far away, just in sight now that most of the stalls had been taken down. Following the direction of Elatharia's pointing fingers, Viconia's eyes alighted on an all too familiar vessel. She had been wrong – things could get worse.

Amongst the dark, uniform shapes of mushroom skin boats, all fairly similar in their streamlined shape to the vessels of Surfacers, there waited the battered ship of the githyanki. There was no sign of the warlike creatures, no doubt keeping to themselves within its warped and cracked shell, but it was undoubtedly the same vessel.

"I don't understand how it limped into this harbour, but my guess is that they must have had dealings with Ust Natha before. Is it common for githyanki to visit drow cities?" the Transmuter asked, and Viconia shook her head in disbelief.

"Another complication! Really, we do not have the time!" she groaned, throwing up her hands in frustration and looking to Elatharia's disguised face in the vain hope that the girl might have an answer for her. When only transmuted red eyes blinked back at her, tired and stressed, Viconia shook her head again and took a deep, fortifying breath. "Well, we will have to deal with this later – assuming we cannot avoid it entirely." She forced herself to dismiss the sisters' concern, turning back for the city gate where the others were waiting and espying the unmistakable shape of Solaufein descending the nearest set of stairs in the distance. "I see Phaere's lackey is on his way. Come."

The two sisters shared an uncomfortable glance but followed Viconia back to their other companions. They arrived shortly before Solaufein, who was now a lone figure flitting across the still quiet of the empty marketplace, but Viconia flatly refused to meet Haer'Dalis's eyes. Instead she gestured for Jaheira and Elatharia to join her as she stepped forward. In one fluid gesture she straightened her back into the haughty poise of a drow noble, one hand settling over the Flail of the Ages. Jaheira took her cue from Viconia – perhaps for the only time in their travelling history together – and braced herself with her new silver spear before her. Elatharia, even now without a weapon handy, had just folded her arms, her hands veiled within the long flowing sleeves of her drow mage robe. The smooth black and red garment may not have afforded her the same protection as her Robe of Vecna but it would at least permit her to fit in a little better. And with that streak of gold in her transmuted white hair she would need to conform as much as possible here.

Solaufein did not hurry to meet them, still gliding towards them with the eerie silent grace of the drow. It was rather disquieting for Viconia to realise that she had grown unused to such measured, subtle threat. Surfacers were such ungainly brutes. And of course Solaufein wore that same bitter expression, full of loathing and self-pity, his gloved hands poised over the longswords he wore at either hip.

"Where is your retinue, lackey?" Viconia demanded when he stopped before her – in truth she was not surprised, but the Viconia De'Vir he knew would have been.

"It seems Phaere Despana is as happy for you to die as for me," Solaufein scoffed, his eyes taking in the visages of each of her companions. His brows furrowed as he took in the sight of Imoen. It was a fleeting expression, a double take, but hard to miss all the same. Viconia's heart took up a gallop, and she gripped the handle of the Flail of the Ages to stop herself from shaking. "You are my retinue, or I am yours. She does not care which – although it would be wise if a female were to address our exalted guests when the time comes. We would not want to insult them."

Jaheira barked a laugh at that, not blanching at all when Solaufein's dead eyes slid to her.

"You would not want to risk yourself more like…male," she suggested. The ease with which the druid played this part made Viconia want to smirk again. She would have, had she not been so on edge.

"That too, yes," Solaufein agreed readily, inclining his head before gesturing to the gate guards behind them. A moment later the wheels which would open those gates began to rumble and grind, unwound by the orc slaves in their pens set in the stone wall. "Come. We must make haste to reach our guests. Matron Ardulace expects you to escort them to her palace at least two hours before midnight shines from the Narbondel."

* * *

Even stalking ahead of the group, Solaufein was clearly as nervous as they were; no one wanted to meet an aboleth or a group of illithid, let alone both at the same time. Meanwhile, Viconia was ignoring all of them, especially Haer'Dalis, while Jaheira had been careful to insinuate herself between Elatharia and Imoen. The Transmuter was relieved to see that her sister was keeping up with the rest of them, but Jaheira's presence made it impossible to gauge anything more detailed about the aasimar's welfare. As for herself, Elatharia was entirely unbothered by her relegation to the back of the group. Some sleep had given her the energy she needed to recreate their disguises for this outing, and she had no problem with the others meeting the ambassadors first. Especially not Solaufein, who seemed to look down on them all so much. If only their surroundings had not demanded such perpetual, skin-prickling vigilance. It was hard to come up with a plan when most of one's mind was taken up with keeping up one's guard.

Elatharia had half-expected a fight as they crept from the stairway up to Ust Natha and into the cramped labyrinth of jagged tunnels. She was so used to the Surface tales of the Underdark, of its dark and perpetual menace, but it seemed that the whole place knew to fear the drow – especially in their claimed lands. The air was cold but it smelled clean, the stone patterned with glowing lichens and mushrooms of many shapes and colours, but any creatures that dwelt down here were only half-seen shadows which darted from them as they passed by. The scholar in her would have loved to catch a clearer glimpse of these alien beasts but such a concept fell rather flat when faced with potential death. Or perhaps that was just the lack of her soul hollowing out her feelings.

As the tunnel began to widen, the echoing rush of water sounding ever louder, they did cross paths with a squadron of drow males – all of whom rushed by on their lizard mounts without a glance down at the houseless mercenaries who flinched away from them in clueless fright. If Solaufein noticed this peculiar response, he must have put it down to their Ched Nasadan origins for he did not comment.

"They will be awaiting us down there," Solaufein told them as the group reached the mouth of the tunnel, from which emanated a glow bright enough to force aside darkvision and infravision alike. The drow male turned back to them, shoulders hunched and scowl deeper than before. "Beware of the bright lights. And of the creatures we will soon be meeting – Phaere and Ardulace expect you to escort our…allies…to their palace, but we could just as easily become their prey…or their slaves."

He turned back to the tunnel opening and stepped through without a pause, leaving the disguised group wavering behind him and staring out at the cavern beyond. The glow of huge, variously patterned mushrooms forced Elatharia to squint as her eyes adjusted, green and blue light filtering out from the floor and walls to glitter and refract through huge, treacherous stalactites and stalagmites which dominated the whole space and created a veritable maze for the group to traverse. The chamber was small compared to the cavern in which Ust Natha stood, and it was easy to see across the whole lit space – it took only a moment or two before Elatharia saw the shapes awaiting them across the clear expanse of the pool which shimmered at the far side. Several figures, some too tall and thin to be drow or even human, were gathered around what looked to be a large caravan.

"I see them," she hissed, gripping Imoen's cool hand when her sister's fingers slipped around her own automatically. By her side, Viconia just gritted her teeth and spared only a grim glance to her companions before shrugging and heading out after Solaufein. Haer'Dalis followed her with his usual curiosity shining in his face – but the others lingered.

"D'you reckon Viconia's wards'll hold?" Imoen whispered, her eyes wide with fear that was rather unfamiliar. The restlessness of her feet was more like her. "They'll done know what we are, won't they?"

"Most likely," Jaheira agreed, missing the girl's true meaning. The druid eyed both sisters only briefly before shouldering her spear and stomping after the others with Valygar in tow. Only once she and he were several strides ahead did Elatharia turn to face Imoen fully, still gripping her sister's hand in her own.

"I don't think the wards will hold, Im. I think they will know we're Bhaalspawn," for that was what the aasimar had meant, though Jaheira had missed the nuance, "And they'll sense it sooner than they'll take it from our minds. I'm relying on it."

Imoen did not look so certain, rubbing at her arms again and tilting her head in thought before her shoulders lost their tension and she rolled her eyes with a noisy sigh. In spite of the more elvish shape and the drow colouring those gestures were so clearly _Imoen_ that a wry grin tugged at the corner of Elatharia's mouth before she could think about it. Something in it felt hollow, though. A hole in her chest and her stomach, wherein roiled an uneasy sickness. She turned from her sister before Imoen could see it, but her sister squeezed her hand pointedly before letting go.

They followed the others without further discussion, every whisper of movement clattering around the cavern far too noisily for Elatharia's liking. The forest of stalagmites obscured any view of their progress, some structures opaque and gnarled, others glassy and smooth. It might have been beautiful if her heart had not been pounding so desperately in her chest. How strange, that even without a soul there still remained the instinct to _survive_.

Only when they reached the edge of the pool did Elatharia sense a change in the air. The crystalline structures of stalagmites parted in a natural curve, leaving a gap wide enough to traverse all the way along the water's edge. Directly across from them waited those figures, the tallest among them now clearly sporting the bloated purple heads and tentacles of mind flayers, slender figures draped in dark, flowing robes. As the party approached this congregation, where the smaller humanoid figures swayed thoughtlessly, the broad glass construction by which they stood now gradually resolved itself in her sight: it was a wheeled tank and not a caravan.

The Transmuter's eyes only focused briefly before the air grew thick. She felt as though she were pushing past the membrane of a giant bubble, and that once she passed through the break would send her toppling. She felt sluggish, foggy – and saw that her companions were moving slower too. Even Solaufein, who would have had them believe he was impervious and fully prepared, was rubbing at his temples and shaking his head groggily.

The walk around the lake passed in a haze, and as they formed up before the mind flayers and the thralls who waited around the tank no words were spoken. The illithid shifted a little, long fingers curling in the air, tentacles squelching and undulating endlessly. There were four of them, towering over the six drow thralls whose eyes were fogged to white, their skin discoloured to a spongy grey.

Just as Solaufein opened his mouth to speak, a strong sense of _calm_ flooded through Elatharia – and from the way he and the others relaxed visibly it looked like they had felt it too. The urge to turn around overwhelmed her just as quickly, too sharply for it to have been her own idea, and when she did so the beast that rose from the clear water of the lake was like nothing she had seen. The world faded to black around it, until all she saw was the aboleth hanging there in the open air, water dripping from its smooth, serpentine form in a tinkling cascade.

It unfurled slowly, gracefully before her, its eel-like body perhaps surpassing twenty feet in length, its movements showing a brilliant orange underbelly to contrast against its sickly green topside. Its bulbous black eyes were fixed upon Elatharia, her skin prickling under the intensity of their alien intelligence, and between them in an arc were a cluster of oozing grey orifices. As if sensing her disgust the creature twisted in the air, huge spike-toothed maw opening to reveal a coiled black tongue. Thin white tendrils drifted beneath its semblance of a chin, every movement languid as if the aboleth existed in its own time. Still the water was pouring from it, the crash of the droplets upon the lake a lulling roar in the background of her thoughts.

Amusement and curiosity prodded at her. Not her own thoughts these, but the aboleth's.

" _Children of Bhaal come following a traitor into this dark heart of the world_ ," the beast's voice hummed and whispered through her thoughts and she flinched, clenching her jaw against the dull pain. " _Creatures of the surface masquerade as elves of the dark. One…thought…and your charade is over. You fear it. You fear…death. And failure. Failure to protect; failure to exact revenge. You suffered. How mundane. But you resist my Awe…and that is not mundane._ "

A glance to her companions showed that all of them were staring at the aboleth with glazed, adoring eyes, mouths agape and bodies swaying dreamily. All save Imoen, who was frowning and now just turning to look back at her with concern.

" _I know everything,"_ the aboleth answered Elatharia's unspoken question, _"All of your victories, failures, longings and dreams. Hopes now lost to desperation. I feel your father in you, the dead god Bhaal, though your souls are…broken,"_ the words cut through her thoughts harshly, jangling her nerves and forcing both sisters to cringe away automatically. " _The order of things…shattered by traitors whom you now pursue._ "

"And you have the power to turn us in," Elatharia agreed, something telling her without doubt that only this beast and Imoen could hear her though her words rang about the cavern dizzyingly. She sensed the aboleth's disbelief, or something like it. She grinned back at its alien visage, far from amused. "Did you expect me to grovel?" She made a show of sighing and grimacing at her sister – on whose face comprehension was now dawning. "Really. You may believe that the aboleth are the mightiest race on this world…but our father was not of this world, not while he was a god. We won't grovel to you. I won't beg you to keep our secret."

The aboleth paused, emotions too alien for human speech to render rippling out from it. It seemed conflicted – both offended and impressed, doubtful and curious. Meanwhile Elatharia's knuckles were aching with the pressure of her clenched fists, her breath clawing inwards in fast gasps – and beside her Imoen was clutching her silver bow in her hand, eyes trained warily upon the aboleth still shedding the water that permitted it life.

" _The order of things has been shattered,_ " it whispered to them at last, " _And this cannot be. You will go freely and no enlightenment will come to those whom you deceive. On one condition._ "

Relief gave way to fear once more. Elatharia's stomach dropped.

"What…kinda condition?" Imoen asked. The aboleth's victorious amusement left a wave of sickness in its wake.

" _One godchild will escort this delegation to the matron's palace. The other will plant this token amongst the githyanki who linger in the drow city,_ " as the aboleth spoke a disk of dark crystal drifted towards Imoen from amongst the floating beast's tentacles, dripping water as it went. It stopped before her chest, a hand span across and fingers' width deep. After a distrusting pause Imoen plucked it from the air, and the aboleth continued smugly. " _Once they have the token the githyanki must be sent away._ "

"You done wanna make 'em into more thralls," Imoen gasped. More amusement rippled out from the aboleth, whose body had begun to coil around itself once more.

"… _Yes. It would be…amusing._ "

The roar of falling water ended abruptly, leaving Elatharia's head ringing, and as the fog upon their minds and bodies lifted, the aboleth rose up above them. It arced overhead before dropping down with smooth grace into the water-filled tank behind them, where it coiled behind the murky glass and emitted no more words. Meanwhile, Elatharia's companions were looking about themselves in confusion as their daze lifted – and Imoen was blinking down at the heavy disk in her hands.

"What…"

"Where did…"

The others' groggy questions were interrupted by the rumble of the aboleth-tank's wheels, the grey-skinned drow thralls mindlessly following alongside as the vehicle began to move in the direction of Ust Natha without any apparent propellant. The illithids parted for it to pass, eerily silent but for the wet sounds of their tentacles, and turned to follow without any acknowledgement of the 'drow' mercenaries at all.

"The aboleth spoke to you," Solaufein growled, though from the way he scanned the group it was clear that he could not tell to whom it had spoken. That gave Imoen just enough time to hide the disk behind her back, hands hidden by her black drow cape.

"It did," Elatharia agreed, careful to keep her expression even in spite of Viconia's fearsomely questioning stare. "It told me that it would prefer only three of this company to go with you and the delegation to Matron Despana's palace." She gestured at herself, Viconia and Jaheira. Solaufein leaned forward, eyes narrowed in disbelief, and when his hands fell to his sword hilts Haer'Dalis stepped up pointedly as well, poised to draw his own weapons. Elatharia tried not to glance at the tiefling's back with too much surprise.

"You are trying to tell me that the aboleth chose you, of all of these mercenaries? You are a houseless foreigner," Solaufein spat her way with malice that had her straightening her back and tilting her chin. He did eye Haer'Dalis warily, hesitating as if he did not know what to make of the disguised bard.

"Yes," Elatharia sneered. What was the best way to make him believe her? Ah, the manner of the haughty wizard. She ignored the hollow ache in her chest. "Of course the aboleth chose me. Perhaps it preferred a wizard over a male warrior."

Her derision felt false to her own ears, too exaggerated, but Solaufein did not seem taken aback. He did mock a low bow her way.

"Oh, I do bow to the power and wisdom of the houseless female wizards." The sarcastic words just made her laugh at him – and though such a response was certainly not for the reasons he assumed, Solaufein seemed to expect it as he turned about and headed after the delegation with even more grimness than he had arrived.

Elatharia did not long consider him; instead she and Imoen turned to their painfully curious companions and took up a speedy explanation in drow sign language of the plan that they must now enact to avoid the aboleth's revenge.

* * *

" _Ekam-ga-sta ekka…t- tama esta etta-ga…maga ak-asta…gama…ekka! E-ekam-ga-sta ekka tama esta…_ "

Aerie could scarcely believe that the words were coming from her mouth – the spell had long since taken over. It was just as well, because the scene of horrid chaos that had been unfolding before her would surely have otherwise robbed her of her concentration. She knelt upon the highest of the broken ledges that her hasty levitation spell had permitted, trembling arms stretched out before her with the scroll unfurled between them, the repeated refrain of the svirfneblin spell shimmering upon its dark expanse in the large, looping script of the deep gnomes which one of their enchanted rings permitted her to read. She had slumped to her knees some time ago, swaying with weariness as the energy of the spell poured from her and through the scroll.

And some twenty feet beneath her, at the bottom of this enormous cylindrical mineshaft, her companions were caught in a desperate battle. While Mazzy, Anomen and Korgan struggled below, Jan had floated himself to a lower ledge, visible now as barely a smudge of distorted light across the shaft he was far from safe.

The beast which had risen from the fiery gap upon the ground below was a true monster of nightmares – Aerie had only seen one dragon in her life but this was surely just as terrifying. Humanoid in form but many feet taller and much broader, its body was covered in overlapping crimson scales, its huge arms ending in long black talons which dripped with the blood of her friends. Its huge wings were torn and skeletal, twisted as if from a heavy fall, and fire sparked from the curling horns crowning its twisted batlike head. Black blood oozed sluggishly from a number of vicious wounds, all inflicted by her companions, and the hateful hissing speech of Infernal snapped from its forked tongue as it no doubt cursed the surfacers who fought it.

With every word of Aerie's spell the demon's movements grew slower, more laboured – and just as well, for although its previous battle with the svirfneblin which had trapped it down here had no doubt weakened it and left it unable to fly, its viciousness in battle was a terrible thing to behold. After all, her companions were slowing as well, all three warriors bruised, battered and bleeding though they shimmered with as many protections as their combined spells and potions could bring them.

" _E-kam-ga-sta ekka…_ " the words of a language Aerie did not speak continued to pour from her – and as she spoke the next swipe of the demon's talons faltered, screeching across Anomen's shield and permitting the braced knight a moment to stab forward with his sword. " _…tama esta etta-ga…_ " The demon staggered back, but the blade sank deep all the same. It shrieked, a sound so high that it made Aerie's head ring, but the spell continued and her voice rose. She was aware of Korgan and Mazzy dragging themselves to their feet, the dwarf's nose flat across his face and the halfling's hair covered in a fast flow of blood. They looked to each other, readied their weapons and nodded in agreement before charging with disparate battle cries to aid Anomen, who was now struggling against the demon's staggering weight. " _Maga ag-asta gama ekka…_ "

The crash of one of Jan's projectiles echoed throughout the shaft, the object shattering against the demon's back. The monster choked on its Infernal curse, for the impact had forced it harder against Anomen's sword. The knight gritted his teeth as Jan loaded his next shot, armoured feet screeching against the uneven floor. Mazzy and Korgan reached him then, the paladin ducking and diving beneath one tattered wing even as the demon reached out for her reflexively; her sword cut deep into the back of the monster's leg as she rounded on it, calling up the glow of Arvoreen's favour before leaping onto its back.

Meanwhile, Korgan had gone for the demon's other leg, aiming for its kneecap from the looks of it, and he laughed madly as he dodged the demon's next swing…only for its talons to catch in his beard just as it began to thrash from the weight of Mazzy upon its back and the pain of her hacking blade. The dwarf was wrenched forward, his axe clattering heavily upon the stone behind him, and blisters erupted on his cheeks as the demon hauled him towards its parting jaws. The wide look in his eyes might even have been fear.

" _…E-kam-ga-sta ekka!_ " The words were torn from Aerie in a shout, the last of the magic rushing out of her and plunging in a burst of white light straight through the demon, which shrieked and staggered wildly, dropping Korgan like a rag doll and sending Mazzy skittering in a spray of sparks to crash against the far wall of the shaft.

Glancing up at Aerie, Anomen met her eyes and saw the magic ebb from her. She slumped forward; the scroll, used up now, fluttered from her limp hands. The ground collided with her chin painfully but she had not the energy to catch herself; she could only stare down and pray. But the knight was still on his feet, his eyes shining as he looked back at her. He squared his shoulders and called out for Helm's aid before making one last charge for the demon, who was now swatting away the multiple stings of Jan's magic missiles, groaning and thrashing with blood pouring from its mouth.

The monster looked up and reached out just as Anomen collided with it. His sword skewered its whole body, cutting straight through weakened hide, and his shield rammed into its lower jaw with force enough to visibly splinter bone. But its talon was showing through his back as well, metal armour parted and blood glistening red. Both slumped down together, and Aerie had no strength left to move, none even to scream – though her throat constricted with the attempt.


	48. Adjusting to the Dark: Part 1

**As ever, thank you for your reviews, favourites and follows - and just generally to anyone reading this. Your support means a lot! ^^**

* * *

 **Chapter 47: Adjusting to the Dark Part 1**

* * *

"Anomen…is he…"

"He'll live," Mazzy promised gently, though she had only just managed to drag herself over to the avariel's side. "He's hurt, but he will be alright."

Aerie gave a sigh of relief, though somehow such news was too bittersweet to smile. She had no recollection of anyone levitating her back down to the shaft's floor or of the numerous svirfneblin priests who had gathered around Anomen. There were so many that she could not see any more than the glimmer of one of his boots beyond their stocky legs. And now one female in dull grey chain was just approaching Mazzy, who was slumping into an uncomfortable sitting position by Aerie. Blood was still trickling from her scalp. She looked pale and drawn, wincing and then groaning in pain as she tugged her breastplate looser.

"I should be…should be helping," Aerie complained, even as her shaking arms collapsed beneath her and denied her even the dignity of raising herself from her prone position. All she could do was turn her head, her limbs painfully weary. Perhaps that spell had been rather beyond her. As much as she hated to admit it, Viconia would probably have been a better candidate for the divine casting required to weaken the demon.

A slight commotion and some intent murmuring amongst the gathered priests was followed by a long scraping sound and a sickening crunch; several staggered back with the dead demon's upper body held between them. Its legs trailed behind it as they dragged it over to the smoking gap in the earth at the centre of the floor, and with a few heaves they managed to drop it headfirst into the red hot chasm wherein it simply disappeared with a few wet thuds. If it landed by the time their chanting sealed up the rock into a cooling seam, Aerie did not hear it.

"It does alarm me how many clerics they had waiting for us – are we really so much stronger than an entire city of svirfneblin? Or do they truly just value their lives so much more than ours?" Mazzy gritted the words out even as the priest fussed around her – she did not wear one of their enchanted rings and thus could not converse with the cleric anyway.

"Good questions, Mistress Mazzy," Jan agreed, popping into visibility just a few strides away. But for a cut on one cheek he seemed really quite unhurt. The halfling paladin watched him with narrowed eyes, though Aerie's prone position denied her the chance to see them both at once and she had to turn her head uncomfortably to watch the gnome as he continued. "Makes me wonder whether they had some other motives. Maybe that chasm was a portal and they were too afraid to fall in to help. Rather us than them, indeed."

It was all true, and there they were battered and nearly beaten. Anomen was unconscious, from the eerie silence beyond the priests tending to him, and Korgan was only now swaying to his knees after a number of prolonged healing spells. The dwarf's eyes were bleary, his face a mess of blood and bruised swellings. More blood matted his hair and his beard, and it looked as if one wrist was dislocated. In spite of her heavily bleeding head-wound Mazzy seemed to have fared better –though the way she held herself suggested broken ribs and a lot of bruises, as well as a sprained ankle. Aerie choked on a sob, turning her face from the others because her hands were too tired to hide her face.

"I'm s-sorry," she coughed miserably.

"It's not really like they gave us much choice, Wingless," Jan promised as awkwardly as she had ever heard him do anything, scuffing his feet before turning away and escaping from the scene. Mazzy huffed a pained laugh to see this.

"Don't worry, Aerie. We're all going to be taken care of now – and it was never your fault, and never could have been," the halfling promised. "Jan's right. We never had a choice because we would have always had to help them. I think they know the way to the surface, maybe to that _Mag in Chatha_ that the others speak of – but they would not have told us without making us do this in return."

Still sniffling, Aerie nodded in relief to hear those words. She was too tired to speak more of it; she could not even gather the strength to ask more of Anomen as the priests came with a too-small stretcher to carry her away.

* * *

Solaufein had taken the procession along a different route on the way back to Ust Natha. Along this path the tunnels were taller, broader and flatter, their incline more gradual – and entirely better suited to the aboleth's free-moving container, although Elatharia would have been unsurprised to learn that the thing could warp itself to fit any space. All of her lessons on such creatures back at Candlekeep had been full of ominous gravity and dire warnings – along with promises that she would most likely never meet one. But here she was, arriving at the head of the procession of ambassadors with Viconia, Jaheira and Solaufein.

They returned to Ust Natha through a larger, more ornate doorway than before, this one manned by drow only and with no orc slaves to drag open these crystal-engraved adamantine gates. From here, it was at a slow but steady pace that they made their way from a broad ledge overlooking most of the chaotic, shimmering web of Ust Natha onto a dizzyingly high walkway which swayed faintly as they moved over it.

Up here the buildings were all palaces and temples, jagged and dark and extravagantly large. Yet everyone moved aside for them. Males and females both – even priestesses in heavily enchanted mail whose snake whips bore up to six heads. Everyone scrambled to let the aboleth and the illithid pass. There were no disdainful looks now, not even for the apparently houseless mercenaries leading the group. Now the drow were averting their eyes out of fear and respect – no doubt a temporary effect of course, but it made a change.

Imoen, Haer'Dalis and Valygar separated from the main group as soon as they reached the first intersection of stairways. The aasimar sent a few hasty hand gestures of sign language to promise they would meet up at their grimy inn later, and then the aboleth's tank was turning left and those who remained had to follow. The container struggled up the stairs, wheels jolting on every step, water sloshing noisily out over the glass sides and sending a few of the thralls slipping on the wet ground. It was just as well there was only one flight to traverse to the highest walkway, for the aboleth's progress here was glacial.

"We will not be entering the Despana palace," Viconia warned when at last they reached the top of the stairs, surveying Jaheira and Elatharia with a faint frown. "Ones such as you are not welcome in such a great house at such an important time."

Elatharia just nodded curtly as they took up their progress along this highest walkway. Here there were fewer drow to frighten; along the entire expanse she could only make out four massive buildings. The closest, and largest, was surely House Despana. The path arched up beneath it, raising it to the highest point in the city, and a vertiginous glance down showed the lake far below. The crystalline tip of the Narbondel peeked up above the walkway opposite the sprawling palace of obsidian and shining silver mithral but did not rise higher.

House Despana hung in several rotund constructions across the very central point of the cavern, a number of jagged corridors and towers intersecting these main sections. Every sharp spire shimmered with purple faerie fire, every narrow window was limned in similar red light. And something about the place made Elatharia's blood run cold and her stomach drop as they reached the smooth oval platform before it, stepping aside to let the aboleth's tank rumble past over incongruous white marble.

The gates of the palace opened slowly, inching further apart at pace with the aboleth's approach. Elatharia caught a whiff of incense and saw the shimmer of more faerie fire, a few armoured figures and a number of spiralling columns – but could make out little more of Matron Despana's entrance hall. The Transmuter's skin was itching terribly, something aching in her chest. And all she could do was clench her fists and hope that the beast did not tear free then of all times.

The aboleth did not acknowledge its guides at all as it passed them with its thralls in tow, nor did the trailing illithid who had remained utterly silent for the entire journey. But as they vanished within the palace, the beast within Elatharia did not still. Sweat was beading on her brow, her stomach twisting in knots, her palms wet and stinging where her nails had broken the skin. She felt Viconia's eyes on her and wondered how visible her inner struggle really was.

"May we leave yet, Viconia?" Jaheira gritted out as Solaufein loped away, across the platform to a side door. Clearly he was not permitted to take part in such an important meeting, either.

Viconia opened her mouth to answer, angling her body as if to herd them speedily from this place, but the voice of Phaere Despana stopped them.

"You return in one piece and with your minds intact. I will not lie to you – I am surprised. I had such a strong sense that you were hiding something wonderfully intriguing from me."

They turned to see her slinking through the open gates of the palace, dressed now in a light-swallowing black tunic and matching leggings. A silver circlet had been woven into her elaborately braided mass of white hair and a pale orb hummed around her head. An Ioun Stone. Elatharia's eyes widened in jealous awe. Where would a drow priestess get one of those?

"Regardless, you have surprised me and I value that kind of excitement in life," Phaere continued, smirking as she waved away Viconia's attempt to respond. "Not to mention how _helpful_ you can be to us now that you have proven yourselves…capable. But you have earned a time of rest, all the same. I have decided to permit you lodgings in our Higher Tavern. You know the place, Viconia. I hear Solaufein likes to drown his sorrows there – it should be no trouble to send him your way when you are needed again."

"Our thanks, mistress," was all that Viconia managed before Phaere turned about and stepped back into the palace, the gates groaning closed in her wake. Once she had gone, the Sharan priestess whirled on Elatharia with an expression full of alarm. " _Khal'abbil_ , please tell me that you are not about to shapeshift in front of House Despana?"

The Transmuter managed to shake her head, wincing when Jaheira gave a noisy sigh and turned away from them, staggering a little when she saw the whole of Ust Natha arrayed beneath them and recalled just how high up they were. Only once the disguised druid was out of earshot did Elatharia permit herself a long, shaky breath, gripping Viconia's shoulder for some semblance of support and hoping that she did not start retching on House Despana's doorstep, too.

"Irenicus was in there," she managed at last, and Viconia's eyes widened. "I could…feel my soul."

"Then we should get away from here immediately," the priestess gave her a pointed shove in the direction of the walkway, "I doubt even your beast has the strength to fight the whole of House Despana along with Irenicus and presumably Bodhi as well. We should find the others and await further instruction at the Higher Tavern. I at least will like it better than that squalid shack of slaves."

* * *

This was not the first time Edwin had encountered illithid, though it did not make their gruesome appearance any more appealing. They drifted ahead of the tank of water that came rumbling into Matron Ardulace's reception hall under its own power and they hesitated a few paces from her throne. Perhaps Edwin imagined it (though of course such fallibility would be very _unlikely_ ) but it seemed that their soft, bulbous heads lingered in the direction of Irenicus – who stood waiting with his arms folded not far from Ardulace's seat. The matron seemed to notice the mind flayers' attention too, and smiled a broad smile that did not reach her eyes, raising her voice to attempt to draw their attention. In truth it was probably her seething jealousy which did that.

"Greetings, honoured guests," she purred, sitting forward as her scarred daughter reached her side, that Ioun Stone buzzing distractingly around her head. Edwin was struck with the absurd urge to snatch it from the air. Perhaps he would have been even more sorely tempted if he had not been relegated to the far edge of the hall like a common serving maid.

"I present to you the ambassadors of our neighbouring illithid nation…and the Spokesperson of the Aboleth Sovereignty," Phaere declared smugly, "Procured by the mercenaries I chose, Mother."

The illithid's thoughts slipped over Edwin's mind without catching – a pity, really, that his most important protection could not permit him more than a fleeting sense of the information they shared with Ardulace. It was as if they did not even notice him. It was hard to hide his smirk at such a thought.

Still, he caught the sense of agreement shared between illithid and drow. And only a fool would fail to notice that they must be part of the plan that had Irenicus waiting with such icy patience by Matron Ardulace's right hand while Bodhi prowled the darkness somewhere nearby. This city of Suldanessellar surely held great wealth – of money and artefacts – for such alien creatures as the illithid and aboleth to want a stake in its conquest.

Though he had seen illithid before, in a delegation at Thaymount, Edwin had never been in the presence of an aboleth. And it seemed that the others were unable to consider it at length, as though the murky tank in which it was curled was just a blurred smudge on the scenery. Only Irenicus's eyes fixed on the peculiar vehicle and the altered grey slaves flanking it, while the others managed but a glance before their attention returned once more to the illithid. Perhaps it was talking _through_ them.

A strong sense of disquiet pushed itself into Edwin's mind and it took him a moment to realise that such a feeling was not his own. As realisation sank in with a sickening chill, the aboleth's influence registered curiosity. The Red Wizard cringed automatically, rubbing at his aching temples as if that might make the monster leave his mind alone. (Was he not being protected against these things? If the aboleth could reach out to him then…)

" _Your thoughts are closed to me with something more solid than the shield of some fragile spell._ "

The words came in swelling emotions, both utterly alien and confusingly comprehensible. A cursory glance across the room showed that Matron Ardulace and her daughter were still conversing with the illithid, responding aloud to psionic communication. Irenicus was watching the aboleth's tank closely but he appeared utterly disinterested by Edwin's presence, if not unaware. Swallowing hard, the Conjurer looked the way of the coiled beast and caught a faint glimpse of orange beyond the clouded glass of the container. He needed to respond, but he dared not do so aloud.

" _They intend to use you as a pathetically menial servant,_ " Edwin ventured, and the water sloshed in the tank as the aboleth stirred. The creature's irritation washed through him, and the Red Wizard's lip curled in an instinctive smile of victory. " _Perhaps you are here to represent your Sovereignty's interests but these dark elves would much rather use you to probe for information, to test those whom they do not trust. I am shielded against their meddling._ "

" _You are correct. I have seen as much in their surface thoughts. They would kill you if they discovered the truth of you…which I could give to them._ "

" _Would you take part in such a trivial, demeaning task?_ " Edwin demanded, and sensed amusement from the aboleth. The Conjurer's hands were shaking and sweat was beading on his forehead. It was just as well no one could read his mind.

" _Your thoughts may be closed to me, but I recognise your fear._ " (So much for acting.) " _And ah, I see the truth in the mind of the Matron. You are a recent acquisition, brought with the mage Jon Irenicus and the vampire Bodhi. I have also seen you in the minds of those who now pursue him._ "

Edwin's involuntary step forward echoed in the hall. He was well aware that his eyes had widened, that his mouth had dropped open…and that Irenicus was staring straight at him, expression still as graven stone. (Gods damn them all, was this it?)

" _You met…_ "

" _Elatharia and Imoen of the Bhaalspawn,_ " the aboleth finished for him. " _And just as well for you._ "

"… _What?_ " It took tremendous effort not to act out such buoyant shock, but Edwin forced himself to step back against the wall, to compose his expression into one of haughty disinterest…and to look back at Irenicus as if he were not at all guilty. It seemed to work. The mage looked away.

" _I have no interest in saving your life, Red Wizard, not even for mine own pride. But I have made a vow that would be broken by turning you in._ " The aboleth's communication stopped abruptly thereafter – no matter how fiercely Edwin called out for it to explain, it said no more.

When the illithid and the aboleth – along with its slaves – began to depart through a broad side door and Matron Ardulace stood from her throne, Edwin was jolted from his thoughts by Bodhi's cold hand closing on his arm. With a start that made her smile, he looked down into her pale face only briefly before he noticed that Phaere, the scarred eldest daughter of Ardulace, was standing not two paces away…with Irenicus watching at her side.

"So jumpy," Bodhi tutted, "And rather disappointing, I must admit. It is disconcerting having an aboleth prodding at your mind…and I had hoped it might see something worth telling. But apparently you are as void of deceit as you claimed." She glanced over her shoulder to her brother, who sighed just faintly as if her behaviour bored him. "I think my brother had such plans for your punishment. Still, I suppose you've earned a little time to yourself. To collect your thoughts and think on the information you will be handing over to us." There was a hint of mischief in her too-bright smile when she looked back up at Edwin, and his skin was crawling under her touch. "But go on, run along." She even gave him a shove, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting something hateful back at all three of them. "I hear there is an excellent tavern not far from here. One of the guards will direct you."

Laughing with Phaere, the vampire mistress retreated along with the drow and her brother. Perhaps it was weak to remain silent before them but really it was all there was left in the face of their threats. Edwin watched them depart with hateful eyes and only once they were gone did he let out a shaky breath, squaring his shoulders as he glanced at the rigid guards around the room – whose number had diminished with the departure of their matron. Running a hand through his hair, he strode over to the nearest. If Elatharia was talking to the aboleth then that meant she was nearby. Was she in town? Either way, and regardless of Bodhi's flippant tone, he really did need a drink after all.

* * *

"One more time, drowling. Back from us you must step – our ship your Prime weakness will disturb," the larger of the two bruised githyanki spat, the hum behind its tone proving that it wore some instrument upon its person to translate its words. Perhaps the device had been damaged in the brutal encounter with the kraken which had also left the ship in such a patchwork state.

The vessel bobbed slowly in the small harbour of Ust Natha, thin green membrane now interspersed with more rigid grey mushroom-skin. It did not look like it could unfurl as it had on the open sea – nor would it be any more use as a submersible. A large mast had been hastily attached, a black sail ready to be hoisted. And all of it cast in the faint but coloured lights of Ust Natha which danced across the inky water – it seemed rather counterintuitive that ever more of the Narbondel's surface swelled with its faint light as the day wore on, the city growing comfortably bright for surfacer eyes by evening.

"Oh, my fearsome Hounds of Chaos, you wound me," Haer'Dalis's voice responded heartily and Imoen cringed as she crept behind the two githyanki and up to the ramp leading to the ship's doorway; which appeared to be little more than a grey curtain of simple cloth. "For I do have such information for you as you would be most grateful to hear."

Imoen caught a glimpse of movement inside, punctuated by a pained groan. It was hard to believe that any of these creatures had survived the kraken's attack, but she could not risk surprise seizing hold of her limbs as she slid a tentative foot upon the gently swaying ramp. Veiled in a number of magical protections as well as a most necessary incantation of _Improved Invisibility_ , the aasimar was still grateful for the handily enchanted drow boots she now wore, for they soaked up the faintest creak of the ramp beneath her as she fairly tiptoed up to the doorway. Sneaking had always come as second nature to her, but it was hard to predict anything about the qualities of these strange drow – and githyanki – materials.

Meanwhile, the two githyanki had been conferring in their own snarled language. The clatter of their booted feet upon the stone ground of Ust Natha suggested that they had turned back to Haer'Dalis as Imoen reached the curtain. It was ironic that they were so protective of their ship; they had leapt up from their cross-legged positions at the harbour's edge as soon as they espied the disguised tiefling and Valygar approaching. Yet behind them stood Imoen, within touching distance of the vessel that had carried them on a mission to kill all of her companions barely three days before. Her breath catching in her throat, Imoen fumbled for the token the aboleth had forced upon her, trying not to consider how woefully out of practice she was.

"Then quickly do speak, drowling," one of the githyanki snapped, words grinding together in a way that no human mouth could imitate.

Haer'Dalis took an audibly deep breath – perhaps he was stalling since Imoen had still not reappeared. It _was_ rather hard to get hold of the token without knocking it straight into the water from her belt when she could not even see her own hands.

"Not long ago my companions and I slew a group of kuo toa – but before this battle I overheard them proclaiming that they had taken a great silver sword from the hands of the sahuagin who dwell not far from here in the open ocean," Haer'Dalis proclaimed.

At last Imoen had the token in her hands, fumbling a little with it as she saw a shape pause beyond the curtain. It seemed to hesitate, as if considering joining its fellow guards who had now begun a rather more fevered debate in their alien tongue, but another pained groan from within had this third figure grunting and turning back around. It was just as well, for now Imoen sidled right up to the curtain.

Fortunately, she had been careful to plan her placing of the token before they even approached the ship – and now she reached out to one of the overlapping sections of the damaged vessel, where the spongy grey mushroom skin pressed against the membranous green githyanki material. It peeled back with a sigh and Imoen had to reach out to full stretch to press the token to the ship's outer wall, where it adhered immediately and shimmered into view as she let go of it.

Eyes widening, Imoen was quick to place the mushroom skin back into position, veiling the treacherous item entirely. She winced as the _Improved Invisibility_ rippled from her too, revealing her as she teetered on the edge of the ramp, balancing only on the tiptoes of one foot. As she righted herself a beat passed; a glance to the curtain showed no dangerous proximate shapes, and once she had quickly turned to face her carefully 'oblivious' companions she saw that the githyanki had their backs to her. No one had raised the alarm; the rest of the harbour was all but deserted anyway. And what disinterested drow would bother to inform these foreign githyanki unless they could gain from it in some way?

"All who a silver sword do take, guilty are," the githyanki were snarling as Imoen crept back down the ramp in full view. It was hard to tell if Haer'Dalis's smirk was because of her brazenness or just his general cockiness – his eyes never once flickered her way as she tiptoed past.

"But of course," the disguised tiefling agreed, glancing to Valygar as if this were a fact with which everyone ought to be familiar. The ranger just grimaced, rigid at the bard's side as he tried not to give Imoen away. "We never did touch – or even see – such a mighty silver sword. But they were speaking with such certainty, my Hounds of Chaos. If such a precious weapon of your people is known to be somewhere around these parts surely it would be wise to investigate?"

Now several feet away, Imoen dodged around a pile of empty surface-style wooden crates from where she could watch the encounter play out in safety. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts distractingly fogged, but she saw the githyanki bark something between a cough and a laugh Haer'Dalis's way. He shared an uncomfortable look with Valygar, both of them inching their hands towards their sheathed swords – Imoen unslung her bow from her shoulder just in case. But the mottle-skinned creatures of the Planes were looking to each other again, sharing just a few more growled words before the burlier of the two heaved its shoulders in something that looked a lot like a weary shrug. They turned and headed for their ship with just a dismissive glance Haer'Dalis's way; grinning, he bowed low.

"No thanks is required, of course," he chuckled as they stepped through the curtain of the ship's doorway, the last of the two pulling the ramp up behind them with a loud click, the walkway melding perfectly into the wall and hiding any semblance of an opening from view.

A tense few heartbeats passed before three pairs of green-finned oars slid out through previously unseen breaks in the smoothness of the ship's surface, pushing it steadily from the harbour's edge. As it departed, Imoen stood from her hiding place and saw Haer'Dalis and Valygar visibly relax as well, though the tiefling's eyes were still trained upon the departing ship once Imoen reached his side. She had not seen such a crooked smile upon the faces of any of the other drow males here.

"They did not ask for directions," Valygar noted warily. That frown barely ever left his face – Imoen had seen _Elatharia_ smile more than this ranger since she had met him. Even so, as his eyes met hers his expression softened visibly, another incongruous look in the face of one who still appeared as a drow. She looked away before she could risk recognising pity in his bearing.

"The githyanki have spells for these things," Haer'Dalis promised with some amusement. "'Twill not be long before they realise that the sword they seek waits at the bottom of the ocean into which their battered boat may no longer venture." He glanced sidelong at Imoen, eyes glowing red as if from the light of infravision thanks to her sister's Transmutations. "I am more impressed by you. The githyanki are a very alert people, and yet they did not once consider that you might be lurking at their door." The swell of pride that she felt with these words brought a smile to Imoen's face brighter than any she had managed in a long time. Not since the night they were…taken.

Just like that, she felt the pleased look slip. She pursed her lips as if in thought in an attempt to hide it, but a quick glance Haer'Dalis's way showed him watching her closely, eyes narrowed. So instead she turned toward the rounded shape of the githyanki ship sending ripples across the sluggish black water and twisted her hands behind her back.

"I feel a bit like we did somethin' wrong here," she managed, "We done sent 'em to their doom today, didn't we?"

"We had no choice, Imoen," Valygar promised automatically. Was that relief or disguised surprise in his tone? "And not all that long ago those githyanki would have slain us all without a thought for _our_ wellbeing." That did not truly set her mind at ease – for what waited in the clutches of the aboleth? But it was not safe to consider these things aloud, not here.

"And what about your done _terrible_ acting?" Imoen demanded automatically into the pause, drawing a laugh from Haer'Dalis, "Won't they be suspicious that you don't sound like a drow one bit? With all those 'Hounds of Chaos' comments n' such?" She hissed the incriminating words but Valygar's eyes widened in alarm all the same.

"Fear not," the bard chuckled, shifting as if he intended to pat her should before drawing back less subtly than he probably would have liked. Not sure whether to be relieved or irritated by such careful treatment, Imoen folded her arms and watched him levelly. "They are far too haughty to care about such things, and we had no other audience. Sometimes it helps to talk like a Planewalker, especially with folk like that who respond to Prime speech all too negatively. If they had not seen us in our…true shapes…they would not have even balked at the sight of a group of surfacers amongst the drow."

It hardly felt like a promise that he would be more careful in future, but Valygar was starting to shift from foot to foot uncomfortably, pointedly looking about himself for any figures nearby.

"We should head back to our…lodgings," the ranger advised tensely. "Perhaps the others will be back by now."

Haer'Dalis gave a cheerful enough nod and they moved on without further argument, making their way through the empty market and past a number of squat hovels, within the dark confines of which shifted half-seen figures whose measured movements spoke of pathological distrust. It was impossible to understand how families were formed in these treacherous drow cities – Viconia had promised Imoen long ago that the dark elves had no word for love. Why then would these poorer folk choose to have children and settle when they did not live in the endless machine of power plays like those in the greater houses? In spite of the apparently impenetrable nature of drow society Imoen's thoughts drifted this way, far from the life-threatening dread of Ust Natha, and thus she did not immediately realise that her sister, Jaheira and Viconia were already waiting for them outside of the crumbling inn. All three of them would have berated her for such a lack of vigilance. Just as well that they had only just arrived.

"Ah, my Raven, my Blackbird…Ptarmigan," Haer'Dalis greeted as the two groups converged once more, "I take it all went well? For our part we did achieve our goal without alarm."

Viconia's stare was withering as she caught his arm to stop him going inside. Perhaps she thought she was being pragmatic and cold…but in truth Imoen had never seen her so _bothered_ by anyone as she was by Haer'Dalis. Meanwhile, Jaheira was approaching the aasimar with clipped questions about her welfare – but Imoen was too busy listening to Viconia to answer.

"Not that way, male," the Sharan priestess was complaining. "We have been given more appropriate lodgings in the Higher Tavern. Come along." There was perhaps the faintest flicker of something less than good cheer in Haer'Dalis's expression as she snapped at him like this, though the drow did not seem to notice. Still, he followed as she moved on, striding swiftly from the inn's yard.

" _Imoen_ ," Jaheira demanded, shaking her arm. The aasimar jumped back automatically, heart thundering in her chest at such sudden contact, and she flinched away from the druid's apologetic expression, too. "Imoen," she tried again more gently, "Is everything well?"

"Sure," the aasimar hated that this was a _lie_ , and that even Jaheira could hear that, "Right as rain. Let's get going before we lose our way."

The druid nodded stiffly, her expression so painfully rueful, but she did at least move on after Valygar as Imoen at last dared to look her sister's way. Elatharia had been rather pointedly silent, standing a step behind Jaheira and Viconia as they reunited. Now she raised her transmuted red eyes to her sister's, and the look on her face was enough to send the paralysis of fear through Imoen.

"He…he was in there, wasn't he?" she fairly wheezed, throat constricting against the rush of _everything_ that answered the very thought. She was blushing. Thank all the gods for her drow disguise. "I-Irenicus?"

"I felt my soul," Elatharia agreed through a grimace. "And I don't doubt Bodhi was with him."

"Th-then Edwin was there too, right?" Now it was Elatharia's turn to blush – although _gods_ how different were their reasons? Imoen had to clench her jaw against the sickness that rose with her thoughts. It was sickness, wasn't it?

The fact that she had seen her sister's cheeks darken no longer mattered, not even if it meant Elatharia had seen the same in her. It mattered a lot more that the long, wary look that they shared held some fragment of understanding. Even if that understanding was just the knowledge that neither would ever comprehend what the other had suffered at _his_ whim. _Irenicus._ So Imoen offered a tentative smile, one that she surely did not feel, and slipped her hand into her sister's for just a second. Elatharia squeezed her fingers in answer, just briefly, and then they hurried after the others.

* * *

"I see your mistress has released you for the night."

Long used to veiling his emotions, Solaufein hid his smirk when Edwin blanched at the sound of his voice, dark eyes flickering up from a goblet of wine to meet the drow's. There was poorly withheld panic shining within that look, though a sneer curled the surfacer's lip as Solaufein slid into the opposite chair, automatically taking the seat by the smooth black stone of the wall and eyeing the tavern with a practiced, measured sweep.

No one was openly paying them any attention; most of the young females were watching the fight taking place in the brawling pit set at the far end of the hall. Their youthful male concubines were carefully keeping their eyes on the floor, though they were tense beneath their silks. Otherwise, the closer tables were populated by the old, battle-hardened males who came here in what brief time they had alone to drown as many of their sorrows as they could without dulling their senses enough to risk an assassination.

The whole place stank of wine and incense, only a low murmur of speech underscoring the cheers of the females across the hall and the thumps and grunts of the fighting slaves. The scarred, wiry male barkeeper was shining a glass, his pose perfect for bringing the prop to bear as a weapon. All of this took place beneath the gentle glow of the incense candles hanging in chandeliers up above to give the tavern hall an exotic feel – which, ironically, must have made this tall surfacer beside him a little more at home.

"You speak the Common Tongue," Edwin stated at last, his accent by turns fluid and clipped in a manner that momentarily befuddled Solaufein. The surface wizard's eyes, an unfamiliar deep brown, watched the drow warrior with narrowed curiosity. "(The Common Tongue…of the surface)." He added the words in a hateful mutter, his face twitching with the need to sneer again.

"I took to the lessons better than most – all the better for someone to converse with the prisoners and slaves. Of which you are now the former, not the latter as your mistress would have _my_ mistress believe. A heartfelt lie. Hard to believe, with you sitting here," Solaufein noted carefully, kicking his heels out as he took a pointed sip from his cup of water. Edwin eyed him with a faint smile now, leaning forward with tented fingertips, the ruby set in his golden necklace glinting in the faint light and momentarily dazzling Solaufein's sensitive drow eyes.

"Indeed, _manservant_. Your perception for the obvious is a true credit to your race." Mockery and sarcasm were too familiar to rile Solaufein, but it was curious to hear it coming from a fellow male. "So…allow me to return the favour. Your comment has proven to me that this…settlement…has more than its fair share of surfacer prisoners. Enough for a lackey like you to be deemed 'useful'. A sun elf was paraded before Irenicus not long ago, and the surfacer lore would suggest that this place lies near _Mag in Chatha_ , the Field of the Battle…at which your ancestors lost a battle to retain their right to live under the sun."

The nerve of the male was admirable. Was he a fool, or was he truly as powerful as such reckless insight would require? Here he sat, in his peculiar black and gold jacket, his skin so much paler than the drow around him and his hair so much darker, speaking the Common Tongue of the surface with ease if not perfection. He stood out; he was utterly without stealth. Solaufein pitied him, and knew how he felt. Alone.

"Your deduction is correct, although here you would be wise to name that place _Lil Berrkig dil Xonathul_. The elvish tongue could have you flogged to death…"

Edwin's scornful laughter cut him off, the wizard gesturing between them sharply as he sat back in his rigid ebon chair. Now Solaufein did frown, putting his cup slowly onto the table as the surfacer shook his head at him with utter disdain.

"Do you think that I believe you came here to help me avoid a flogging, dark elf? You are the matron's puppet, and perhaps for now Bodhi's by extension. (It would not surprise me…)"

"No one sent me," Solaufein assured him coolly, "You are a prisoner, and you have nowhere to flee to. No one needs to keep an extra eye on you, surfacer; I simply came here and found you sitting in my place. I offered you wisdom because I would rather not have human blood forever staining my favourite seat." The wizard's sharp features hardened as Solaufein leaned forward, his voice low and earnest. "But if you continue I will have neither the chance nor the inclination to aid you. Pride and bluster will do you no good here. Here you are male and it will get you killed. The way you spoke to Matron Ardulace 'not long ago' ought to earn you a month of torture." Perhaps it was petty to reuse the surfacer's own mocking words, but it was satisfying all the same.

Edwin did not speak, his lips pressing together as he span his goblet of wine in front of him – until the liquid within sloshed high enough to spill, and then his hand snapped back as if stung. A frightened, cornered creature very far from home. This time Solaufein did not hide his smirk.

"Our war with the sun elves is never over, and your Bodhi and Irenicus have arrived now with promises that we can at least break through the temple of _Lil Berrkig dil Xonathul_ and perhaps even infiltrate the sun elf homeland, as you saw. They have their own personal vendettas against Suldanessellar…"

"Men like Irenicus care little for revenge," Edwin interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his multiple rings slashing light into Solaufein's vision. It was hard not to wince. "He wants power, and something in that city will give him the power he seeks…"

The wizard seemed to bite back what else he had been about to say, or perhaps to choke on it as the door banged open. His skin paled visibly, his expression smoothing into one of blank shock – or maybe fear – and Solaufein followed his alarmed stare to see the six mercenaries led by Viconia DeVir stalking inside.

It took a moment as they all filed in – perhaps as their eyes adjusted to the candlelight – but eventually they each noticed the conspicuous human in this room of drow. To Solaufein's surprise, they did not register shock or confusion; instead, expressions as far ranging as amusement and rage came to their faces. The stocky female fighter who was forever glowering over Viconia's shoulder even barked out a sharp laugh though her eyes were hard. The slighter of the two males was grinning crookedly, looking to Viconia – who appeared to be vaguely entertained by this too. The other male was as stony faced as ever, one hand falling to the hilt of his sheathed sword – and that made Solaufein reach instinctively for his own weapon. The surfacer wizard might have been proud and rude and entirely too brash but he was still the property of Matron Despana's allies.

"What…are you _doing here_?" the snarled words came from the female wizard of the mercenary group, loud enough for all occupants of the room to look her way at least briefly as she pushed past both males and took several quick steps forward.

"Veldrin! _Veldrin!_ " Viconia snapped, to no avail.

Alarmed, Solaufein stood, catching Viconia's widening eyes pointedly. But it was the quiet blue-eyed female who was the first to reach their peculiarly wrathful companion, catching her wrist in both her hands and digging her heels in to the floor. It still took Viconia's contribution to stop this wizardess whom she had named Veldrin in her tracks, as the priestess caught her by the waist and hauled her back a step. The wizardess's whole being seemed to buzz with power for a moment as she staggered, and both her companions cringed back.

A wary moment passed, in which Solaufein dared not take his eyes from the wizardess. It was oft impossible to guess the power of a mage just from looking – this one dressed rather simply in an unremarkable leather-and-cloth tunic and matching leggings. Only the long, flared sleeves of that tunic with their silver stitching so much as suggested her vocation, along with a few rings on her fingers. But her companions were obviously wary of her – and no matter how much he enjoyed putting Viconia in her place, Solaufein knew the former daughter of House DeVir was one to respect in battle.

Eyes flickering with something more thoughtful than rage now, Veldrin visibly forced herself to relax. She gave a sharp nod of acquiescence – though to which of her companions it was aimed, Solaufein could not tell. Her stare was still trained on Edwin, who sat behind him. Still, with that loss of tension most of the other patrons looked away and the silence that had filled the tavern hall dissipated once more.

"I hope you have a good explanation for such behaviour toward the property of the honoured guests of Matron Ardulace Despana," Solaufein warned as the group of Ched Nasad mercenaries approached at a more reasonable pace, keeping Veldrin back behind the other three females. The quietest of this trio, the blue eyed scout, was watching Edwin thoughtfully without any sense of anger or disdain. Was that sympathy in her face? Solaufein's heart flipped. Was she…?

"He w- " Viconia's words were cut short by Edwin's.

"These are the group who caught and sold me to Irenicus in the first place," the human wizard drawled with utter disdain. When Solaufein look to him, the air around him flickered and shifted though he did not appear to have cast any spell. The smirk on his face was almost convincing, but his posture was altogether too tense.

"You had dealings with Irenicus before you came here?" Solaufein could not hide his incredulity as he looked to Viconia, who folded her arms under his scrutiny and watched him with level calm.

"These things are not for ones such as us to discuss. You would have to ask your matron," she told him.

"And your lackey's _intriguing_ anger?" Solaufein demanded.

"Have you spoken to him for any length of time?" the stockier female fighter pointed out, gesturing with her silver spear to the human who was now standing cautiously across the table from them. One of the males behind her failed to hide a snigger.

"A fair point," Viconia said with smirk, eyeing Edwin as he stood to his full height and risked a sneer their way. Solaufein had to withhold a faint smile at that, too. "As I am sure you have recently discovered."

"Still, I must demand that you let this human go free," he remembered to insist, as much as it pained him to do Matron Despana's work even without her knowledge, "If your mage must vent her wrath, tell her to find a less valuable underling."

A ripple of unease travelled through the group at that, which confused Solaufein. What in the Goddess's name had this human done? But the mercenaries did part for Edwin to pass them, though it seemed to pain them. The air continued to shimmer about him only until he passed the stairway a few feet from the group, making a swift exit through the building's only door.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
Edwin and Elatharia have not shared a scene since Chapter 38: 'No Choice Remains'...and they haven't *really* interacted since Chapter 34: 'A Fateful Decision'.** **It's been effectively thirteen chapters, but only six days. O.o**


	49. Adjusting to the Dark: Part 2

**As ever, thank you for reading!  
And an extra, extra big thank you goes to the wonderful Kaispan for invaluable support and advice when I was dithering over this chapter. :D **

* * *

**Chapter 48: Adjusting to the Dark Part 2**

* * *

A sprawling construction covered with overlapping shards of obsidian, the Higher Tavern was large enough to dominate a substantial stretch of Ust Natha's penultimate layer. It was presumably an accident that this building so perfectly resembled a vast, blackened oak tree, but the likeness had been noticeable to all of the disguised surfacers - it had set none of them at ease. Things had not improved once they stepped inside the tavern…especially not when Elatharia had seen Edwin sitting there with Solaufein. Her anger had flared – and with it, the monster. It was a miracle that she had acquiesced to his surreptitiously signed requests at all.

"That was a close call," Imoen muttered with enthusiasm once she and Elatharia had ascended the broad, sweeping black stairway of the Higher Tavern, leaving the others to soldier through the rest of their drow dinner without them.

In spite of its complex shape, the Tavern did not appear to be at all labyrinthine in construction as the two sisters reached the top of the stairs above the main hall – there they found just an empty semi-circular landing decorated with glass spiders of Lolth and a few red plush couches. And of course there was the expected shimmer in the air, that disturbance of space that only a practiced or expectant eye could make out. Elatharia felt as though her thundering heart turned to stone at the sight. Even so, her treacherous hands were trembling faintly as she made a point of peering down at the drow number on the tag of her allocated key. It took a moment of comparing, for neither she nor her sister could read the script even with the aid of their svirfneblin rings, but soon she determined that their room would be the third door to their right.

"Jaheira won't know, and neither will Valygar. They might be able to read Sign Language now but they can't understand Drow Sign Language altered for _Netherese._ Viconia will suspect something of course, and maybe so will Haer'Dalis," Elatharia reminded Imoen as they headed across the gloomy space to the appropriate door, both studiously ignoring the shimmer that followed them. The key slotted in perfectly and turned with a click, but Elatharia looked back at her sister pointedly. "They mustn't know. None of them. This is between us." _Between the three of us._

"Alright," Imoen agreed rather unwillingly, shaking her sister's shoulder for emphasis as she continued. "But just…don't let your anger take control, alright?" _Don't turn into the Slayer_.

Swallowing hard, Elatharia pushed the door open wide and let the shimmer pass through into the dark room beyond. Her heart was still pounding, but there was no sign of the beast within her. That seemed like a good thing.

"I'll be out here, promise," Imoen smiled, though the look barely reached her eyes. "At least Viconia done _swore_ that these rooms are all riddled with Abjurations, hey?" To this Elatharia just nodded absently, and stepped through into the dark room before her fear could stop her.

With the heavy door clicking shut behind her, the Transmuter heard a number of contingent wards flare up just as Viconia had promised, though she took little comfort from it in her present company. Blinking into the pitch blackness, her darkvision showed to her a simple but fairly large rectangular room, its cold stone walls bare of any decoration. A rug covered the floor between her spot and the two round beds, scarab-shaped mattresses supported by legless black metal frames.

There was a small window in the far right corner, and Edwin shimmered into her view as he closed the spider's web shutters with a resounding thud. Once this was done and a _Light_ cantrip brightened the room with a dull orange glow, the Red Wizard kept his back to her for a moment longer, turning his head just far enough for her to make out his grimace.

"I should kill you now for betraying me," Elatharia managed, though her voice shook. He had dared to turn his back on her, after all. She clenched her jaw to hold back the tide of demands – with her soul gone she had not thought it possible to feel this…strongly

"Killing me would cause you more trouble than it would be worth," Edwin huffed, hesitating when Elatharia did not respond with anything more than a glare. After a moment of silence, he tensed with evident frustration, as if he had expected some other greeting. "Though I do not know what it is you think I _did_ , or what choice you think I had," he spat.

Elatharia folded her arms tightly as he turned around to face her, the vitriolic words she had expected to snarl catching in her throat. Still, she took half a step back as his dark eyes took in the sight of her disguised form with a kind languid wryness that made her want to reach for the door handle and escape back outside. Instead she remained rigidly in place, tilting her chin as he approached warily.

"It seems to me that you certainly did have a choice about siding with Bodhi," she told him.

"Siding with…" Edwin threw his hands up, gesturing expansively as he spoke as if his anger at…all of this…could not be contained, "I did not _side_ with Bodhi. If I had, do you think I would have gone to such elaborate lengths to meet with you? And before you suggest that it is some treacherous ploy, why would I risk lying to you when I know that your sister is waiting outside the door with the others not far (enough) away?"

"I don't know," Elatharia fidgeted. "But you did tell me not to trust you when we were preparing to leave for Spellhold. This hardly seems like the time to go back on that, especially since we are now on opposing sides." Viconia's mantra passed through her thoughts, a little desperately. _Trust is for the foolish and the dead. Trust is for the foolish…_

"We are _not_ on opposing sides," Edwin gritted out, and the words clearly tasted as bitter as they sounded. His fierce eyes trained unwaveringly on her and she shifted uncomfortably. "You heard it yourself: I am a prisoner here (and they call me 'property'. One day, _one day_ …)"

"If you're a prisoner, what are you doing drinking wine at a tavern?" Elatharia had to ask. He slumped visibly at her question, and the anger she had so desperately clung to fluttered away, leaving her heart pounding and her eyes wide. "How…how do I know that you did not just come up with that ruse to explain why you're here, a human in a drow city that hates you?"

"Irenicus and Bodhi are no more drow than I am," Edwin dismissed her second question, though his anger flared again as he responded to her first. "And why would they care what I do? This is the Underdark and I have no means of escape," the Conjurer gestured about them sharply, the frustration in his voice more fraught than she had ever heard it. "They sent me because they were mocking me, and I went because it is torture to be in the presence of those who play at being my masters! (Though far less audacious than your own disguise)."

Only the rug lay between them by this time, Edwin's polished black boots just barely touching the far edge of the apparently pointless black cloth. He looked just the same, just that red shirt visible beneath his archmagi jacket to suggest he might be a Red Wizard of Thay, the sweeping black lines of tattoos showing at his wrists and neck. She still remembered the heat of his skin beneath her hands and her _lips_.

Looking away sharply, Elatharia dismissed her Transmutation to stall for more time. Imoen had made her promise to control herself, and now she found that she was more confused and frustrated than genuinely angry. It was not anger that made every muscle she had tense automatically as Edwin took another step towards her, eyes narrowed. Her heart continued to pound treacherously, and her mind span, looking for _anything_ to distract her from his proximity.

"We came here because we had to. Irenicus and Bodhi have our _souls_ ," Elatharia reminded him more softly than she had intended. Remembering her sister's words, she hesitated before continuing, staring down at his feet rather than looking up into his face. "Imoen and Haer'Dalis think that you did not go willingly."

"I did not," the Red Wizard agreed, his low tone more firm than angry. "And nor did I abandon your sister willingly. There are…reasons, things that Bodhi holds over me, that dragged me with them when it was the _last_ thing I wanted to do."

"Really? What 'reasons' are they?" Elatharia did not back down when he sneered at her carefully disbelieving tone. She set her expression, glaring back up at him even as her hands fisted in her tunic just to stop from grabbing at his arms, or his jacket. She felt the ridiculous urge to just _cling on_ to him, even now as he railed at her question.

"Think about it for yourself, you _insufferable_ Transmuter! Why would I have travelled with you to Spellhold? Why did I permit Imoen to so mortally wound Yoshimo (and it was your idiot companions who presumably healed him)?" The gap between them was dwindling, his red-brown eyes as imploring as she had ever seen them. "Why…why would I permit myself to be affected by Havarian's poison if I had known it would disable my magic? Why did I not kill your companions when I had the chance? (And gods know it would have been a mercy with the druid and the ranger…)"

It all sounded rather plausible at least, but even so Elatharia felt uneasy. Shaking her head, she pushed back from the ridged surface of the doorway, past the Red Wizard looming before her and further into the room. As if that might alleviate the heat rising under her skin. But at least it was easier to speak when she was not looking at him.

"I must be mad for casting those spells for you while Solaufein wasn't looking," she groaned, thinking back to the clumsy gestures of Sign Language Edwin had aimed her way, requesting this meeting while Solaufein had been distracted. "Do you realise how much of a risk it was to think that he might recognise that the sight of you leaving was just an Illusion? I'm not _Jan_."

"I know," Edwin smirked briefly at that, but Elatharia waved his response away.

"And what about an apology, as half-hearted and completely useless as one of those would be?"

"I have no reason to apologise (and as you say, that would be a worthless gesture)," Edwin denied her. "And it was your own carelessness that has seen you to this place," he told her fiercely. Even without looking at him, she could imagine him running a hand through his hair shakily and glaring. "Bah! You will trick no apology from me. I am a _prisoner_ because of you. _You_ should apologise."

And again her angry retort stuck in her throat, which constricted treacherously against a rush of something other than the rage she had expected. Was that…guilt? Her lip curled. Anger would be simpler. This was _painful_. She caught a glimpse of his face, mouth turned down, brows furrowed, poised as if he wanted to take another step toward her. She swallowed hard, and the words poured out.

"Why should _I_ apologise, Edwin? It's not my fault Bodhi has some hold over you, or my fault that I was being t-tortured and having my soul _ripped out_ while you were traipsing about Brynnlaw. Or that I have a monster that comes tearing out of me at the most inopportune times, and not only do I have my own soul to recover but my sister's too," she heard her own voice rising, her breath coming in fast gasps as she paced before him. It was hard to look at him, her eyes fixing on anything but him – even as he caught at her wrist as if to pull her around to face him. "Apparently when…when you have no soul you start to forget how to f-feel, until all you have is the memory of your emotions." Her voice was shaking, the world blurring with tears. "And when that's over, you just have the gaping hole where that used to be and a burning desire to _remember_."

When she stopped at last she narrowed wildly widened eyes at his wary expression, as if that might deceive him into believing that she was angry. Instead, treacherous tears spilled over her cheeks, soaking into the fabric of her mask – with a snarl she tugged the cloth free, scrubbing her hands over her face. Her breath sucked in with a shaky gasp when Edwin took a step toward her and she realised his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist.

"And now I don't even know why I'm c-crying. It's just…I'll go mad if I don't get my soul back. I'm already…hazy," she paused long enough to force the shake out of her voice, and her next words were more of a growl than anything else. His eyes were following hers as she searched his face, looking for some sign of…gods new what. "I _have_ to get our souls back, and I have to make them _suffer_ for what they did to us…"She tensed when Edwin tugged her closer, his hand sliding to her elbow, but his grip just tightened when she tried to hide her face.

"I know," the Conjurer agreed, probably much more gently than he intended, "Though such things are never so simple. They clearly do not have the whole of either of your souls, for you both yet live and breathe. You are not weaker, nor so different." His free hand brushed her braid of hair from her shoulder, his thumb skimming lightly against her collarbone. Against her conscious thought, her hand curled around his wrist, smoothing across familiar skin. And gods knew, everything else in this place was so _unfamiliar_.

"I _feel_ different," she remembered to disagree, "I feel…"

Her mouth dry, Elatharia felt she ought to at least _contemplate_ slapping Edwin's hand away as his fingertips brushed her neck, her chin, one thumb following the tracks of tears to her bottom lip. Her attempt to disbelieve him was over, her thoughts drifting now as his touch sparked over her skin absently, as if his actions were beyond his control.

"Know that I am as reliable an ally in this as anyone," Edwin promised roughly, "For Bodhi has blackmailed me and controlled me far more than I will stand. We will see them dead." His thumb glided over her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine, and came to rest above the markings beneath one eye, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back far enough to see her face fully.

Elatharia was too distracted to answer before he kissed her, responding without conscious thought to the brush of his mouth against hers, her eyes closing as his arm curved around her waist and hauled her closer, forcing her up onto her toes. Their lips clung for a moment with tantalising gentleness before parting and meeting again more forcefully, her arms reaching up around his neck and their next shared gasp permitting them to deepen the kiss. It was a little clumsy, for she stumbled back as his weight forced her feet flat once more.

Their foreheads bumped gently…and the golden light of Bhaal flickered in the darkness behind her closed lids. The monster stirred, and for a moment Elatharia panicked. Her eyes flew open and she pulled back, her hands sliding down over his shoulders and fisting in the lapels of his archmagi jacket. They were both breathing hard. When had been the last time since anything had truly distracted her from the chaos of the past few days?

"Oh, I remember," she mumbled hazily, relaxing again as the golden light sputtered out. "That's how Red Wizards mark alliances, isn't it?"

Edwin frowned a little, dazed curiosity darkening even as his arm tightened briefly on her waist.

"Something like that. (Although she is not a Red Wizard of Thay…)"

A smile curved his lips when she reached up to kiss him again, slower, deeper, more _certain_ – though she found herself longing even more to cling to him, to drag him closer, to beg him to stay a little longer. Instead, they parted more gradually than before, his eyes staying closed a fraction longer than hers. When he looked at her, that faint, wistful smile returned.

"When our enemies are dead I will remind you of this moment," Edwin murmured against her. "We are not finished."

Elatharia bit her lip as if that might hold back her own smirk at his words. But it lasted just a moment longer, for as their holds upon each other weakened, reality came creeping back in. The Transmuter's voice was more strained than she had intended when next she spoke, the warmth of _feeling_ dissipating. It left in its wake a hollowness, an emptiness in the pit of her stomach which worsened with both of the steps he took back from her.

"I can't free you, Edwin," she said. "If I free you, none of us can stay here and we won't find out what Bodhi and Irenicus are doing next." She felt foolish for looking up at him like that. It felt weak.

"I do not need 'freeing'," the Red Wizard denied as haughtily as he could. "They cannot control me as they think they can, and for now at least they seem disinterested by the idea of killing me..."

" _Never_ trust Irenicus with things like that," the warning was torn from her in a rush of panic, her hand fisting in his jacket again. She shook him as well as she could. "He has no mercy. And…and I can't imagine the introduction of my soul has helped at that."

The flicker of concern that crossed Edwin's face was soon chased away by necessity. His expression settling into something a lot more determined, the Conjurer tugged at his jacket to straighten it when she relinquished him, taking a careful few steps back. The seriousness in his eyes was a painful reminder of the dangerous reality of Ust Natha beyond her bedroom door.

"Well…if you are not here to save me, (knight in shining armour that she clearly is not), I should return to my captors," Edwin grunted.

Elatharia swallowed hard as she watched him, wondering what the others would have said. But she could not deny Edwin's logic, or even disbelieve his honesty – he and she and Imoen were the only ones still being wronged by Irenicus and Bodhi. At least for now, he was her best chance. So she nodded in agreement, grimacing and catching at his arm as he turned to go. The hollowness in her chest was only growing, but her skin crawled to see him going back to Irenicus and Bodhi like that.

"Wait. There's something…an item you'll not gladly part from…that you will need to give me if I'm really to believe you're on our side." She held out her hand expectantly, and though Edwin protested when she told him what it was that she wanted from him, he did hand it over.

* * *

"Elatharia and Edwin discussed something while Solaufein's back was turned," Viconia stated gruffly once Haer'Dalis had closed the door to their room. She crossed over to the shutters behind the bed and slammed them with more force than she had intended, wincing to herself. "The signs he used were clumsy, and not of the drow language."

"Yes, my Blackbird – but it hardly seems likely that Elatharia will turn against us in the quest for her own soul, or that of her sister," Haer'Dalis reminded, a hint of suspicion in his low voice. When Viconia turned to face him he was watching her closely, still unmoved from the doorway. "You know this. What is it then that troubles you truly?"

"She is blind when it comes to him!" Viconia insisted, inching around the bed and sitting on the edge just for something to do, though her body screamed against the luxury of rest. "She is human, and weak. So is he."

The bed depressed as Haer'Dalis reached her side, though his hands settled upon his knees rather than bridging the gap between them. It was easier not looking at him – and it felt strange to see him in this fake drow form. He did lean forward to attempt a glimpse at her face but she turned it away from him, fixing her eyes upon the web pattern of the shutters instead.

"Must you always be buzzing about me, male? Can I have not a moment to myself?" she complained, her chest aching with the strain.

"I would leave in an instant if it would help this problem, my Blackbird. But I see plain as daylight that your suffering is not about our Raven, 'tis about this place. And this place will not go away for willing it." How could he be so unbearably calm about this? The atypical seriousness of his soft tone set a strange fluttering inside her, a feeling she realised must have been _affection_.

"I am more familiar with the reality of this place than any of you, fool," she spat instead, "I swim in memories here – most _unpleasant_ memories. I have slept in this very room before; I have dealt with Solaufein and Phaere before – I escaped this place to avoid becoming their lackey because of what they might learn about me." _Shar, grant me strength._ "It is the bumbling cluelessness of you and the others that so alarms me. If Elatharia does not get us killed, then I know that you will."

"Are you not being perhaps a little pessimistic, my Blackbird? If we were going to raise suspicion, would it not have been immediate?" Haer'Dalis did sound amused now, and Viconia shook her head in exasperation.

"You cannot understand. Even if no suspicions are raised, one wrong move could get any one of us – or all of us – killed."

"So you have made very clear to me," Haer'Dalis agreed, "But there is something deeper that concerns you, and I must hear it."

"Something 'deeper'? Ugh!" Viconia poured mockery into her tone, but a glance at his transmuted face showed no hint of offense. Just mildness, and expectation. Was it possible for him to make this any harder? "It is not 'deep', it is common sense! You cannot act in this way around me, as if we are equals. You cannot tempt me, or goad me. You are _male_. You should not presume to demand any explanations from me."

A flicker of understanding crossed his face, if not anger. He did draw back from her, standing. Why did it make her feel so sick to do this? In spite of her doubts, Viconia waved his next words away when he attempted to speak.

"Get away from me," she snarled, "I need some peace from your inanity."

He did hesitate, frowning as if he did not believe her, but when she refused to acknowledge him further he turned on his heel and left her to the silent dark of the room. Only once he was gone did her shoulders slump. Scrubbing her hands across her face wearily, Viconia had to believe that her decision was the right one. It was for his own good, after all.

* * *

"You intrigue me truly, Merdin," Haer'Dalis greeted Imoen, careful to use the false name Viconia had allocated out here on the landing where gods knew what ears might overhear.

Imoen might have jumped to hear those words after his silent approach, but her skin had already been prickling with the proximity of his demon nature. It was hard not to cringe away from him, but that seemed rather unfair given how much trust Elatharia and Viconia had put in him – and for all his bravado he had known how to get rid of the githyanki. So she looked up from her seat on the couch and offered him a genuinely curious look.

"How's that, Haztafein?" she inquired as breezily as she could manage, fidgeting a little against the discomfort of his aura as he perched beside her on the cushions.

"You bear your silences as one ill used to them. You do not balk at the mention of our allegiance with the Shadow Thieves, nor at this charade of ours," he gestured about them, and she shrugged. "Which is peculiar for one whose blood sings of silver bells, hmm?"

"I'm not all silver bells," the aasimar mumbled automatically, though the thought of what else she was did a lot to make her feel _worse_. Child of Bhaal. Child of Bhaal? It explained the dreams from before, the ones that had wracked her after Naskhel.

"Indeed you are not. But you are nothing like your sister either, and that is unexpected. Of course she told us about you," Haer'Dalis waved away Imoen's automatic disagreement, "But you are not alike. Except perhaps in strength." He flashed her a smile that ought to have set her at ease, but for his aura. A moment of quiet passed before Imoen could not hide her disbelief any longer.

"Hey, don't think I'm stupid. You're out here because you wanna know why I'm out here. And because you just argued with Viconia," she told him firmly, and that wiped the smile from his face entirely.

"You are most cynical with this humble sparrow," Haer'Dalis complained, ducking his head as if that might make her believe him more. Imoen snorted instead, feeling oddly giddy at this hint of normality. And here, of all places.

"I'm not judgin' here. Just don't be disappointed when you see nothing interesting."

"Are you denying the communication that passed in the tavern…" Haer'Dalis's words were interrupted by the loud click of the lock in the door beside them, and both aasimar and tiefling turned around sharply to see Elatharia stepping through, once more in the guise of a drow. She eyed the bard with a pointed frown, drawing his attention from the wide open door and the shimmer that passed through, distance rendering the illusive Red Wizard truly invisible as he made his escape down the stairs.

"I must have rest to continue creating the spells that keep us safe," Elatharia stated coolly, "You may not be able to hear into the rooms, but the Enchantments on these doors render you perfectly audible to me. If you must speak with my sister, please do so elsewhere."

Perhaps it was a little too flamboyant – or maybe Imoen was just too familiar with her sister – but Haer'Dalis _behaved_ as if he was taken in by Elatharia's acting all the same. He stood swiftly and swept a low bow of apology, smirking when she nodded curtly to him and closed the door between them once more.

"Perhaps we should join our companions in the tavern below, Merdin?"

Standing to join him, because it would look too suspicious now if she went in to ask her sister about what had just happened with Edwin, Imoen even managed a faint grin the tiefling's way.

"Told you so," she teased, though the way Haer'Dalis narrowed his eyes as he smiled back suggested that he was well on his way to working out far more than Elatharia would have wanted.

Imoen's heart dropped and her face fell the moment he turned his back, her legs shaking at the very thought of Edwin returning to…his captors. How could he do that? How could she and Elatharia let him? She had to bite her lip to hold back from blurting out the truth – something told her that Haer'Dalis would happily help out any attempts to break Edwin free if she made the quest sound exciting enough. But they would probably fail. They would always fail against _Irenicus_.

* * *

The aasimar and the tiefling found Jaheira and Valygar still sitting at the table where they had left them not all that long ago, valiantly attempting to make it through the rest of the food the others had left. The tavern was busier than before; more females had come in for some kind of evening meal from the looks of it, males with bowed heads attending to the orders. The fighting 'entertainment' in the far end of the room had just stopped as well; those who had been watching were just filtering out through the door or looking for a place to sit. The aggressive tones of drow sounded everywhere, setting Imoen on edge from the moment she and Haer'Dalis reached the bottom of the stairway.

"Sziithra, Jerzon," Haer'Dalis greeted Jaheira and Valygar with their false drow names, bowing to the druid whose lip curled at the greeting. The tiefling's eyes were too bright with amusement as he took a seat by Valygar, who elbowed him visibly as if in reminder.

"Are you joining us?" Jaheira asked of Imoen, who had to force herself to nod and sit rather than cringe at the druid's tone. Not quite demanding enough for a drow, not quite relaxed enough to set her at ease.

Haer'Dalis and Valygar were speaking in hushed tones and Imoen made a point of looking past them, too wary of this place to listen. She took a piece of the dark, spicy bread which waited on a plate at the centre of the table, each slice covered in peculiarly tangy butter. Rothé butter, Viconia had called it. The only real livestock of the drow world. Though strange, it was still a sight better than the chunks of slimy squid meat the servant had brought them, or the sweet cakes that only Haer'Dalis would touch.

Imoen froze when she felt a hand close around her elbow, her heart stuttering even after she realised it was just Jaheira, still sitting beside her. She struggled to swallow her latest bite of bread, wincing guiltily as she turned to look at the druid. Once she might have teased the Harper for looking so concerned. Now she just wished that look did not make her feel even more guilty.

"How are you c-"

"Solaufein's watchin' us," Imoen interrupted before Jaheira could finish that dreaded question. The aasimar leaned forward to pour some more water from the jug between them, trying to look innocent, but put it back down again awkwardly when nothing poured out into her cup. Jaheira was frowning when she glanced back at the druid's face. "He is. He's been tryin' to hide it, but not that hard." He had been casting looks their way since Imoen had sat down, and their eyes met when she pointedly looked at him again.

"You think he is suspicious?"

"Absolutely. I'd be suspicious of us," Imoen agreed forcefully, resisting the urge to pull a face at the drow male. Under her continued stare he did look away at least. "I think he knew the aboleth spoke to me and Elatharia specifically. N' I don't blame him for thinking that's done _suspicious_."

"He has no other reason to suspect us," Jaheira said slowly, but Imoen was already shaking her head, peering into the water jug hopefully and finding that it really was empty.

"Everyone has a reason to suspect everyone here," she disagreed, startling for a second time when Haer'Dalis reached across and took the jug from her with a smile, beginning to stand.

"I shall fetch you some more water," he promised, and left her blinking after him in confusion as his prickling aura washed over her and dissipated with his retreat back towards the bar.

"You should not trust him, either," Jaheira said once the tiefling had left earshot, fearlessly threading his way past a group of standing females – all of whom wore hissing snake whips at their hips.

"Who, Haer…Haztafein?" Imoen did not bother to hide her incredulity. Jaheira nodded.

"Of course. You have always put your faith in your sister and in Viconia far more than you should – but if you had seen the things…if you knew what had passed to free you, you would know that we are your only true friends here," the druid gestured between herself and Valygar.

Frustration bubbled up through Imoen far more quickly than she expected, grating against her and setting her skin crawling…almost like it had when Minsc had died at Yoshimo's sword. The beast stirred, momentarily blinding, and Imoen found herself gripping the table to hold back…something. Jaheira recoiled a little at whatever she saw in the aasimar's eyes.

"Are you mad?" Imoen demanded, her voice rising higher than she had expected, "I've not exchanged two words with you," she waved a hand Valygar's way, only to pat at the air between them in the face of another rush of guilt, "No offense, I'm not sayin' I _don't_ trust you. And you…" she turned back to Jaheira, the druid's expression far more wary than it had been before. "I don't expect you to…understand," it was hard not to choke on the word, "But I love my sister. She's my _sister._ And I done know she's not the easiest to read or the easiest to deal with sometimes but then _neither are you_."

Jaheira's tense expression smoothed out into something a lot blanker as Imoen's words sped past her better judgement. The aasimar cringed, alarmed by the alien madness that had overtaken her and guilty for talking like that here of all places.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm not…I mean I know I'm…that it's…Just don't treat me like I'm gonna break, 'kay?" Though speaking like that made her feel too sick to eat another bite, and she set her bread back down on her plate with a shaking hand, ears ringing above the din in the tavern hall. Surely it had not been that loud in here just a moment ago? Jaheira opened her mouth to speak, but then Haer'Dalis's voice sounded from somewhere across the room, and a jostle of movement by the bar drew her attention along with Imoen's.

"Oh…oh no," Imoen heard herself say, her eyes widening as she saw the female drow barring the tiefling's way back to them and the size of the whip she was just unhooking from her belt. "Oh that's not good."

* * *

Viconia heard the voices of Imoen and Jaheira long before the doors of her room crashed open. She had recognised the loud and distressed nature of their words…but she did not expect what followed. In retrospect perhaps she should have. This was the Underdark after all and no matter how good an actor he was, a tiefling bard from Sigil was never going to fit in. No matter how hard she pushed him away.

The drow was already on her feet when Imoen flung open the door without so much as a knock or a shout of warning. The aasimar fairly ran inside, waving her hands about and saying something rapid with wide eyes. But the Sharan priestess was already not listening – for Jaheira and Valygar followed, dragging with them the slumped and bloodied form of Haer'Dalis.

"Put him on the bed," Viconia snapped automatically, though a strange lightness had drifted into her head and left her legs feeling hollow.

Haer'Dalis groaned as they hauled his body onto the mattress, though he did manage to drag his legs up to join the rest of him, sprawled out face down across the dark sheets. His transmuted white hair was covered in blood, his face swollen on one side, but it look like most of the damage had been done to his back. His tunic and shirt were torn to shreds, baring a multitude of deep, jagged slashes from which blood yet flowed.

"Forgive me, my Blackbird," the tiefling wheezed, his one good eye fixing on her without any sense of mirth at all. Just pain. Viconia swallowed though her throat was constricting as if to stop her, clenching her fists tightly – as if that might help. The others were fluttering about, the druid now striding towards her.

"We need to clean the wounds before we can heal them – if the snake whips use venom then gods know what might happen…"

"I know," Viconia promised icily, distantly surprised by how much Jaheira backed away from the fearsome look she sent her. "Though you do not. There is no 'we' here. Get out, and let me deal with this."

Though Jaheira's visage hardened even further at the growled words, she straightened to hear such a command and nodded sharply…almost as if she understood. But there was no time to think about that. Viconia would need hot water, though a quick glance at the room proved fruitless. The others were just leaving, the druid and ranger out of sight already.

"Imoen, can you conjure water…and heat it?" There was no time for fake names. Somehow…it did not matter.

The girl hesitated in the door only a moment before closing it and turning swiftly with a clear affirmative, though her face was blank of any readable expression. At least she set about the request without any further prompting, fetching a basin from the shelf on the wall and performing a few mumbled spells before handing it over with a cloth. Viconia was only vaguely aware of nodding her thanks, already kneeling by Haer'Dalis's side with her attention focused on the torn expanse of skin across his whole back.

"Sh-should I stay?" Imoen asked when Viconia simply set to work.

When the drow shook her head, the girl was quick to leave, the door clicking shut faintly in her silent wake. And only once Imoen was gone did Viconia look to Haer'Dalis's face, which was screwed up in pain as she cleaned the wounds as best she could. She had never known anyone to be silent in the face of whip venom – its primary function was to create agony, its secondary function to delay healing. By all rights, he should have been _screaming._

"What in the Hells did you do, Haer'Dalis?" she hissed, hating herself for flinching when he gasped in pain at the sprinkle of Healers' Alcohol that she risked from the small jar she kept for such events. It was made from the strongest spirits one could buy on the surface, blessed by Shar. The wounds hissed as the enchanted liquid forced the venom to evaporate, rising up in dark tendrils. Haer'Dalis's whole body shook, his hands tore the sheet beneath him and he could not hold back a shout of agony that had Viconia's nerves jangling inexplicably. And only once it had passed and he was breathing hard through the lingering pain did he manage to answer the question she had almost forgotten she asked.

"If that was…an attempt to distract me…I…I think it failed," he choked out. Viconia just frowned at him, unamused. He hissed and flinched when she finished the task of cleaning the wounds, the wet cloth wiping away the last of the venom and blood and burning potion.

"Answer the question." She was in no mood for stalling. A glance down at the basin as she finally dropped the cloth into the water revealed a deep glow in infravision, altered now by the blood which would colour it darkly in the light.

"I was…returning with a jug of water for our table when one of the females stopped me. I think perhaps I brushed past her on my way or…or she did not like the look of me. My attempts to talk my way out of the problem only seemed to worsen the situation and she had her dour-faced lackeys drag me into the street where she flogged me, as you can see. I do believe the others attempted to intervene but perhaps that was…for the worse."

"She continued, to spite them," Viconia finished for him, sitting back on her heels. She jumped when Haer'Dalis reached out to her, his hands closing around her wrist. Had she been shaking? His expression was gentle, wistful maybe, from what she could see of it.

"A familiar gambit," the tiefling agreed, eyeing their point of contact thoughtfully. "And yet I remain in this form. Our Raven's spells hold up to battle, at least."

"Public humiliation is hardly battle," Viconia spat, and that drew a coughed laugh from him.

"You do so wound my pride."

"I think today's events have proven that you needed it, sadly."

"Sadly?" He sounded amused now. "Are you saying that you have some sympathy for this poor sparrow?"

Viconia fixed him with a glare as if that might hide her embarrassment, disentangling herself from his grip and kneeling up again, holding her hands out above his wounds and calling upon Shar without any further words to the injured tiefling. He tensed again as the dark shadows of her goddess's power flooded through her, pouring into his torn skin and knitting it closed, wisps of darkness flowing between them both.

Haer'Dalis did at least breath an audible sigh of relief as the healing power dissipated, his body relaxing and the darkness ebbing from him. With it went the Transmutation that had veiled him so well, the change too fast for it to last even a blink of an eye. To Viconia's infravision this registered simply as change in his size, for with the door closed no light filtered through. She could see the slashes across his back were still puffy and jagged, but at least they were mostly closed up now. Brushing his damp hair from the nape of his neck she saw that there was a substantial bruise there, too. She did not complain when his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her up against the edge of the bed beside him though he yet lay there and she remained kneeling on the floor.

"Does this mean you have finally given it up then, my Blackbird?" he asked softly, shivering as her hands brushed over his face and leant the last of the healing power she had into all but banishing the bruising and swelling which hid his expression from her.

"Given up what?" Viconia asked, too tired to force strength into her voice. She was too tired to care about caring. His skin was warm against her lips as she pressed them to his shoulder and lingered against him, wondering at the strength and the weight of his arm around her waist. He did not need to answer. She knew the answer.

"Given up pretending that you wish to push me away," he whispered the words against her neck and she did tremble then, drawing back though she both feared and needed to look at his face.

"It is for the best. This…this does not work in the Underdark and amongst the drow."

"It is more artificial to force me away and to fear this place than it is to lie about the truth here, is it not? You told me all drow keep secrets – those who do not are the ones who die." He rolled gingerly onto his side, closing his eyes in relief when the action caused him no more pain. "And thank you, my Blackbird. I suspect you do not believe that I deserve your healing."

"The one who whipped you deserves a slow death," Viconia corrected him automatically, and rolled her eyes when he smirked at her. "Shut up, male. It is late and we both need to rest now."

He did not argue when she removed his torn up tunic and shirt, though she was perhaps a little rougher about it than she needed to be. It looked unlikely that Elatharia would be able to fix these, so Viconia left them in a pile beside the used water basin outside the door for the slaves to deal with. By the time she had dressed for bed, in a spare tunic and pair of leggings, a fresh basin of water was waiting for her to collect.

"Diligent slaves they have here," Haer'Dalis commented far too innocently as Viconia folded her mithral shirt and black dragon scale armour on the floor by her bed, carefully placing the Flail of the Ages upon the table by her pillow. A glance at the tiefling showed him sitting up slowly against the headboard, dropping his boots and swordbelt onto the floor beside him. "I remember how it feels to do one's 'duty' so well."

"I take it you are not attempting to goad me, Haer'Dalis," Viconia sighed, turning her back on him as she slipped under the covers. It was still strangely hard to look at him. She envied the surfacers their blindness in the dark.

A long silence stretched – Viconia assumed from the creaking of the bed that Haer'Dalis had lain down to sleep as well. Though what sleep they were meant to find here was mysterious to her now, even with the door closed, locked and warded between them and the rest of Ust Natha. How had she _ever_ achieved Reverie here? Ah…then she had been alone.

"Who was he?" The tiefling's voice broke the silence softly, though Viconia still jumped.

"Who was _who_?"

"Haztafein. The one whose name you borrowed for my use in this act."

The sheets rustled into the quiet as Viconia turned to see him watching her, but when she opened her mouth to speak he pressed a finger to her lips to stop her.

"Do not lie to me, Viconia," he said quietly, "I know you well enough to see the truth of that. Who was he?"

"He is an unpleasant memory," she said at length, though her stomach churned as her thoughts wheeled back decades. "Of Menzoberranzan."

"He is? Or the circumstances are?" He asked it softly, so softly that she barely heard him – so softly that she did not fear to answer, though she had never spoken of this past to anyone. She shivered as his fingertips brushed through her hair, lingering at the base of her neck and bridging the gap between them. He watched her with such honest calm!

"Haztafein was one of the sons of House Oblodra in Menzoberranzan. There are…things you must understand about this before I can explain," she waved away his attempts to interrupt her. "You must know that House Oblodra was the third house…but it was heretical. For some time it was an unspoken secret that the house had no priestesses, that they were psionicists – those who harness the same mystical powers that surfacer monks use when they fight. But no one dared challenge them because they were more _powerful_ than the priestesses and the wizards. Their house was impenetrable, and so they were hated and feared. But they had to be accepted all the same. And I was a priestess of Lolth, the eldest daughter of the fourth house, House De'Vir. We had to keep up the image of an alliance, and there was a time when I was sent to lead a group of our combined forces to deal with some…conflicts we had with a house in Ched Nasad."

"And you came upon Haztafein during this mission," the tiefling predicted with the quirk of an eyebrow.

"I did," Viconia sighed, "Though it was not under any 'romantic' circumstances that you might foolishly presume." Haer'Dalis smirked at that, the dark lines which curved over his chin only lending the expression a look of greater mischief, but she ignored him. "I came upon him when he was praying to Shar. I was at first horrified by the heresy – I was still a priestess of Lolth in name, though I had long ago lost my true faith…if I ever had any. The demands she puts on her people are so…thoughtless, so chaotic. It seems illogical…"

"And what of this meeting?" Haer'Dalis urged her, wincing a little as he shifted.

"At first I was horrified…but something made me pause. And then I saw Shar's dark power and something about it comforted me. I felt its strength, and I saw his devotion. It was not the manic, violent stuff of Lolth's followers, who insist upon displaying their greater faith – it was more honest, quieter. So instead of dragging him out there – or trying to – I insisted that he tell me to whom it was he prayed. He agreed."

"Ah, a noble love did blossom I suppose?" Haer'Dalis asked wryly.

"Hardly," Viconia groaned, "Male, you make no effort to comprehend the finer points of drow society and how it differs from the other places you have been. No 'romance' 'blossomed' but we did develop an understanding, an alliance. And one of greater…fondness than the fanatical society of Menzoberranzan can tolerate."

"I take it you were found out?"

"I was. I do not know how but…my mother learned of our allegiance. She learned that he was going to make some trade agreement in the svirfneblin city near Menzoberranzan, and took their leader's child hostage in order to have his people kill Haztafein. He was not surrounded by his siblings, whose combined psionic powers would have been impossible for the feeble gnomes to combat – he had just a group of guards, and with them so outnumbered…none of them survived." She grimaced as she spoke, hating the embarrassment and disquiet she felt to tell this tale.

"And what of the consequences for you, my Blackbird?" Haer'Dalis asked, drawing closer to look into her eyes better when she tried to duck away.

"My mother brought the svirfneblin child to me, and told me to prove my faith in Lolth by killing it," Viconia admitted, remembered frustration tinging her voice, "And I could not. It was foolish really – the child died all the same, by the blade of one of my sisters. All my failure did was send me under guard to the drider pits, the great shame of my house. But my brother Valas, who I now realise was also no follower of Lolth…he saved me. He killed the guards and gave me provisions with which to flee," she shrugged, though she felt anything but nonchalant, "So I did. I came to Ust Natha, and shortly thereafter I learned that my actions had ruined my house. They had lost the favour of Lolth entirely, and been destroyed by House Do'Urden. A fitting end."

"And did you love him? Haztafein?" Haer'Dalis's curious tone made her cringe – though gods knew why. She glared at him.

"Of course not!" she pushed at his shoulder as if that might help force the truth into him, though the action only seemed to pull them closer. "I have told you before that love, like trust is for the foolish and…"

"The dead, indeed," Haer'Dalis finished for her, the words murmured so close to her skin that her thoughts were already scattering. "Though it seems you cannot shake your…allegiance…to me, all the same. I half believed you might have refused to heal me tonight."

The quiet seriousness of his tone made her limbs heavy with regret, and he was malleable to her touch as she caught his face in her hands, moving back enough to see him. For once his frown matched hers.

"That would hardly make much sense," she managed at last, distressingly relieved when his hand settled against her waist. "And I…I was angry with you because I feared this would happen."

She did not expect his gentle laughter, the movement of which made him wince with pain.

"I know," he whispered.

Viconia kissed him. It was a kind of spontaneity with which she was wholly unfamiliar, but the responsive willingness of his lips against hers and the warmth that swelled within her was strangely intoxicating, something altogether different from need. And as he pulled her to his chest and she finally allowed herself to close her eyes, she realised that he had been right. They were better together (and lying about it) than they were apart.

* * *

Jaheira had not waited to see that Imoen left Viconia's room, though the thought of the girl stepping alone even to the next door along made her nervous. But the druid had also been relieved to get away – she had never been more glad for the drow's haughty commands. For the most part, memories of the dark cell had been growing easier to push back, but now they were crawling all over her, here of all places where she dare not strike a light. She could so readily recall the shame and rage, the fear for Khalid and Imoen – and even Elatharia, who had not gone into Irenicus's dungeon quite so ill-formed as she had left it. And though Jaheira gritted her teeth against them, the memories came back a flash at a time – of scrambling across cold stone for water and scant food, of sitting in filth with no hope of getting any cleaner, of failed attempts to call upon Nature to break her cell…

"Jaheira?" Valygar's voice held just a hint of insistence, if not impatience. The druid realised that she had walked all but blindly into their room, and that she had stopped half a step away from the window with her eyes screwed up and head bent, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Jaheira…"

Breathing in sharply, she turned to see the transmuted ranger standing with his back against the closed door and a tense look on his face. Clutching her spear, Jaheira followed the path of his grimace to the bed, which was as simple and unthreatening as anything could be, lit by the faint glow of night-time Ust Natha which slanted through the small window.

"What is it?" the druid heard herself snap the words rather than ask them. Valygar seemed to set his feet as if for combat, though he crossed his arms across his chest and met her eyes steadily. It took him a moment to speak – perhaps he had noticed that their disguises were starting to slip, their faces and bodies shifting gradually into their natural states, and perhaps he was struggling to see her clearly in the low light now that their darkvision had worn off.

"There is only one bed. You should take it," the ranger stated gruffly at last.

Jaheira might once have at least barked a laugh at such chivalry, but now she simply narrowed her eyes and brushed it aside, pointedly moving to sit on the edge with herb back to him and gesturing at the expanse of mattress and sheets behind her.

"Do not be ridiculous. The bed is easily big enough for both of us, and I am hardly a damsel in distress." Preferring to look down at the ground as she placed her spear and travel belt by her feet, she paused. "I think you would struggle to find a damsel of any description in this place."

"Imoen would be the closest candidate," Valygar stated it as if he was prompting something. _Khalid used to do that_.

"Or perhaps Haer'Dalis in his current state," she corrected irritably, "Imoen made her point to us rather clearly earlier." She had almost turned into the Beast. It had been so brief; a faint blurring of the skin, a flash of gold in her pupils…but it had been there. Imoen. The bright, cheerful teenager who had preferred the outdoors to an inn with the delight of child, who had walked with Khalid and talked about all the plants and animals they could see, the girl who had teased her sister until she blushed. A sister who was a murderer now. Why would Bhaal's beast show itself in innocent, broken Imoen?

"There is something amiss, Jaheira," Valygar said into the silence of her brooding, the bed shaking little as he perched on the opposite edge.

"In this place? Nature could barely find a home here if it were properly cleansed and balanced!" Jaheira scoffed, beginning to unlace her boots now as if the disquiet her evasiveness brought on might be alleviated by something so mechanical.

"Something amiss in _you_ since we were forced to stand by and watch the priestess flog Haer'Dalis…"

"Would there not be?" Jaheira fairly snarled, twisting about to see Valygar just turning to look across at her as well. His expression was so unaffected, so dogged, that she almost felt guilty for being so hard with him.

"You most of all," the ranger amended stiffly, eyes too steady upon her for lies to work. Seeing this, Jaheira sagged against her will, rolling her eyes up and grinding her teeth as if this might be pushed aside.

"It doesn't matter. This place is unnatural, of course we are all feeling…" she glanced at him and winced, an admission of her avoidance that softened the line of his mouth just a little. "We should have been able to help him," she sighed at last, giving in to the truth, "I remember what it feels like to be whipped. Haer'Dalis is a lying, mocking, cunning monster but the drow that did that to him is worse."

"And Irenicus did it to you?" A frown had formed on Valygar's face, and Jaheira raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief, pulling at the ties on her breastplate and tugging the armour free. His eyes had already alighted on the curved lines at her shoulder before she pushed aside the neckline of her tunic further, enough to prove that the scars went on across a fair expanse of her back. He did not need to know that they covered it completely, twice over at least. "I had assumed they were battle scars," he managed at last.

"They are," Jaheira gritted out, "And does it come as such a surprise? Irenicus did far worse to Elatharia, Imoen…and Khalid." _A torn body on a table, forgotten. A body Imoen had already seen, and said nothing of. The girl must have hoped they would not find it – perhaps she had planned to lie._ Jaheira's fingernails dug into her knees through her trousers. _Silvanus, hear my vow._

The silence that stretched was a relief. Valygar had looked away quickly after her words and seemed lost for something to say – though perhaps he simply did not _have_ anything to say. After a brief pause, the ranger and druid began to wordlessly go about what semblance of their bedtime routine that this place would allow, keeping their eyes averted from each other as they changed, both leaving their weapons and armour in easy reach of their pillows. But for all her certainty, Jaheira hesitated as she reached for her side of the sheets just as Valygar did the same.

"Do _not_ offer to sleep on the floor," the druid snapped, "The servants…the _slaves_ …will expect to find a bed that has been slept in by two bodies in the morning. Drow do not understand friendships – or allegiance of anything other than mutual self-interest. They would probably pass on the suspicious information, and we do not need any more suspicion on our group than we already have."

Valygar nodded with a grunt, and with an awkward glance shared they both slid under the covers, turning their backs to each other though the bed was easily large enough. Jaheira felt ridiculous – with so much happening around them this hardly mattered. But she still lay too still, staring at the movement of Ust Natha's faint, artificial light upon the smooth grey floor.

"Thank you," Valygar offered into the quiet, where every rustle of sheets and squeak of the bed sounded like a thunderclap all the same.

"For what?"

"For telling me – about yourself today. About Khalid and Imoen, and about yourself. It is not easy to put these things into words."

Jaheira nodded once before she realised he could not see her.

"Thank you for letting me say it," she admitted, and was glad when he did not feel the need to answer.


	50. Weaving a Web: Part 1

**Apologies for the lateness of this update - but here's the longest chapter yet!  
Thank you to everyone reading, and to everyone who has favourited and followed. And of course, thank you also for your reviews - your comments are greatly appreciated! ^^  
**

 **Warning: there is some grim imagery in this chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 49: Weaving a Web Part 1**

* * *

Elatharia had been feigning sleep when Imoen crept into the room, but before she closed the door the aasimar had caught a flash of some small object in her sister's hands, as if she had been turning it over and over alone there in the darkness. A moment or two of silence had passed – the Transmuter's body was tense under the sheets as if fearing the questions that Imoen so desperately wanted to ask of her encounter with Edwin. In the end no words would come to Imoen, not even to speak of the awful helplessness of watching the priestess whip Haer'Dalis. Especially because of that helplessness. It would bring back too many bad memories. Too much guilt.

Instead, Imoen had slunk to her own small bed and attempted sleep, slipping under cool covers and cringing as the mattress shifted beneath her. She lay there, utterly still and staring up at the curved ceiling with its spider patterns, until gradually her darkvision wore off and left her sinking in the perfect dark. Past the closed shutters she could hear the occasional clatter of unidentifiable sound echoing in the quiet night-time cavern of Ust Natha, and every sudden noise sent a jolt of fear through her.

Fogged by tiredness, her thoughts drifted and the spiders graven above her began to shift and blur until they were running across the ceiling and down the walls, swarming the bed and crawling across her skin. Their thick, hairy legs fluttered over her skin, their eyes shining too bright and intelligent in the pure dark. Heaving in rapid gasps, Imoen flailed in panic, her voice rising to a scream as the venomous beasts skittered across the bed…and melted away. But now there were hooded figures in the darkness around her…and when she turned to the side her chest squeezed in panic, her lungs burning and her limbs heavy with dread. She saw Irenicus's cold eyes staring back at her, his form watching her from the bed where her sister had been…

"Imoen! Imoen! Wake up!" Elatharia's voice dragged her from sleep, the aasimar's mind buzzing with panic.

"W…we have to get out…out of here," Imoen slurred before consciousness fully reclaimed her.

She was sitting up, drenched in sweat, the sheets pooled in a rumpled heap around her, and her sister was kneeling on the mattress in front of her, shaking her by the shoulders. The room was otherwise empty, and filled by a diffuse and very dim light spell. Everything was in its proper place, the spiders still patterning the ceiling, the shutters and the door firmly closed. There was no one else in the room with them, no sign of Irenicus. Not on the outside, anyway.

In fact, of her surroundings only her sister had changed, the drow façade gone; now she was dressed in the Robe of Vecna instead of nightclothes, though with her bag of holding still tied to her waist. Her mask was off as well, her hair loose and dishevelled around her face. Her eyes were wide with alarm, her pupils huge to accommodate the extremely low light – no doubt her human vision could only just make out Imoen as a fuzzy form in front of her. _Silly girl. The pupils of the human eye expand to adapt to lower light, but also to various stimuli…not least when the subject is afraid._

"Sorry," the aasimar mumbled, huffing out an embarrassed laugh, "Bad dream. Didn't mean to wake you. Good job no one outside can hear through those Enchantments, right?"

Elatharia did not even bothered nodding, frowning instead as she folded her legs beneath her in an attempt to relax just a little. Her feet were bare, just like her arms – the dots of manacle scars showed at her wrists and ankles. A jolt of crawling horror came with the memory of _removing_ those manacles.

"I wasn't asleep," Elatharia admitted at last, as if Imoen might have ever been convinced. "I heard a commotion outside…"

"Haer'Dalis done got caught by one of the priestesses. She whipped him outside the tavern, and we couldn't stop her without gettin' the whole city after us…or admittin' what we are and havin' them chase us for that instead." It was easier to stare down at her trembling hands. "Shoulda done something. Shoulda tried _something_."

The Transmuter attempted to hide the pained look that crossed her face to hear this, nodding awkwardly instead. Seeing Elatharia's scars – the few that remained, which were not nearly enough to echo what had surely been done – Imoen found herself gripping the sheets with painfully clenched fists. The tiefling's whipping had made Jaheira pale, too. It was hard not to think back to what must have been done to them…

A stiff silence passed, in which neither sister wanted to address the grim issue. Instead, Elatharia at last blew out a long sigh – and changed the subject entirely.

"Well…you were right about Edwin," she muttered, "Of course you were right."

Still shaking from the nightmare but grateful that her sister had not asked about it, Imoen hugged her knees to her chest to fight the cold that had started to creep back in. Elatharia seemed unbothered by the temperature, but her eyes shifted from side to side as she spoke, her frown lingering as if she was struggling to remember something from long ago.

"No one would want to side with Irenicus without a real incentive…or a death wish. And I can see it in his eyes that he hates them, especially Bodhi. I think they're trying to control him…but we've a plan."

"What kind of a plan?" Imoen did not know whether to panic or breathe a sigh of relief.

"I can't tell you. Not with the aboleth around."

"More like can't tell me because you done think I'm going to tell Jaheira," the aasimar complained automatically, the whine in her voice drawing the briefest smile from Elatharia.

"Maybe. But I'm not going to relent just because you point out a very good reason for keeping it to myself." Again the evasive eyes, the fidgeting. "At least I didn't turn into the Beast. I…I don't know how you fight it. It's like it doesn't bother you."

"I don't…and it does," Imoen cringed at the memory of that thing crawling out of her, of it buzzing beneath her skin when it augmented her earlier irritation with Jaheira to an almost blinding rage. "It just…doesn't come to me like it does to you is all. You said you done felt it before we…we lost our souls. I never. I think I'm just…not as strong as you."

"Or maybe you're _stronger_ ," Elatharia grunted. There were faint cuts on her palms from earlier in the day, thin red slashes of scabs standing out on pale skin.

"Just luckier, I reckon," Imoen offered, brushing her sister's hair back enough to see her face, the grim set of her mouth and the dark lines of her markings. A moment passed. "Y'know…you do smell of Conjurer's spell components, big sis. He kiss you? At last?"

There was no blush like there would have been once, long ago. Now Elatharia just looked up sharply, her expression oddly blank but for sad, confused eyes. Half a blink, and then she was scrambling away and standing, turning her back on her sister as she slid back into her bed.

"What does it matter? We should be sleeping, not gossiping." Her tone was clipped, and just a tinge too angry.

"It's not a fault, Elatharia," Imoen promised, "If it made you feel better for just a second, wasn't it done worth it?"

Her sister did not answer, no longer pretending to sleep but still keeping her back to Imoen. And eventually Elatharia's breathing did become more even but for the odd flinch, and the aasimar knew it would be useless to pursue the issue. She knew, too, that she would find little sleep that night. So instead, Imoen slid from her own bed upon perfectly silent feet. She dressed in the darkness, the black drow leather smooth and flexible, the enchanted boots a welcome bonus. The Transmutation she left until last, once she had pulled her hood low to hide any continuity issues with her sister's more detailed version of the spell. And once this was done, Imoen slipped out through the door and sought the dimly lit streets of Ust Natha. If the place was too ominous to sleep in, perhaps learning its secrets might settle her nerves.

* * *

The drow seemed to keep away from the Narbondel-lit streets of night-time Ust Natha as fervently as did humans from the dark streets of Baldur's Gate – perhaps more fervently still. Those who did travel the walkways did so at speed, their hoods drawn low to shield their eyes from the hazy light which did nothing to soften the edges of the great houses visible from up here, or to lighten the murk of the lake far below. The scent of incense drifted on the air, mixed with the less familiar smells of drow foodstuffs and the distant, underlying hint of something fouler.

The temple of Lolth at the heart of the city gave off a palpable sense of menace, its huge rotund shape hanging at the centre of the city's walkways but stretching up through several layers. Once it caught Imoen's eye, it held her stare, seeming to pulse with malevolent power which drew her forward upon unerring but leaden feet. Its whisper of malice only grew as Imoen's path brought her straight before the spiny, bulbous roof of the construction, where her walkway parted into a ring around the rotunda. Thoughts hazy as the light around her, she passed close enough to trail her fingers along the roof's black surface, which swam with the twisting shapes of black faerie fire. And though it went against her better judgement, Imoen found her arm extending, her fingertips touching just as she had imagined. It was warm and strangely soft, not hard and rough as she had expected. As though it were alive. Her skin crawled, and the Beast stirred in answer – but it did so fondly, and with a warm feeling of familiarity. _Murder. Murder and death._

As quickly as she had reached out, the haze lifted and Imoen snatched her hand back with a gasp – fighting the disorientation that followed, she glanced about herself hastily. Had anyone seen her blasphemy? Heart pounding, she made a hasty retreat…until she came to the stairway up to the next level, the path her sister must have taken earlier to escort the aboleth. Ardulace's palace lay that way – and within it waited Irenicus and his sister with Edwin as their captive. She thought of her nightmare, of the scarred face and pale eyes that had looked back at her, and the pain that twisted in her chest made her eyes sting and her stomach churn.

Against her better judgement, she found herself turning that way, not heading past at anxious speed for the comparative safety on the Higher Tavern just twenty feet away. And now Imoen's limbs did not move of their own accord, though she dearly wished they would. She passed a pair of lizard riders on patrol, both of whom offered deferential nods which she forced herself to ignore, keeping her eyes ahead and her walk steady. It was easy to see the palace at this time of night, standing opposite the tip of the glowing Narbondel whose light drew the eye. How long had she been denied the sun? And how long would this place further deny her?

There was a small, quartz-crusted tower that stood scant metres from the platform leading to House Despana. Here Imoen dragged herself to a stop, a quick survey of the construction suggesting that it was empty for some obscure reason. She had to lean back to support her shaking legs, to force herself to breathe past her stuttering heart. But she could not look away.

 _What am I to you, to leave without a second glance?_ And just as Elatharia had said, she could feel the pull in the air, the subconscious insistence that she return to her soul. Bodhi was inside. Her hand closed around her dagger…a moment before she felt a blade at her throat forcing her chin back. Imoen froze.

"I knew you for a heretic from the moment I saw you."

Solaufein hissed the words in her ear as he tugged her back with him into the tower, one hand closing around her mouth when she gasped in for a reflexive shout. With his sword still at her throat, Imoen stumbled on the bottom step of the narrow spiral stairway within, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness as her captor kicked the door shut behind them. She could not control the trembling that overtook her, nor avoid the sickness that followed – she could sense it in the air, the _murder_.

When Imoen caught sight of the blood on the stairs, of a limp arm hanging over the ledge above, she tensed and retched. At least that had Solaufein pushing her away from him with a curse while she doubled up and coughed, golden light flashing behind tightly shut eyes. It lasted a matter of seconds, but Solaufein made no move to approach her. He had blocked off the only entrance with his body and now watched with incredulity as she twisted to face him, crouched on the stairs with her dagger drawn. It distracted him long enough for her to spit out a few spellwords, conjuring a bloom of white light that had him cursing again and reflexively veiling his eyes.

"You're the one who killed the guard," she managed, though the golden fog that curled in the corners of her vision was more than a little distracting. _Some drow you I am, gagging at the sight of blood_. But it was not the horror rather than the madness of Bhaal that had overwhelmed her. To her shame.

"Who are you?" Solaufein snarled, his arm braced above his eyes in some semblance of protection even as he raised his swordpoint her way. "I saw you touch Lolth's Temple, and I saw the path you took to this place. You wear the silver bow and no spider insignia, you stare at all of this as if you have never seen it before…" he caught himself, his face twisting with rage, and she backed up a step, every muscle in her body tensing with wariness. It had been a long time since she had fought alone…but… "Did she send you? Is this Phaere's way of _testing_ me?" Solaufein snarled.

"Wh-what?" Imoen gaped at him momentarily and he seemed to acknowledge her cluelessness, for he lowered his blade slightly, his brows furrowing. "Test you for what?"

"Are you telling me that you have no idea of what I speak? That you have no knowledge of the sanctity of Lolth's temple?" he hesitated when she raised her dagger between them, his red eyes flickering up to the body of the dead guard in the room above them. "You must be insane."

"Maybe," Imoen acceded, "But if you're so done ready to kill me, how come you killed the guard who woulda got me punished for what I did? I…I don't wanna have to kill you but I will if you make me!"

That comment of all of them seemed to take Solaufein aback the most. His face fell into a look of shock, the tip of his sword scraping against the steps between them as he lowered it fully. His whole body seemed to sag as if some great weight had been lifted from it. And she understood: here was no worshipper of Lolth. Here was a victim of endless brutality.

"No drow speaks this way," Solaufein half-whispered it as if to himself, shaking his head. "No drow of Ust Natha, or Menzoberranzan, or Ched Nasad…"

"Well I'm one who does," Imoen offered, though it came out as more of a question. He gave her a doubtful look, and then gestured at the shining light behind them.

"If we are to talk, you ought to dispel that light. It could be seen through the viewpoints in the chamber above and…in truth I cannot stand it." Solaufein winced as he looked up at her, taking in her crouched figure and her wary face. "Unlike you."

"Alright," Imoen agreed after a moment, banishing the light and calling up _Darkvision_ for herself. She could only hope that Solaufein did not recognise the spell. _Too late now._

Solaufein seemed to consider her action a gesture of uneasy truce; he dipped his head in acceptance and sheathed his sword slowly as he stepped back into the small space between the stairs and the doorway. Only once he raised his palms to show that he truly was unarmed did Imoen sheath her dagger also, crouching upon the stairs now out of a necessity to see his face rather than in readiness to fight.

"You're no more a Lolth worshipper than me, that's why you killed the guard," she reasoned into the quiet, and from the way he winced up at her it looked as though he had needed her to say it first. "You mighta doubted me, but you wanted to find out for yourself first. Right?"

"Correct," Solaufein gritted out, though his hand clenched and unclenched subconsciously around his sword hilt.

"Coulda been a bit more subtle about it," Imoen muttered before she could catch herself. _Too long alone! Too long alone…with him. Irenicus._ Still, Solaufein started to smile at those words, though he tried to hide it. Were drow not even allowed to _smile_? No wonder Irenicus had come here.

"I needed to act quickly, mistress…Merdin," Solaufein said. How opposite from the surface! That slip was no courtesy – just a bad habit. "You were the one who passed this way. I was simply following."

"Wasn't really going anywhere interesting," Imoen denied, rubbing at her arms. The cold was creeping in.

"Ah, because your straightforward path to Ardulace's palace was a pure coincidence," Solaufein sneered. "I hold no love for the Despanas but you would be a fool to try to enter that place without an invitation. Not only does it now house the aboleth and illithids, but there are three surfacers within as well. Surfacers who, it pains me to say, seem more than capable of defending themselves. Not to mention the Matron herself. You would be wise to return to your allies."

"Sounds about right," Imoen's faux-cheerful tone visibly staggered Solaufein, but she stood straight without pause, nodding at the door as if she was not guilty of such alien behaviour. "Gotta get back right now, actually." But, perhaps predictably, Solaufein pressed a hand to the door between them when she moved to pass him. He was tall for a drow male – their eyes met levelly, red glowering across into blue.

"Do not think that you can use what passed here against me, foreigner. You have no evidence against me and here your word will count for little."

"Wasn't really planning on it," Imoen promised, though the words escaped her as more of a wheeze. _The space was so small. The walls so close._ He nodded gruffly and stepped aside for her but she hesitated as her fingers closed around the door handle. "Y'know…it sounds like you have some problem with Phaere…"

"'Problem'," Solaufein huffed, though his eyes fell to the floor rather hastily, "She wants me dead, clearly." Ah, she had said as much. Imoen nodded.

"I'd…I'd like to help, if you need it," she managed, and Solaufein's eyes rose sharply to look at her once more. She cringed back from him.

"It is not her fault," he snapped, just as automatically. He sought the sight of the floor again, his words a low growl. "Though she is far from blameless. Her mother is the instigator, as always."

"Well, sounds like you need the help then," Imoen pointed out. Solaufein's smile was more a baring of teeth.

"It does. Though such things never come without a price," he shook his head, gesturing to the door again. "Go. It may be that we can 'help' each other in the future, but for now you should return to your allies. I believe that Phaere will summon you at first darkness."

* * *

'First darkness' proved to be early morning, probably the equivalent of sunrise on the surface. Imoen had been back for several hours, her absence unnoticed by her sister as far as she could tell, and the aasimar was woken sharply by the sound of knocking on a door nearby. Momentarily disorientated and completely blind in the perfect velvet blackness, she sat up with a sharp gasp, her heart thundering. She heard her sister cursing and shuffling; by the time Imoen had cast another _Darkvision_ spell upon herself, Elatharia had sat up and tied on her enchanted mask. Both sisters jumped when the knock came again, both standing upon shaky legs and looking to each other with wide eyes.

"It's Viconia's room," Elatharia said at last, "Thank all the gods."

As if on cue they heard the creak of a door opening and the drawled menace of Viconia's voice filtered out; a male voice answered briefly, and then the door clicked shut. Meanwhile, the Transmuter had not waited to hear what happened next before falling into a spell, beginning to call up their drow forms, muttering spellwords under her breath as sparks flickered about her fingertips.

By the time that the conversation across the hallway was over, Imoen could feel the change in her face and the slight alteration of her size. Her darkvision did not permit her to see in much colour, but she could make out that the shade of her skin had altered to the common ebony shade seen amongst drow. A look at her sister show that Elatharia was just finishing the alterations to herself; her pale skin turned to the deep blue-grey also known among drow, her mostly dark hair turned white where her Bhaal taint would permit it. And of course her mask melded into her skin, hiding her markings.

"We should go and speak to Viconia. She can't leave without endangering Haer'Dalis," Elatharia stated it a little sharply, turning away to the bed and slipping out of the Robe of Vecna which would be far too outlandish in these parts. The drow robe that she replaced it with was a deep grey, the only decoration in the form of protective wards embroidered along its expansive sleeves. The leggings visible beneath the skirt were in fact Aerie's but they were plain and totally unremarkable.

Once Imoen had pulled on her drow leathers again they were ready to go – her sister barely glanced at her as they stepped through the door. Probably still trying to avoid any reference to Edwin. And the aasimar knew that she would have to mention the night's events, but with her heart still pounding and her limbs still quaking from the sharp awakening, it was hard to think.

The hallway was empty as they crossed it, as dark as ever, with just the faint clatter of dishes audible from the tavern below. Viconia answered Elatharia's knock with ferocity, the door swinging open at speed to reveal her angry visage – her expression did soften after a moment, though from the stressed look on her face whatever she had just heard was far from pleasant. She was already fully dressed in her usual black dragon scale and mithral shirt, the yellow underside of her cloak invisible to Imoen's darkvision. The Flail of the Ages glittered at her hip.

"Come in quickly," the drow snapped, stepping aside only just enough for the sisters to squeeze through before closing the door firmly behind them. She gestured to Haer'Dalis, who was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed. He saluted them jovially, but his bare torso showed numerous lash marks that were still swollen and scabbed even after Viconia's healing magics.

"Greetings, fellow daredevils," the tiefling offered, reaching for his shirt. Elatharia's eyes had widened at the sight of his injuries, and it took a moment before she visibly dragged herself back to the present.

"Well," the Transmuter demanded of Viconia as if she had been waiting for an explanation the whole time. "What happened?"

"We are to meet Phaere shortly. Apparently we should prepare to leave town thereafter – for the svirfneblin settlement," Viconia explained grimly. Elatharia cursed.

"Solaufein said she'd want to see us right about now," Imoen admitted, cringing when the others looked at her with some confusion. She raised her hands in a gesture of peace, but Elatharia only frowned more deeply. "Hey, I couldn't sleep. I…went for a walk and done got in a bit of trouble, but it's all sorted now. Right as rain, actually!"

"What in the all the Hells did you do?" Elatharia gritted out. The anger threatening in her eye was all the more disturbing for the drow visage she now wore.

"Found out some pretty useful information?" Imoen shot back with a wince. Her sister glared back. Viconia did not look much more impressed, folding her arms and looking between the two.

"It sounds as though you have some things to explain, _abbil,_ " the drow prompted coolly. She glanced Haer'Dalis's way as he joined them by the door, the only one of all of them who watched Imoen with curiosity and not irritation. "And once that is done one of us will have to collect Jaheira and Valygar, sadly."

* * *

"…You are quite spectacularly daring," Haer'Dalis commented into the quiet which had descended upon the newly gathered group once Imoen had completed her story. Though in truth, even he looked mildly concerned. Too blank to truly feel guilty, Imoen just shrugged. Why could losing her soul not have robbed her of the sense of awkwardness, too?

"You are very lucky to still be alive, Imoen," Viconia corrected, and that earned a nod from Valygar, who had arrived shortly before with Jaheira. Elatharia was quieter, less responsive. But she was still frowning slightly.

"Well that's probably true," the aasimar admitted, shifting from foot to foot as the others watched her intently, all of them save for Viconia newly transmuted into their drow forms. "But I did find out some pretty handy information, like I said. Solaufein has some issue with Phaere, but he blames Ardulace and – and! – biggest bit of information: he's no worshipper of Lolth."

"He may have been testing you," Jaheira warned, her tone painfully cutting, "We may be about to walk into a trap."

"Not from the way he done spoke to me last night. Coulda killed me right there," Imoen insisted. When Jaheira opened her mouth to speak, Viconia interrupted.

"Imoen is right, I believe," she nodded thoughtfully, "There is some recent cover-up regarding Phaere and Solaufein. It happened just before I left Ust Natha for the surface – both went missing amidst rumours that they had been less than faithful to Lolth, and when Phaere returned she was scarred and far from her…old self. She has been spitting venom and vitriol about Solaufein's death ever since. Whatever they did to him is far more subtle; he was always a bitter sort."

"Is that not common among all drow?" Valygar asked darkly, drawing a smirk and a disdainful roll of the eyes from Viconia.

"No, male. Bitterness is rare – those who grow bitter tend not to last long in places such as this. Their hatred of the drow world only serves to alienate them. Hatred of individual drow, however? That is ideal."

"Alright, so we have some useful information – or a possible trap ahead," Elatharia surmised, scuffing her boots against the stone floor for a moment before looking at each of those gathered at the centre of the room. There was something tense in her expression, more so even than usual. "But I think we will have to meet with Phaere all the same. And we daren't be late."

No one could disagree and the group headed out into the hall from Viconia's room. Elatharia caught Imoen by the elbow at the top of the stairs once the others were descending out of sight. Jumping automatically, Imoen turned to look at her sister with far less composure than she had intended. She had been expecting Elatharia to complain about her lack of planning…but instead saw that the Transmuter only looked thoughtful – beyond her tension, of course.

"The temple of Lolth drew you forward, didn't it?" Elatharia asked softly, and for a moment Imoen balked. Her sister just raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Yeah," the aasimar admitted, deflating. "It was like it was…callin' to me. Like the 'Beast' knew it from old times or something." She hesitated, a little taken aback by the way Elatharia was just nodding as though she understood and not asking anything further about that strangest of phenomena. _Children of Bhaal. Silly girl, you have no idea…_ "And it was the…my soul that had me goin' up toward the palace," Imoen added warily. "Like I wanted to go right there, even though I shouldn't have. If Solaufein hadn't done stopped me, I'm not sure what I'd have done."

"Then we do both feel these same…problematic…things," Elatharia sounded faintly relieved, though her face remained effectively blank. She let go of Imoen's elbow, gesturing at the stairs. "Alright. We can't go out there alone. Ever." She glanced back at the aasimar when no answer came. " _Not ever._ It's too dangerous."

"Alright, alright," Imoen held up her hands, eyes wide for effect. _Gods. I didn't done feel that one bit._

The hard line of Elatharia's mouth softened just a little at that, though the look never reached her transmuted red eyes. She seemed mollified at least, heading down the stairs after the others – and after all that had been said, Imoen was quick to follow. Still, they did not even reach the bottom of the steps before Elatharia stopped abruptly, staring past the cluster of their companions on the tavern floor.

The room was utterly dark at this time of the day, the incense candles evidently a feature for busier times of day. A few males slaves were just being threatened out of the room by a pair of large females dressed in razor-decorated black plate mail, the bartender watching from behind his stone slab bar with a look of poorly veiled fear. For the morning's only patron appeared to be Phaere Despana herself, seated at the table with a cup of some unidentified liquid that Imoen doubted was wine. Her enchanted mail glittered strangely to Imoen's darkvision as she turned to see the two sisters now warily descending the stairs, her scarred face arranged into a look of mild curiosity. By her side stood Solaufein, carefully impassive. Imoen's throat went dry all the same – could he have been lying to her? Had Jaheira been right?

"I decided it would too tiresome to await you in the fighters' society," Phaere deigned to explain, clearly amused by the suspicious looks upon the mercenaries' faces. She crossed her legs casually, black leather not even offering a whisper of sound into the quiet room. "You impressed me with your success yesterday – and my mother also. We have another task for you, one I suspect you will enjoy." Something about the way she bared her teeth into that smile made Imoen sure that they would _not_ enjoy whatever she had in store for them.

Whispering something inaudible into Haer'Dalis's ear, Viconia stepped forward a few paces, inclining her head in greeting. As she did so, the tiefling took a step back and blocked Elatharia's path through the group with one subtly angled arm. He caught Imoen's eye too, ignoring the Transmuter's glare, and shook his head faintly.

"Thank you, mistress. We are ready for your orders, as your slave forewarned," Viconia prompted. Her tone was slightly clipped, her stance tense – but Phaere seemed unbothered. Her eyes never strayed towards Imoen, though she did glance briefly at Elatharia. Whatever she saw there made a smirk tilt her lips.

"Good. I shan't waste any more of my time with you, in that case," Phaere nodded, her tone dripping with scorn. Unnoticed by her side, Solaufein struggled to hide his anger. Imoen could see the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. "We have been enduring some problems with the nearby svirfneblin town. They have been late with all of their recent payments of tribute…and we are concerned that their proximity to our city may hinder our plans for the surface. They need to be reminded that they are our vassals, not our equals."

It took a large portion of Imoen's willpower not to blanch at those words, even as her stomach dropped. All of her companions seemed just as rigid, save for Haer'Dalis. He was watching Solaufein with evident interest, though the male drow was carefully keeping his eyes trained on the far wall.

"How would you prefer us to deal with them, mistress?" Viconia asked carefully. Phaere grinned back.

"My mother requires the head and heart of their leader. Ask for an audience with him…and kill him."

* * *

Only once the group had stepped beyond the gates of Ust Natha and descended the stairway that denoted its border did Jaheira reach Viconia and haul her back around to face her. Seeing the druid's enraged expression, Elatharia bristled automatically. Sparks flared around her hands in warning as she and the rest of the group came to a stop around the two – Haer'Dalis's swords were already in his hands.

"Remove you filthy darthiir hand from my person, or I will soon give in to the temptation to break your arm," Viconia warned, pulling free the Flail of the Ages from her hip pointedly.

"If you think you are going to do this, then you will soon regret it," Jaheira snarled, though she did back up when threatened with such a weapon. Elatharia sneered at the sight of her readying her spear, Valygar stepping up to join her. Imoen was staring at this confrontation with wide eyes, the only one of the group not visibly ready for a fight. Her bow remained across her back.

"Two against three doesn't sound like fair odds to me," Elatharia reminded the druid, just as she banished the darkvision she had given to Jaheira and Valygar. The swell of amusement she felt to see them flounder in pure darkness was more distant than it should have been. It would just have to do.

"Are you saying that you intend to kill Odendal Breachgnome?" Jaheira demanded even as she stumbled backwards, the only illumination in the small stone chamber coming from the silver slash of her spear and the green glow of the cluster of mushrooms towards which she and Valygar now inched.

"Jaheira! You don't really think she'd do it…do you?" Imoen's incredulity wavered when Jaheira's expression remained grim. The aasimar sent a worried look Elatharia's way, just as Viconia shrugged.

" _Khal'abbil,_ I think this is up to you," the drow prompted, the look in her eyes proving just how much she clearly enjoyed goading Jaheira. Once Elatharia might have drawn it out just to see the druid and the ranger squirm. Now she simply sighed and shook her head, a gesture that the two blinded surfacers no doubt only just made out in the near-perfect blackness.

"I considered it," she admitted, "But it makes no sense to weaken the svirfneblin when Phaere has just so clearly stated that her mother feels at least a little threatened by them."

"A fair gambit," Haer'Dalis agreed cheerfully, just as Jaheira and Valygar were blinking into the renewed clarity of one of Imoen's darkvision spells. Elatharia met her sister's frown with a glare of her own.

"Then I take it you have a plan?" Viconia sighed as if irritated, raising her eyebrows expectantly when Elatharia nodded.

"Yes. I'm going to ask them for their best alternative. A chance to live ought to be a good enough incentive."

"I suppose I should have expected no different," Jaheira sneered, the hard look on Valygar's face by her side just as damning. Elatharia shrugged.

"If you can pray a better answer from the ground by the time we get there, druid, I am sure we will all be most intrigued to hear it," Viconia promised icily, gesturing to the far side of this small, jagged cavern, "But for now we should continue onwards. Perhaps our allies amongst the svirfneblin can help."

No one disagreed, though it looked as though Jaheira dearly wished to, and the party headed out once more. It was not a long journey to the svirfneblin town, but it was never wise to let one's guard down in the Underdark – even if Viconia had promised that their transmuted appearances would most likely put off most potential attackers. Even the predatory wildlife of this place were loathe to attack drow. And soon it was Imoen's eyes that Elatharia felt upon her as they traversed the dark tunnels.

"What is it?" she sighed under her breath, glancing towards her sister as they walked together at the back of the group. Imoen's mouth was turned down just a little, her bow gripped tightly in her hands.

"Look…I'll stick with you no matter what – you know that, right?" the aasimar asked, though Elatharia preferred not to answer. Her sister sounded strained. "But…you could at least _try_ to be decent to people."

"You could say the same to Jaheira," Elatharia pointed out a little too sharply. Imoen huffed out a sigh.

"I did. Now I'm telling you."

But if Imoen had expected some kind of answer – or even a conversation – all she received was silence. Watching the darkness, Elatharia found that she did not have any response in her that would be satisfactory. _Oh, if you only knew what I did to get you free._ It was too late for decency.

* * *

The svirfneblin greeted them as enthusiastically as they knew how – which seemed to consist mostly of staring and pointing, chattering all at once and gathering too close to the surfacers to let them pass with ease. The whole town seemed busier and less gloomy, though the ceiling of the cavern still hung oppressively low and the squat, uniform houses were as bland as before. But the market was bustling and full of many more stalls, the low rumble of heavy machinery in the distance proof enough for Elatharia to surmise that the mines were working again. And what was more, Odendal Breachgnome met them halfway to the last council building – and he met them with a smile.

"Greetings be with you, surfacers!" he called, striding towards them as quickly as his short legs could carry him. At least the throngs of curious svirfneblin parted for him and stayed a respectful distance away. Elatharia could breathe a little more easily without tiny deep gnome children tugging at her sleeves.

"How are our friends?" Valygar asked before any pleasantries could be exchanged or even offered. It was impossible to miss the flicker of worry that passed over Odendal's heavily bearded face. He stretched his arms out to them, meaty palms facing their way in a placatory gesture.

"They were wounded by the beast but slew him in the act. All are…alive. And all will heal. You may see them of course, of course. Come. They wait in a house of honour!" He turned as if to lead them on, but Jaheira's hand closed heavily on his shoulder. A ripple of unease ran through the crowd which had begun to disperse.

"How badly wounded?" the druid demanded through clenched teeth.

"The battle passed barely half a day ago," Odendal stalled, glancing at the expectant faces of the others surfacers uneasily, "And we have been administering our best healing magics. Please, it would be better if you saw them for yourselves. And then perhaps we will speak of why you returned so soon?"

"Oh, we will," Viconia promised, nodding for emphasis when Odendal looked to her with concern.

The path along which the gnome spokesman led them was different from before, turning left down a narrow side street from the main thoroughfare and up a faint incline which temporarily forced Haer'Dalis and Valygar to duck beneath the cavern ceiling. The cramped space was making Elatharia's head ache even worse than usual, a kind of instinctive panic starting to pound away her thoughts.

It was a relief when the street levelled out and the clustered little rectangular houses fell away to reveal a broad dark river rushing over ancient, smooth stone. A bridge arced over it, and upon the far bank stood a much larger building against the cavern's uneven far wall. It looked to have been constructed of several tiered cuboids, its ceilings and doors tall enough not to seem as cramped as the rest of the town. There was a garden of glowing mushrooms between the bridge and the house, each a different shade from deep blue to pale yellow, of various shapes and sizes – and all of them unfamiliar species.

As they neared this larger building, the light of the mushrooms permitting Elatharia to see in the human spectrum and without the aid of her enchanted mask, it became clear that the outer walls were covered in elaborate black frescoes depicting various rather obscure interactions between the stocky forms of svirfneblin and other races. She recognised the repeated border pattern of a star surrounded by ring of chipped flint knives as the symbol of the svirfneblin chief god, Callarduran Smoothhands. This was a temple. A place for healing. Just how badly injured were Aerie and the others?

The front door led straight into a relatively spacious hallway, its central pool of clear water lit from beneath and giving off a very gentle light. There were no showy decorations within, not even any more holy symbols; just the pool, the granite tiled floor and the barrel vaulted ceiling supported at its four corners by plain white pillars. As Odendal led them through the comparatively broader corridors of this temple and up a plain flight of stairs there was only the occasional suggestion of habitation, one or two robed svirfneblin drifting by up ahead, their deep voices echoing off the smooth, hard walls.

At last they reached a low archway and Odendal pushed aside its curtain himself, gesturing for the group to enter.

"Your friends await you within. I shall be ready for you at the Council Dwelling when the time comes."

And just like that, he left them – rather swiftly by Elatharia's reckoning. But the others were already passing through into the well-lit chambers beyond and she had to follow, momentarily dazzled by the bright lights within.

"Heh, wondered when ye'd be showin' up again," Korgan's gruff voice sounded first.

Blinking over Imoen's shoulder, Elatharia saw a well-furnished dormitory with a high, vaulted roof suitable for surfacers. It was lit with magic, numerous scented candles and a heartily crackling fireplace – all of which filled the place with a warm glow. The dwarf was propped up in a thickly cushioned chair, his face swollen and badly bruised, with a splint on his arm and a huge flagon of ale in his free hand, a large amount of froth already dripping through his grey-streaked beard. He raised it to her without any gentleness in his expression before looking away. Elatharia could hardly blame him – she had never seen him so badly injured. There were two beds waiting in this room not far from him, one rumpled and the other untouched. It looked as if he had been thus far unable to make the journey from his chair – or perhaps it was the only distance he could manage.

"It is good to see you," Mazzy was greeting Jaheira and Valygar with a measured smile, padding across the numerous soft rugs that carpeted the floor to shake their hands firmly. She was bruised as well, and limping just a little. "I see that you are still dressed as drow, even if you do not appear as them. I take it this is only a brief reunion?"

Elatharia left the explanations to Jaheira and Viconia, slipping past them to find the others. There were two doors in the far corners of the room, past a long stone table laden with curious food and drink where Haer'Dalis was already inspecting the contents of an ornate silver jug. Voices were emanating through the one open doorway, and as Elatharia approached she recognised them as Aerie and Jan. It sounded as though they were deep in discussion…about a mathematical problem.

Stopping in the doorway, Elatharia saw that the pair were leaning over a small round table covered in sheets of parchment full of tiny notes and numerous circular diagrams. The avariel was perched on the edge of a disastrously unmade bed, the gnome teetering on a three-legged stool across from her. There was another much neater bed in the room behind Jan, the armour piled at its foot proving it to be Mazzy's.

It took a moment for Aerie to notice the Transmuter standing in the doorway, for Elatharia was far more intrigued by the papers she and Jan were perusing than by any semblance of greetings. But the avariel's tired face lit up when she saw her and she scrambled to her dainty bare feet, rushing forwards to fling her arms around the Transmuter. Behind them Haer'Dalis laughed to see the impact – which only forced Elatharia to stagger back, wincing.

"Oh, you're ok!" Aerie exclaimed, squeezing Elatharia until she patted her back awkwardly. The avariel's mass of blonde hair smelled strongly of peculiar svirfneblin soap, free now of feathers and braids. As she stepped back, her pleased expression settling into something a great deal more like guilt, Elatharia saw that Aerie was wearing a long white nightgown although there were no injuries visible. She did look a shade too pale, however.

"We survived the demon," Jan offered, still twiddling a quill over the papers on the table, pushing his goggles onto his forehead as he looked across the small bedroom at the returned Bhaalspawn. There was a cut on his cheek, but he too seemed in full health. Of all of them he was dressed most typically in his black cloth-and-leather robes. "Nearly killed our high and mighty Helmite, and Korgan's a bit on the grumpy side, but we seem to have succeeded."

Aerie's expression only fell further as the gnome spoke and Elatharia's eyebrows rose. The avariel was soon looking up at her with wide, slightly frightened eyes – as if she expected some kind of reprimand for what had happened. She chewed her lip nervously, glancing past Elatharia to where Mazzy was speaking with Jaheira, Valygar and Viconia about recent events.

"I th-think it's p-probably my…my fault," Aerie admitted, her cheeks growing pink as she visibly fought off tears. "I argued with…with Anomen about h-helping the svirfneblin and…and then he went and th-threw himself at that d-demon…"

"If he hadn't I'm fairly sure the demon would have done worse than skewer him just the once, Wingless." Jan's tone suggested that he thought this was suitable consolation. Instead, Aerie stared down at her feet, chin trembling.

"That does sound like battle," Elatharia agreed. There were companions she cared more for than Anomen, after all. "Is he…conscious?"

"No," Aerie shook her head much to Elatharia's relief, the avariel's eyes straying to the closed door opposite her own room. "He's…he's sleeping. The p-priests said he should be able to try walking by…by tomorrow maybe." She seemed to visibly shake free of her self-pity, looking up quickly into the Transmuter's eyes. "B-but what are you doing here? Is it time to leave?"

"I'm afraid not. We're here on drow business," Elatharia admitted, "And it's business I know you won't like."

* * *

Odendal and Lulthiss had greeted Elatharia and her companions – along with Jan and Mazzy – with calm, distant smiles in a small meeting room whose single cramped doorway was guarded by just two svirfneblin warriors. Their greyish skin visibly paled once Phaere's orders had been relayed to them in full and they sat in silence upon their graven seats for several long seconds.

"I take it you do have a leader?" Viconia prompted impatiently into the stillness, trading a hard look with Mazzy as the halfling stepped up to her side at the front of the group.

"Do they know what your leader looks like?" the paladin asked more gently as the two deep gnomes turned to each other.

"I am the leader – the 'king' of this town," Odendal admitted at last, watching the group with wide eyes. "And I do doubt that they would ever recognise me."

"Drow believe you all look the same, no doubt," Haer'Dalis suggested, a sense of bitterness hiding beneath his apparently light-hearted tone.

"Indeed, indeed," Lulthiss nodded, shaking her head at Odendal as if she had read his mind. "No time for the council in this, not at all. The head and heart of a convict you shall have…and the king's helm." She ignored Odendal's initial disagreements, and Elatharia wondered who was the real leader here.

"You must be queen here!" Jan exclaimed after moment's pause, bowing low with a wide grin when Lulthiss looked his way. He shrugged to Elatharia as he stood straight. "Drow don't know it, but svirfneblin have two rulers. The king," he gestured first to Odendal and then to Lulthiss. "And the queen. With an overlarge council to back them when they feel like it."

"Luckily for you they only asked for the 'leader'," Elatharia said, and Lulthiss's hands tensed upon her chair's armrests as if she recognised the Transmuter's expression. "Would you have had two convicts to throw away to save yourselves if they had wanted both of you?" She ignored the jab of her sister's elbow.

"I suspect they would have managed," Viconia sneered.

"Just give us the…items and we will be on our way," Jaheira sighed, and Odendal was on his feet and disappearing through a side door with no further encouragement.

"And you are sure that there will be no suspicion?" Haer'Dalis inquired. "'Twould be most unfavourable if we faced another round of whippings. At best." Viconia nodded, and Lulthiss opened her mouth to answer – but it was Imoen who spoke first.

"Burn the head," the aasimar blurted, reddening when all eyes turned to her in disbelief. "It's not like they'll done care that much , is it?"

"It _is_ a good idea, yes," Lulthiss agreed, her heavily accented voice full of relief as she spoke over the initial protests of Mazzy and Valygar. The svirfneblin queen stood slowly when Odendal returned, his posture far more assertive now that things were settled.

"The guards will hand over what you need," he promised. "And now it is best that you go. We must make our own preparations to leave."

Though the dismissal was rather abrupt, no one argued. Elatharia caught Imoen's eye as they headed out of the Council Dwelling and back into the streets of the svirfneblin town.

"I take it you expect me to cast this fire spell?" she asked. Imoen's expression was far too innocent when she looked back at her.

"Your spells've always been stronger than mine," the aasimar agreed.

Soul or no soul, it would be gruesome, messy work.

* * *

"I…I don't like to see them leave," Aerie mumbled as they watched Elatharia, Jaheira and the others depart through the main city gates, a heavily guarded archway of undecorated stone across the river. It was hard to make them out from this distance, for her body was still too weak to carry her beyond the temple grounds. Instead Mazzy had helped her to the mushroom gardens on the roof of the building so that they could wave their friends off.

The small group paused after an exchange between the city guards, and a bloom of Elatharia's blue-white Alteration magic swelled around the distant Transmuter and her companions. Their forms changed visibly as they took on their drow facades and the gates were opened for them. One figure glanced back and raised a hand as Aerie waved but the others never paused.

"They seemed better off than us at least," Mazzy offered, patting Aerie's hand where it rested on her shoulder. The reminder of their injuries only made Aerie deflate more – Korgan had rather violently refused to come up to the roof with them, only half-decent in his manner with Mazzy, and Anomen was still too badly injured to do more than sit up in bed, pale and pained, sipping on some soup. Aerie's heart ached to think of him.

"I…I suppose," Aerie said, wobbling at little as they started to turn back for the stairs down. "I j-just hope they can k-keep themselves safe. Can't we just ask the…the svirfneblin for a guide and get to the surface?"

"The way is held by the drow," Odendal's deep voice informed sadly, coming into view once Aerie had managed to turn around fully. He and Lulthiss looked to have just reached the roof, both dressed in the plain tunics and trousers of the merchants on the street. Odendal had shaved his thick beard off, leaving his head as bald as the others of his kin, and Lulthiss was carrying a staff at her side that sparked with magic to Aerie's practiced senses. Both bore heavy looking bags upon their broad backs.

"Stands it does between and beyond our cities – but the land is with the drow," Lulthiss explained, "From there will they battle with the surface elves until they can break out upon the sun-lit lands and work their ill intent."

"They intended to kill you to put this town in disarray, to stop you from slowing them down," Mazzy realised, and both deep gnomes nodded.

"A cunning plan," Jan agreed, "And now you intend to flee? Doesn't that mean they won after all?"

"Not so," Lulthiss shook her head, hesitating and looking to Odendal when her command of the language failed her. Aerie wondered why the svirfneblin Conjurer did not wear one of the translation rings as he did – pride, perhaps?

"We go now to ask for the aid of our more powerful kin in Blingdenstone and further afield. It will get us out of the settlement and away from drow eyes who might learn of your companions' deceit, and we will bring reinforcements to hold back the tide of the drow when they march their armies upon the Temple of the Field of the Battle."

Mazzy was smiling broadly at this, and Aerie managed to mirror the expression when the halfling looked up at her hopefully. But inside she feared for the suffering and death this would bring. She had always tried to avoid violence in favour of more gentle methods, but with dangerous folk like the drow so close by it seemed impossible. Lulthiss read her emotions all the same, her broad face showing understanding as she stepped forward and squeezed the Aerie's's arm.

"Fear not, avariel. Our council will look after you well, indeed. And we will help you to the surface – your friends also, if it can be done. There is no other way to the lands above, otherwise we would tell it to you – indeed, indeed."

Thus with a few fairly stern nods the two svirfneblin departed also, apparently travelling with only one pair of lightly armoured guards. Aerie watched them cross the bridge as well and could not fight off the tightness in her throat as she turned and stumbled to the doorway down without Mazzy's aid. The halfling seemed to recognise her intention, for she did not attempt to help, merely following with Jan until they reached their dormitory – where Korgan was already snoring sprawled out upon his bed, his flagon pouring a thin stream of ale steadily upon the rug. Mazzy went to extract it from his oblivious hand without a word and Jan headed off to collect his notes.

By the time she reached Anomen's door, Aerie was dizzy and shaking from the spell fatigue which had plagued her since the battle against the demon. Her hand was trembling from more than this as she knocked. Her heart jolted when he called out an answer and it took up an uncomfortable pounding as she stepped inside, seeing him sitting up in bed with that bowl of soup perched on his lap, his torso still heavily bandaged and his skin ashen. There was a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow, but he smiled when he saw her. His warm eyes veritably lit up, and the gladness of his manner drew a tentative smile from her as she shut the door and slid into the small seat by his bed.

"Aerie," he said her name like a blessing, reaching out to envelop one of her hands in his much larger one. His skin was warm, but no longer hot with fever. Relieved, she relaxed a little more. "It is good to see you. Are you feeling any better?"

 _Was_ _ **she**_ _feeling any better?_ Aerie balked at him momentarily, but he only smiled gently in return.

"I'm…I'm f-feeling stronger, yes. How…how are you?"

"Eating soup; sitting up," Anomen gestured at the small, windowless room – until his action upset the bowl and he was forced to catch it quickly. A pained groan escaped him and he leaned his head back slowly against the wall, letting air out from his lungs in a long, weary sigh, eyes closed tightly. "Though you may have to remind me the next time we fight a demon to wear stronger plate mail." He squeezed her hand as if in apology. "So…I heard that the others were here earlier?"

"They were. Th-they've gone now. I…I didn't want to ask what the d-drow sent them here for, but Mazzy promised it was d-dealt with safely."

"Good," Anomen sighed, still not opening his eyes. A moment passed before Aerie could not take the silence.

"Anomen, I'm…you need to know that I'm…I'm so s-sorry," she blurted, leaning forward and taking his hand in both of hers. He lifted his head to watch her, eyes widening, but she continued all the same. Even as her voice cracked and the tears threatened to spill. "I n-never meant to question your g-goodness or y-your willingness to…to help the svirfneblin! I was just so...so afraid of this place. There's n-no sky or weather or…or light and I wasn't made for this! And I'm…I'm sorry. I spoke to you like that and then you nearly _died_ and if the priest hadn't g-got to you…"

Anomen watched her for a moment, placing the bowl of soup onto the table at her elbow before catching her face in both of his hands, heedless of any pain it might cause him, and pulling her gently but firmly towards him, kissing her softly. Startled, she froze for a second, her hands braced against the sheets, and then the warmth and insistence of his lips against hers dissolved her panic. She answered his kiss, though it was far from glamourous with all those tears that were still falling. Every time she attempted to speak, to apologise, he silenced her mouth with his own until at last a laugh escape her, though it still felt like more of a sob.

"A-alright," she sniffled, sliding her arms around him and leaning down to press her head against his heart. It was beating steadily. And she had no recollection of how she had come to be kneeling across him in such a…casual…way, especially with the way her long skirt had bunched up around her legs…but it felt right to her body. Frighteningly right.

Just like that the comfort of the moment fluttered away, every sense too aware, but she stayed in his arms because it felt wrong to deny him the comfort. He seemed happy at least, and did not ask for more than that kiss. She left only once it became clear from his slowing breathing and the lolling of his head above her own that he needed to sleep. She felt strangely guilty as she bid him goodnight and tiptoed unsteadily from the room to find only the fire still crackling in the central dormitory. Korgan was snoring, Jan lying with his back to her. But even by the time she had returned to her own bed from a sojourn to the washroom, she could make out Mazzy's small form in the gloom, waiting for her upon the opposite bed.

"He holds no grudge, as I predicted," the paladin noted as Aerie crawled into bed, her smile evident in her tone. Jan had at least cleared up the notes they had been working on and taken the table and stool out with him. "I remember those times. When my husband and I used to argue, it was always forgiven by morning. Love is a wonderful bond, when it is true."

Aerie's eyes widened as she stared up at the ceiling.

"L-love?" she echoed hoarsely. Did he love her?

Mazzy laughed softly.

"It is alright, Aerie. He cares for you, clearly. And you for him. Do you not feel better to know that all is well between you?"

Did she? Aerie swallowed hard, and a long sigh escaped her.

"I…I don't know," she admitted softly. "M-maybe it's j-just too dark down here to…to think clearly."

She turned to face the wall before the halfling could say more to her, muttering a swift goodnight. But her eyes would not close for a long time, her limbs heavy with doubt and her heart aching with worry and guilt. Would things be clearer on the surface?

* * *

He was going to be late. How had he let the time slipped away from him so badly? The Masters had given him this test, to humiliate him, and he simply could not let it go until he had seen the smug smirks wiped from their faces. (They looked down on him. They told him that he would fail, that he would never earn his first tattoo, that he would never wear the Red. And they gave him the lash when he promised them he would prove them wrong.)

And now they would make him late to see his own father. His neck was so terribly sore from all the writing. It was rare enough for his father to ask for him back at Surthay, and the journey from Thaymount was such a long one. He could not be late! But the vast hallways of his father's castle stretched on endlessly, blindingly white marble and rows of mirrors reflecting the sunlight and dazzling his tired eyes. (Had they always been this labyrinthine? Had their hard floors always been this muffled?)

But when at last he reached the huge graven doors to his father's meeting room, polished wood carved into the shapes of twin eagles, it was not Homen Odesseiron's study into which he stepped. Instead, the doors opened into darkness – darkness into which he was roughly shoved by some unseen force. And he was no longer a ten year old boy new to Thaymount. Now he was a man, a Red Wizard, and dressed as one.

The darkness faded as he stared, revealing a bare grey stone chamber, spotless of dust, and upon the floor before him lay the bloody body of Degardan. Just the sight of the bastard made him want to beat him some more, though he was surely dead. Damn him! None of this would have happened if that fireball had not gone so awry all those years ago, before they had given him first tattoo, before they had given him the Red. His hands balled into fists and he felt dampness upon his fingers, his palms.

The anger oozed out of him and a strange sense of dread took its place; the heavy, creeping feeling of absolute knowing guilt. He stared down at his palms and saw the blood covering them. His arms were slick with it, all the way to his elbows where it stained the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt. He could barely make out the black lines of his tattoos for the thick, congealing redness. Well. It was hardly the first time. So why did he feel so…horrified?

His eyes rose against his will and alighted upon the torn, tattered body lying sprawled across the metal table which had not been there but a moment before. It took a moment for him to recognise her – and gods, what was left but for the green of her eyes and the tangled mess of her dark hair? The blood that covered his arms also covered her. (It _oozed_ from her, barely a pulse left.) Was she…still alive?

It took a moment to realise it, but he could see the rise and fall of her ribs, the flutter of her heart. And she looked at him, with eyes bloodshot from the screaming, eyes that begged him to kill her. He could only watch as those innumerable wounds knitted closed, as she screamed from the pain of it once she had the strength to do so. He saw the scars she would have had. And it filled him with rage…

Consciousness rushed to meet him with a sudden start, and Edwin sat up with a gasp before he could even contemplate where he was. The flicker of Ust Natha's night-time lights through the open shutters soon reminded him; that and the small, black-walled room with the jagged ebony door.

Still breathing heavily, his heart thundering, the Conjurer pushed aside the oppressive tangle of black silken sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though dressed only in a spare pair of loose black trousers, he was drenched in sweat – but his skin burned, his arms trembling as he raked his hands back through his hair. His breath was ragged and his stomach was tense and painful. Increasingly so. He lunged for the washing bucket, vomiting until he had nothing left to bring up. His head spinning, eyes stinging, it took several shaky breaths before he dared kneel up again, his hands almost refusing to release their vicelike grip upon the rim of the bucket. (Poison. It had to be poison…)

His mind whirring, even through the descending crush of a terrible headache, Edwin listed his symptoms, fairly crawling to the mirror in the wall as he did so. In the low light he could make out his own slumped figure looking back at him, torso glistening with sweat but otherwise unchanged, patterned with the dark and uninterrupted lines of his various protective and augmentative tattoos. The golden necklace of his family still rested safely around his neck, its red jewel glinting in the light. His arms were the same, though they shook as he raised them. Running his fingertips along his hairline, he summoned light to help him check his eyes, his mouth, the colour of his skin. He was a little pale perhaps, his eyes burning in the light even after a fair length of time. His temples were pounding, his neck sore as well.

Ah.

He tilted his head slowly to the side, wincing as the skin burned uncomfortably, and there the light revealed to him a jagged and bloody wound which surely merited far greater pain than this. His stomach lurched, and his arms fell to his sides. He cursed – loudly and violently.

No poison. Bodhi. He saw his teeth bare in anger. Had her brother sent him those dreams? Who else could learn such things? Beyond Bodhi and the Red Wizards, only Irenicus could know of Degardan, only Irenicus knew of what had been done to Elatharia. They wanted to break him and there was only one reason - they must have known all along about the protection keeping him from their magical commands and probing.

Edwin's eyes showed fear as he stared back at himself in the mirror. But fear, like all things, could be controlled. And vampirism, like all diseases, could be cured. His hatred would not be so fickle.


	51. Weaving a Web: Part 2

**As ever, a big thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed this story, and to everyone out there reading it in general. Your kind comments and support are greatly appreciated!  
And, since a few of you who reviewed seemed concerned that I might not finish this - I promise I most certainly will! ^^ **

* * *

**Chapter 50: Weaving a Web Part 2**

* * *

Few things were more frustrating than prey that would neither flee for the chase nor lie down and die. Bodhi cursed, pushing herself back from the table sharply and standing as her chair screeched across the cold stone floor. Her brother turned to her with only a faint lift of the eyebrows, though his eyes hardened when she cursed again.

"He resists," Joneleth stated, and Bodhi sent him a frustrated glare.

"I can barely glimpse his thoughts, even after tasting his blood!" She wanted to rip out the Red Wizard's throat and drain him dry but that would hardly help matters. Apart from perhaps her mood. "And even those are just…shadows upon shadows."

"He succumbed to the memories," Irenicus promised, reaching for his cloak without so much as a sigh. "Clearly it is all we will get from him – for now. There is still time."

Bodhi ground her teeth, watching him stride across the chamber from his writing stand, pulling up his hood as he went. He held the door for her, looking back with a patient manner that must surely have hidden his own irritation. Blowing out a long, unnecessary breath, Bodhi forced her hands to unfurl, smoothing the layered diaphanous fabrics of her drow dress before crossing towards her brother from the long table. It had been just two days since they had Edwin sitting there, promising to tell them everything!

Irenicus caught her shoulder as she was about to pass through the door and she tensed, every instinct begging her to lunge at him, too.

"Do not be rash, sister. He will serve as our bait all the same, when the time comes. Surely you do not truly need his help to overcome two soulless Bhaalspawn and their lackeys, should they ever come looking for us?" His tone was stern, his words painfully correct. Bodhi nodded stiffly, though the idea of such dull, measured persistence did nothing to brighten her mood.

Still, they had a meeting with the Matron and her daughter; perhaps the wizard would remember his place when faced with such power. Perhaps he would learn to truly fear, as he should, after they explained their plan. Indeed, he was waiting for them by the stairs just as expected, his skin pallid and clammy and his collar pulled up high to hide the delicious wound she had left in his throat. He was clutching the bannister, though he tried to hide it, his tall frame bowed just a little, and his eyes widened subliminally when he saw the siblings coming his way.

"Feeling unwell, Edwin?" Bodhi drawled, smiling when his face tensed even more and he looked away sharply. "No sneering words? No glares today? Whatever could be the matter?"

"Sister," Irenicus snapped over her shoulder, moving past them both for the narrow, winding stairs, "We haven't the time for this."

"Of course, brother," Bodhi pretended to simper, sparing a mutinous glare for his back before pushing at Edwin for the wizard to follow. "Come along, pet of mine. We've a meeting with the matron who would have your head."

The Red Wizard did not speak, his lips pressing together as if he were holding back his words, and he did as she bade him, trying needlessly hard to hide the wobble in his step as they descended. Bodhi took some comfort in this; it did feel like the beginning of a victory after all. _Whatever you are hiding, Conjurer, I will tear it from you – whether by words or spell, coercion or blackmail or torture._ From the way his arms tensed, it looked as if he had heard her. That was an improvement.

Well, there would be chances enough for all of those things soon – but for the time being their focus had to remain upon Matron Ardulace and her city. And ever eager, she was waiting in her throne room with Phaere by her side when Bodhi arrived with Irenicus and Edwin. Ardulace greeted them cordially enough, her voice caught in that eternal sneer like all the drow in this place. She was not pretending to trust them – the room was lined with guards, and Phaere's male lackey, Solaufein, sulked a few paces back as Bodhi approached, waving for Edwin to stay a respectful distance away by the door to the stairs. And for once the Red Wizard did not even think to argue.

"You have arrived just on time, Irenicus," Ardulace was saying, toying with the handle of her whip as she glanced at her daughter. The matron was dressed in plain black mithral today, the snake heads of her whip coiled around her booted leg. Phaere just smirked back at her, but her red eyes were hard. "Ust Natha's archmage just brought some…interesting news."

"I take it that you have the ingredients you will need for the summoning then, mistress?" Irenicus asked, so painfully deferential. Bodhi could not stop the look of confusion that must have shown plainly upon her face – how had he not told her of this? Beside Ardulace, Phaere caught her eye.

" _Meet me in my room once Mother has said her piece. I have something to show you,_ " the eldest daughter of House Despana signed quickly. Meanwhile, Matron Ardulace was grinning in a way that proved whatever plan she was about to explain was one of extravagant malevolence.

"He brought to us all of the ingredients that he could, yes," she nodded slyly, "But there are some things which we will need that we do not yet possess."

"Pray tell, mistress," Irenicus prompted. Bodhi fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ardulace held his stare with supreme confidence, leaning forward for effect as she spoke.

"Six dragon's eggs. An offering for the demon."

"Of course," Irenicus shrugged. "Do you have a target in mind?"

"A silver dragon, long a friend of the sun elves, who lives in the cliff face overlooking the sea not far from here. My scouts told me some forty days ago that she had walled her cave in while she laid and incubated her eggs. They should be the perfect size by now."

"Good. A good choice, mistress," Irenicus agreed smoothly. He folded his arms, affecting concern. "My sister and I are busy with the preparations for the assault on Suldanessellar. But perhaps I can spare a day to…"

"No need!" Ardulace seemed positively gleeful, turning fully to her daughter now and gesturing at Solaufein. "My daughter's manservant and his mercenary lackeys can take care of this, I am sure."

The tension that showed between the three drow was palpable, so clear that Bodhi had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Ardulace's smirk was brittle and Phaere's glare was fierce. Solaufein's frown was deep and hateful. But all the matron's daughter said was:

"Of course, Mother. They will have them for you within days." And Solaufein gave a low and insincere bow.

With this settled, Matron Ardulace rose from her throne and stepped down towards Irenicus, barely sparing a look Bodhi's way before calling him off with her to discuss battle plans and whatever summoning it was that they intended. Most of the guards went with them, and Bodhi watched it all with a disbelieving sneer. It was not long before only she, Phaere, Solaufein and Edwin remained.

"Your mother is very sure of your loyalty," Bodhi fairly yawned as Phaere approached.

"She is a fool," the drow agreed, brushing the vampire's shoulder with her gloved hand and nodding towards the stairs. "And she will learn her lesson. Come, I've something to show you that might make you feel better."

"Was it that obvious?" Bodhi asked, and received only a faint smile from the drow priestess before they set out for Phaere's room. She sent Edwin away, bored of his vacancy, but Solaufein followed them at his mistress's snarled command.

The Despana quarters were situated in an entirely different wing from those allocated to Bodhi and her brother. Here the corridors were taller and broader, silver layers of elaborate decoration heated from behind so that the whole place glowed dramatically in the human spectrum and infravision. It shimmered delicately to Bodhi's darkvision, much like Phaere's mithral tunic.

The drow priestess's room stood at the far end of the top floor, warded by a door aglow with powerful magic and held shut with several keys. Within, it was spacious and circular with a long window curving across one half of the chamber, overlooking the complex web of the city. A tall bed stood upon a warded platform across a sea of thick spider-patterned carpet, and Phaere went straight to a locked armoire at its foot, speaking a command to open it. A flash of light accompanied the word and the hinges of the lid turned smoothly under their own power.

Solaufein had moved to the window and was looking through the enchanted glass with his arms behind his back, entirely unmoved by this implied mutiny. He was a good liar, and a terrible bore. Bodhi turned from him readily, an intrigued smile rising to her face as Phaere moved to the long table at the centre of the room, placing a heavy cloth-wrapped oblong upon the polished surface and waving Bodhi over with a smug expression.

"Here is matron Ardulace's downfall," Phaere promised, unfurled the cloth to reveal a smooth, silver egg. It was as large as a person's head and probably at least as heavy; Bodhi could see her own face staring back at her as she leaned over to inspect the reflective surface. Had she needed to breathe, her breath might have caught. As it was, she gave in to a delighted laugh, looking up into Phaere's eyes. The priestess was smirking at her, so proud of herself.

"A dragon's egg?" Bodhi breathed.

"A _fake_ dragon's egg," Phaere corrected firmly. "And I have five more where this came from." her face turned hard as she looked to Solaufein's back. "You, male – you and the mercenaries will acquire the true eggs for me." She met Bodhi's delighted eyes with a determined look of her own. "And these will then be passed on to Matron Ardulace. When the time comes to summon the demon who will bolster our forces, she will give him the fakes and he will end her. I will be there to offer the true eggs…and to claim House Despana."

* * *

Phaere had been rather brief with Elatharia and Viconia when they went to take the charred remains of the svirfneblin to her. Imoen had barely noticed her sister's absence before she returned with the welcome news that their mistress had permitted them a day's rest. She had also finally handed over the pay they were due as mercenaries; Viconia promptly left with Haer'Dalis to acquire some provisions and a spare tunic for the tiefling, whose original drow clothing had been torn up after his assault.

Valygar and Jaheira were more than a little brooding, preferring to have Imoen by their side without wanting to extend themselves into a conversation with her. The ranger was clearly a man of few words; Jaheira just did not seem to know how to talk to her anymore. Meanwhile, Elatharia had shut herself off in her room with her spellbook and a pile of scrolls – none of which Imoen recognised. She had been unresponsive to conversation as a result, but at least Imoen's sister did not look at her as if she were a ghost.

So Imoen had been watching the city, aided by a few _Longsight_ spells, and it had soon become evident that a change was coming. When the market was cleared away for the evening, the area began to bustle with soldiers and their tents. Gradually the whole cavern floor filled with them, and when Imoen had gone to Viconia the Sharan priestess had told her grimly that this was Matron Ardulace's army preparing to leave for war, no doubt beginning with _Mag in Chatha_.

The group had eaten together, in tired silence, and all retired to bed early. The darkness continued to confuse Imoen; even in Spellhold the lights had gone out at night and not the other way around. Even with _Darkvision_ it was hard not to feel the fuzzy weight of the gloom all around them, the prolonged lack of light telling every surfacer instinct that it was time to be in asleep.

"Don't you think we could go out for a walk or something before bed, Elatharia?" Imoen was wheedling as they ascended the stairs to their room, their companions no doubt intending to follow shortly afterward. "We've been cooped up in here all day n' I don't think I could sleep without even a little bit of exercise!"

They rounded the curve in the stairway, and Elatharia's response caught in her throat as the landing came into view. Solaufein had been waiting for them on the bench by their door, but as they now approached him with wary silence he stood sharply, his expression grave…and more earnest than Imoen had seen from any of the other drow in this place.

"What do you want?" Elatharia demanded, her next words following with wary slowness, "Why do I get the feeling this isn't official business from Phaere?"

"It isn't," Solaufein agreed, his eyes straying to Imoen. "But I am here with information that you may find useful. Whatever your motivation, what I have to say may help us all."

"Alright," Elatharia folded her arms, stopping before him as if she expected him to speak right there on the landing where anyone could overhear. "But why should I let you into my room without proof that you aren't here to do us harm?"

Solaufein seemed to fight off a habitual glare at that, hesitating as if he had intended to argue. Viconia and the others were just coming up the stairs behind Imoen now and he watched them closely as they formed up behind Elatharia. After a moment he reached for the buckle of his swordbelt, undoing it.

"I am still armed, but take this as a gesture of my honesty," he grunted, sidestepping past the Transmuter and offering the swordbelt to Imoen. Surprised, she took it in silence. The blades were startlingly light. "And in case you had forgotten, wizardess…I am one against six."

"That is as it should be, I think," Elatharia disagreed, but did unlock the door, holding it as they all trooped inside. There was only one chair within, along with the two beds, but no one made a move to sit.

"You have some information for us, male?" Viconia asked, and Solaufein nodded, diving into his explanation without any preamble.

"Phaere and Ardulace intend to summon a demon to bolster the city's army. For this they will need six of a dragon's eggs…"

"…And they intend to use those of the silver dragon close by," Viconia finished in immediate understanding. Solaufein grimaced and nodded – and Imoen's heart jolted at the thought. For a moment the feeling dizzied her – every instinct promised her that such a thing was wrong, but the void in her heart failed to explain it. _No soul_.

"Yes. But Phaere intends for you to bring the eggs to her, and for you to then take some false eggs to her mother. I saw the fakes not long ago, locked safely away in her room at House Despana."

"She intends for the demon to kill Ardulace," Elatharia nodded thoughtfully. She shrugged. "It sounds like she's doing the city a favour."

"We can't just go and take some eggs from a silver dragon!" Imoen exclaimed, widening her eyes when her sister looked at her quizzically. "I wouldn't do that to any dragon!"

"Dragon's eggs are accepted magical components," Elatharia reminded her mildly. "We've killed dragons before. What difference will this make?"

"This would make no improvement upon the Balance," Jaheira pointed out, "The other dragons we killed were all responsible for disrupting the natural order. Killing this one would only make things worse."

Solaufein looked at the disguised druid with some significant confusion but nodded slowly all the same.

"I am here to suggest a better way…"

"Fake eggs for both of them, not just Ardulace!" Imoen blurted. Solaufein's face actually softened at that – it looked for a moment as if he might smile. "I can break into Phaere's…wherever she's keepin' the fake eggs and bring them to E…to Veldrin. You can make another set of fakes, right?"

Elatharia looked sceptical, but agreed. Behind her, Viconia and Haer'Dalis wore expressions of relief and intrigue respectively – it was Jaheira who stepped up to argue.

"That sounds like a death wish," she snapped, "Send Solaufein. He must be able to break through on his own."

"Not so, mistress…Sziithra," the drow warrior sighed, sparing her his most begrudging look. "Or else I would have done so already. The guards will only let Phaere herself pass. But I do know the pass phrases required to get you in," he added. Imoen forced herself to grin…because that was what it felt like she would have done. _Before…_

"It'll be just like old times!" the aasimar promised her sister, who rolled her eyes. _Except for the torture n' all._

"I can transmute you to look like her," Elatharia said at last, though Jaheira looked ready to forcibly stop Imoen. "But I can't guarantee they wouldn't see past it."

"They fear her too much to question her," Solaufein promised. "She will be with her mother amongst the troops at the moment, but the guards would never think it strange for her to return briefly."

"What if this gets out?" Valygar asked, but the drow was already shaking his head.

"Ched Nasad must be stranger than I had thought. No guard here would ever think to question their mistress."

"Not something mercenaries know much about, sadly," Viconia offered, glaring at Jaheira and Valygar. "Your sister is right, Veldrin," she told Elatharia, "This is the best way. We may have to see the dragon – Adalon – but we will not need to take her eggs. She may even be pleased to hear that we have rendered her aid."

"We could persuade her to fight against the Matron's army," Imoen suggested. Solaufein's eyes widened, but he looked more impressed than horrified.

"If we _aren't_ taking the eggs, that _is_ the only reason I'd have for seeking out a dragon at this time," Elatharia agreed, refusing to meet her sister's eyes when the aasimar attempted to send her a reproachful look.

"We should set out soon," Solaufein put in, looking at all of them as if he had no idea what to make of them. "We do not have long before Phaere could come back."

"Alright," Imoen nodded forcefully, squaring her shoulders. "Cast it, sis. I'm ready."

* * *

Transmutations could be so much more disconcerting than Illusions. Where the latter simply changed the subject's appearance to the outside world, the former physically altered everything where necessary. And unlike the spell that Elatharia had favoured for their group, this one had shifted Imoen into a significantly different form. Phaere was smaller but broader and more muscular than the aasimar, and consequently a great deal heavier. After a brief moment or two of staggering from foot to foot, Imoen had been forced to cast a _Strength_ spell upon herself just to look comfortable in her new body.

Even more problematic was the wide scar that dominated one half of Phaere's face; it entirely disrupted Imoen's natural expressions and left her feeling blank and stiff. The drow's long braid of white hair was distracting to boot – the aasimar had always preferred to avoid such length in favour for manoeuvrability. And of course her eyes had entirely refused the necessary alteration to Phaere's infravision-red. The problem had been averted by Elatharia's mask, tied blindfold-style around her head. It leant her darkvision all the same and thus did nothing to impede her sight, transmuted into the necessary red eyes. It felt wrong, though. Even if no one else could see it, she could feel the strip of cloth covering her eyes.

"You sure she was wearing this when she left?" Imoen hissed to Solaufein as they reconvened outside House Despana. He had made the journey separately from her before the Transmutation had been completed and now took in her changed appearance with some evident disquiet as she lowered her hood. With any luck no one had followed her from the tavern.

"I am certain," Solaufein promised, bowing pointedly just as he would to the real Phaere. Beneath her cloak – which only _looked_ like a noble's inky black piwafwi – her leathers had been transmuted to appear as Phaere's black chain shirt and dark leggings. The ridged boots were pointed at the ends, and more than a little uncomfortable. Solaufein took all of this in as he straightened, his brow furrowing. "Your sister has a remarkable eye for detail. Had you not first addressed me, I would have assumed you _were_ my mistress."

Imoen shifted awkwardly, looking about herself and seeing that there were no drow upon the walkway. The whole city seemed deserted up here – everyone was gathering upon the cavern floor from the noble houses and the temples. Solaufein had chosen the perfect time for the most dangerous heist of her life.

"And you're sure we couldn't just climb in through a window? I'm not sure I can outrun anyone in these boots."

"Can you not banish the Transmutation yourself? You have some wizarding skill, do you not?"

Imoen had to hold back a cringe at that. _Some wizarding skill. Ha!_ And of course she could not take away Elatharia's Transmutation! Beneath it she was a pink-haired aasimar in torn drow leathers with an enchanted strip of black cloth across her eyes! But she just shook her head in the face of Solaufein's innocence.

"No. Too difficult." _Easy as pie…but dangerous as all the Hells combined._

Solaufein just acceded her lie with a half-nod and turned for the waiting gates of House Despana. As he had forewarned her, the doors began to grind open as soon as Imoen approached and she stepped through ahead of her drow companion the moment there was space to do so. Once within, she was immediately aware of the vast and elaborately alien drow architecture of Matron Despana's throne room – and of the four guards hauling the doors open. Across the room there was a tall archway, guarded by a further two drow males. There were other less showy doorways beyond the pillars lining the room, but none of these would get her to where she needed to be.

It took every ounce of concentration to remember and fulfil the instructions Solaufein had given her. _Keep your face hard and your eyes up – do not look around at any of the decoration. Never address the guards. Expect them to step aside for you and do not hesitate on your course. If any females cross your path, ignore them. If they confront you, promise them pain for asking._

Her legs carried her steadily across the hall, though Imoen felt certain they ought to have been wobbling as if she were at sea. She was halfway across before she realised she had been holding her breath. It shook a little as she released it, but no one was looking directly at her. The guards ahead did not question her, just as Solaufein had promised, uncrossing their halberds and letting her past without a second glance.

Only once the silver-tiled corridor ahead had curved beyond the sight of the guards did Solaufein move ahead of Imoen. He led her through the eerily quiet pathways of House Despana at an anxious speed and it was all she could do not to trip in her transmuted boots. By the time they ascended the last tall but languidly curving staircase, Imoen's head was reeling from the sheer scale of the unfamiliar palace.

Imoen's heart fairly stopped when Solaufein did, and only her momentum carried her a step or two past him into the corridor ahead – along which approached a tall and heavily armoured drow priestess. She had already made eye contact, contrary to Solaufein's instructions, and the unknown female's face hardened suspiciously. The aasimar's hand went to the dagger on her hip. Apparently Phaere did not often travel with a snake whip, unlike this priestess – who eyed the wary move with a sneer, pausing as she reached Imoen's tense side. The imposter forced herself to glare back rather than turn and flee.

"Really, sister. Must you always be so paranoid?" the priestess scoffed, surveying Solaufein behind her with distaste. "Just as long as he is here as your slave and not your…ally. Mother would not be happy to learn otherwise."

"Of course, sister," Imoen gritted out, the catch in her voice in truth thanks to the fear constricting her throat. Her heart felt fit to pound straight from her chest. "I do not need you to tell me _that_." Except she did.

But the priestess seemed satisfied, huffing a laugh and shaking her head scornfully before passing by. The moment she had descended the stairs behind them, Imoen's shoulders sagged with relief and Solaufein rushed past her for the door at the far end of the corridor. His hands were steady as he swiftly undid the numerous locks, pushing the portal open with a flaring of undone wards. He gestured sharply for her to enter.

"We should take one and leave quickly," Solaufein snapped as he closed the door behind them. He crossed the room himself when Imoen hesitated, spitting out the command phrase which opened the chest containing the eggs. Hefting one, he brought it back to her, holding it out while she opened Elatharia's bag of holding for him to drop it inside.

"Never thought it would be so smooth…and shiny," Imoen admitted, blinking down at the bag of holding which had so readily shrunk back to its usual size, no larger than one of her fists. But there was no time to think on it further; Solaufein was already opening the door and urging her outside. And they would have to come back soon to return the fake egg before Phaere could precede them.

* * *

With Elatharia's mask elsewhere, it was Viconia who answered the urgent knocking at the room the sisters shared. She hesitated when she saw Phaere standing before her expectantly; the others gathered in the room prickled as well, until the imposter spoke.

"Heya, it's just me – Imoen," the disguised aasimar promised far too concernedly to be any true drow. Viconia stepped inside, and the aasimar banished the Transmutation with a _Dispel_ the moment the door closed behind her.

"I could not assume, _abbil_ ," Viconia reminded, smirking faintly while Imoen fumbled with the mask tied around her eyes, handing it over to Elatharia – who was quick to cover her markings. Viconia and Haer'Dalis had been unbothered by the truth of her face, but Jaheira and Valygar had kept their eyes averted from her even more than usual.

"Gotta hurry I'm afraid," Imoen was saying, reaching into the borrowed bag of holding and pulling forth the heavy silver egg with some struggle, dropping it onto the bed by her sister. "Solaufein's waitin' downstairs and we need to get this back to Phaere's room."

Elatharia nodded thoughtfully, inspecting the large egg before her while the others gathered round to look. It fit the descriptions she had read in the past, but she had certainly never seen its like before in reality. Dragons normally kept themselves removed from detection or interruption whilst incubating their eggs, no matter how long it took.

"Such beauteous things do not deserve to be cast away into the Abyss," Haer'Dalis marvelled, though he thought better about touching it when Elatharia gave him a warning look. "You and your friend have done the right thing here, Imoen. Though it be a dangerous plan." He did not appear to be concerned, however.

"Beauty is not the way to judge the rightness of their actions," Jaheira disagreed, predictably.

Elatharia ignored the further comments of her friends, reaching for the bag of holding that Imoen had left by her elbow and willing one of the gems held within to come to her hand. It was a moonstone, small and oval, shimmering silver-white.

"Tell me that you do not intend to use our wealth, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia complained.

"If you can think of anything cheaper that better resembles a silver egg, let me know," Elatharia grunted. When silence reigned, she waved her companions away. "Now I need quiet. Or else Phaere will realise what Imoen's done before we can get this back to her room."

They obliged with some muttering, Jaheira and Valygar leaving to watch the tavern below. Haer'Dalis and Imoen lingered, perched at the edges of the bed upon which Elatharia sat cross-legged, and Viconia hovered by the door with her hand on her flail handle. It was a good enough reminder that time was short, and it took only a few measured breaths before the Transmuter could begin to pluck at the strands of the Weave that she needed. As with many Alteration spells, there was no incantation; there was too much possible variation within this most archaic discipline of the field. Whispering some set magical phrases to herself, her fingers flew through the required patterns, pulling at the necessary energies and moulding the moonstone into its new shape.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to the amazed faces of Imoen and Haer'Dalis. Even Viconia was staring across to the two identical – and identically fake – dragon's eggs. The light filtering through the open window was a little brighter as well, and that meant at least an hour must have passed.

"Ready?" Imoen asked, springing from the bed and heaving the original egg back into the bag of holding when Elatharia nodded. "Not gonna miss having this tied around my eyes," she admitted as the Transmuter handed over her mask. "There's something real strange about being able to see with it tied right over 'em like this." And if it were not for the hollow tone in her voice, Elatharia might have believed that her sister was just as she had been before their capture. As it was, she could not even smile at her sister's grumbling, calling up the spell that would change her into Phaere's form instead.

"Will this retain its shape?" Haer'Dalis asked, prodding the newly altered egg.

"Yes," Elatharia promised, before looking up at her sister. "But you won't."

"Fine by me," Imoen shrugged, "I'll be back before you know it." And with a backward wave she departed before any further comments could be traded.

Elatharia slumped back against the headboard, not certain why her heart was pounding and her breathing ragged. Her body seemed to know her fear for her sister even while her mind failed to recognise it. Haer'Dalis sent her a sympathetic look which suggested he understood something, though she certainly did not.

"There is still movement amongst the troops gathered below," Viconia noted with some audible relief, now peering down through the window in the corner of the room. The very spot where Edwin had appeared just two days before. Elatharia looked away sharply. "Most likely Phaere will still be with her mother, snarling orders and threatening lashings for the slaves who do not do their part."

"It is a sport for all those with a whip here," Haer'Dalis agreed, with rather lacking enthusiasm. Viconia's healing spells had spared him any lasting damage from the recent attack upon his person, but he had been rather quieter since. Again, Elatharia found her eyes averting to her hands before he could look back at her. "Your sister does seem to be enjoying herself here, though not as at ease as Jaheira."

"Her body is remembering her old habits," Elatharia muttered, drawing her knees up to her chest and clasping her hands before her to stop the fidgeting. "But every day we will forget how we felt, she says. Bodhi behaved as though she enjoyed the things she did, but she can't have done."

"You already feel it," Viconia stated. "But you are right. It will only grow worse." Hardly reassuring. Still…

"Apparently it should not be possible for us to survive without our souls," Elatharia blurted, and felt her skin warm as she said it. _According to Edwin_. "That for a person to live without one, it must be by a god's decree."

"That is true," Viconia nodded, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. Something about her narrowed eyes made Elatharia certain that the drow suspected this information had come from Edwin. "I had thought it unwise to discuss this with you, in the hope that you would not begin to feel its effects so quickly. But yes, you will appear much the same to the outside world for some time. A little blanker, perhaps. But over time your feelings will lessen to memories, your capacity for emotion will dull. And in the intermediate time, your mind will reel between its increasing deficiency and your body's persisting reactions. It will be confusing, perhaps disorientating."

"It is," Elatharia admitted softly, and the drow nodded.

"But Edwin was right," Viconia raised her eyebrows when Elatharia looked her way sharply. "Elatharia, you may have proven yourself a gifted wizard but you cannot expect me to believe that you know as much as a Conjurer about the art of soul theft and loss. And I am a true drow, well used to deceit. I am also your…friend. And I am well used to the wizard's influence upon you."

Watching them, Haer'Dalis grinned but did not comment. For her part Elatharia leaned her forehead on her knees rather than attempting to disagree with Viconia, preferring to listen to the drow's voice rather than watch her face. Apparently her feelings had not departed enough yet to spare her embarrassment.

"Since no god permitted the loss of your souls, for you to yet survive there must still be a fragment of it within both you and Imoen. It will slow the process of your depleting emotions, but may contribute further to your confusion."

"Ah, so Irenicus and Bodhi have been punished by a god, or with a god's will," Haer'Dalis mused, "How intriguing. And in the face of such, entropy can only grow – as it ever must. They stole from you and your sister because the souls of godchildren are the most easily plucked…and the strongest."

"It seems likely," Viconia agreed. Elatharia looked up at the tiefling with a frown all the same.

"What do you mean 'easily plucked'?"

"A god's children hold the essence of that god within their souls. Often they are used as a means of ensuring that god's return. They will designate a high priest or favoured servant to do the deed should they die – and when they do, that servant will reap the souls of the god's children until the essence can be restored," Haer'Dalis explained innocently, "It is common practice amongst the gods of the Abyss. 'Twould not surprise me if Bhaal had sought to do the same." He winced as he finished, as if he feared that Elatharia might berate him for withholding the information. Instead, she even managed a smile.

"What is it, _khal'abbil_?" Viconia asked warily. The Transmuter wondered just what kind of smile it was that she wore to make her companions so nervous.

"Oh, nothing. It just makes me wonder…does that mean that we can take our souls back more easily from Bodhi and Irenicus, as well?"

"Most probably," Viconia said, "Killing them is your best option, of course."

"Of course," Elatharia agreed, and her smile lingered.

* * *

By the time Imoen returned, Elatharia was pacing the room. Her sister looked relieved to have the form of Phaere Despana removed; she let out a long sigh as her natural shape was returned to her, sitting upon her bed only briefly before falling back upon it, her arms sprawled out above her head even as her booted feet remained flat upon the floor.

"Phew. Remind me never, ever to do that again. Ever," she breathed. Haer'Dalis laughed from where he now sat plucking at his miniature harp upon the room's only chair. Viconia rolled her eyes at him. When Elatharia had begun pacing, the drow had sat against the wall beside the tiefling, happy to relinquish her vigilance at least a little.

"Did you count how many eggs there were this time?" Elatharia demanded, leaning against the closed door as if that might stop anyone with serious intent breaking inside.

"Yep. Six," Imoen said on her next outbreath. She held out Elatharia's mask without sitting up and the Transmuter took it from her perhaps more quickly than necessary. Her body relaxed a little more as she fastened it across her markings. _Old habits indeed_.

"We should eat in the tavern," Viconia stated into the lull, standing and hauling Haer'Dalis up as well. His hands lingered on her waist, and she only batted them away as an afterthought. "It will look less suspicious. And…it sounds likely that Phaere will send us for Adalon's eggs tomorrow morning. It may be the last proper meal we have for a day or two."

"'Meal' sounds generous," Elatharia commented, but the drow just shook her head half-heartedly as she and Haer'Dalis left to order the food.

Once the door closed behind them, the Transmuter watched the carefree attitude slide from Imoen's posture. She covered her hands with her face, her groan of frustration muffled against her palms.

"I feel so lost," she mumbled, peeking at her sister from between her fingers as Elatharia perched on the edge of the bed beside her. "So empty. The first time…the first time I've not felt…not remembered _him_ in so long…was when I was in House Despana with Solaufein."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Elatharia asked, a twinge of sickness accompanying the spark of affection that flared within her. She smoothed her sister's pink hair from her face. A habit, a memory…or a real feeling? All the same, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to her sister's forehead when no answer came. "I love you, little sister," she whispered on impulse. There was a faint smile on Imoen's face when Elatharia sat up.

"Right back," the aasimar promised, though her silver-blue eyes were sadder than ever.

* * *

Just as Solaufein had predicted, Phaere summoned the disguised surfacers to her room in the Fighters' Society the following morning. She was entirely honest about her expectations for them, telling them to acquire six eggs however they could and to bring them back to her. In exchange she would send them to Matron Ardulace with the fakes she kept with her.

Throughout the whole meeting Imoen had been fairly shaking with fear, but if Phaere suspected them of anything she did not show it. She simply told them to leave that evening, and that Solaufein would be accompanying them. The others were clearly uneasy about this, eyeing him with even more distrust than before when he met them at the appointed hour outside the city gates, handing over the map that would lead them to Adalon's lair.

Elatharia and Viconia led the way this time, and it evidently did not take long for Solaufein to notice that something was amiss. He stopped walking abruptly at Imoen's side, forcing Valygar and Jaheira to dodge around him. His hands were at his sword hilts, his expression reproachful when Imoen turned to look at him.

"This is not the way to Adalon's lair," the drow growled. "This is the path to the svirfneblin settlement."

"Correct," Elatharia told him icily from behind Imoen.

"It's a…detour, not a trap," the aasimar explained. Solaufein braced himself for a fight all the same, and Jaheira tugged on Imoen's shoulder but the girl refused to move, raising her palms out toward the drow in an attempt to placate him.

This jagged tunnel was long, narrow and meandering, the stones underfoot uneven and at times slippery from a thin, central stream. Such terrain would be his best chance at defeating all of them – he must have been planning this confrontation from the moment they turned the wrong way. Realising this, the second time Jaheira tugged her back Imoen relented, permitting the druid and Valygar to form up in front of her.

"We did not risk our lives in helping you create a second set of fake eggs just to lead you out here to your death," Viconia told him, but his eyes flashed across her hatefully.

"It would not stop you," Solaufein snarled. "Do you think that I am so foolish? I know that Ardulace instructed Phaere to send me out here in the hope that I would die."

"We are considerably more concerned about surviving than we are about killing you," Elatharia sighed.

"And we have no intention of slaying the dragon," Haer'Dalis added. "Quite the contrary, as we admitted in your presence."

Solaufein did appear to relax a little at that, though he continued to eye them warily. He took a cautious step back when Viconia stepped forward from the group, her tone more of a weary drawl than a placatory one.

"We have a…companion… stationed near the svirfneblin settlement. He will be useful in persuading the dragon to our cause, should she prove resilient," Viconia said. "But perhaps it is unnecessary for all of us to go for him." The exaggerated shrug she gave proved to Imoen that she and Elatharia had planned this all along. "Veldrin, Sziithra – I will need you to go and find Korgan. The rest of us will await you upon the ledge ahead."

Jaheira and Elatharia complained a little about being sent anywhere together, but it seemed that they understood. Korgan may yet be injured; Jaheira had a number of healing spells to her name. He was a surfacer; only Elatharia could transmute him into something else. Thus they soon departed, the Transmuter aided by some vaguely familiar Divination.

"You travel with a duergar slave?" Solaufein asked of Imoen with some incredulity as the rest of the group followed Viconia around the next curve in the tunnel. Here a low ledge led into a shallow alcove aglow with pink and purple lichen.

"Something like that," Imoen nodded awkwardly. Glancing back at them, Haer'Dalis did not bother to hide his smirk at such an idea.

It turned out that drow did not light fires when camping in the Underdark, though the draft here was especially cold. Instead the five of them crouched within the alcove, both genuine drow watching the dark passageway closely, and for a long time no one spoke. Imoen jumped when Haer'Dalis nudged her foot with his own. Her gasp had drawn the attention of the others and she winced the tiefling's way under such scrutiny. He was watching her with curious eyes.

"What is it that has your thoughts?" he asked with painful perceptiveness. Imoen hesitated, but he was right – there was something on her mind and it would surely be better asked. So she turned to Solaufein, who was watching the interaction bemusedly from her side.

"I was just…wondering about what the priestess said to you in House Despana," she admitted to the drow, whose expression hardened at the mention. "About how you'd better be Phaere's servant and not her ally. And what you said before, about how you hate Ardulace so much more than her, too." _It is not her fault…though she is far from blameless. Her mother is the instigator, as always_ , he had said.

"Yes – do tell, Solaufein," Viconia cut in, her smirk more cruel than curious. "I heard something of those rumours before I left. Of lack of faith, of something…other than the bond of a servant to his mistress. And upon my return I saw that you were both newly scarred."

"I know that Merdin has already told you of my 'lack of faith' – and that you have not turned me in proves your own heresy," Solaufein stated, glowering no less than before in the face of their questions. "And you should know that I am no longer deceived by your lie." The group tensed. "I know that you are not the true mercenaries that we sent for." Imoen bit back a sigh of relief. "And I care little for those that you presumably dispatched. Regardless, I certainly do not believe that you have any right to the information you seek," he added pointedly to Viconia, even as his shoulders slumped resignedly. "But if you are to understand Ardulace and Phaere's true plans then you will have to know some of the truth."

"That would be wise," Viconia agreed, only just staving off the mockery in her tone from the looks of it. Haer'Dalis was watching intently too – and Valygar appeared completely thrown by Solaufein's straightforward words.

"None of this is wise, Viconia," the male drow disagreed. But he began all the same, leaning his head against the stone behind him and staring into the shadows of the tunnel. "Your suspicions are correct. House Despana and my own – former – house, Jae'llat, are the two powers of Ust Natha. We have been allied for a long time – elsewise we would have destroyed each other – and therefore, of course, it is expected that members of our houses align with each other when we meet in youth. Phaere was only acting upon her mother's wishes when she and I met during our training. But…we became much closer than intended."

"Not an unfamiliar story," Viconia brushed his words aside even as she turned her head further to face Solaufein – all the better to avoid Haer'Dalis's eyes, clearly. "Scandalous, but manageable. Though I _am_ surprised that you escaped the furore with your life, male."

"Indeed," Solaufein's grunted laugh was bitter, "That would have been the case if it were so simple. But it was not. For Phaere and I had renounced Lolth in secret…and intended to escape for Skullport where we had heard others like us lived outside of the Spider Queen's domain…at the Promenade of the Dark Maiden."

Viconia's eyes widened at that and she sat back as if the very idea had over-balanced her. She seemed momentarily lost for words, her jaw working without sound as her face crumpled into a look of disbelief.

"You…and _Phaere Despana_ followed Eilistraee?" her voice was more of a wheeze. Solaufein actually looked slightly amused by her shock, though it barely showed in the stoic lines of his angular face save for a softening around his eyes.

"We did. But one of the slaves overheard us just before we were about to leave. Fearing for their life, they went to Ardulace. She killed them all the same, but I think I would have done as they did in their place," Solaufein shrugged. "We were captured at the city gates. We were both tortured, at first. But I think our mothers came to some agreement. I was to be thrown from House Jae'llat and kept under the thrall of House Despana for when Phaere returned." His fingertips drifted subconsciously over the thin scars marring his chin and temples.

"From when she returned?" Haer'Dalis asked, "Returned from where?" Solaufein met his eyes levelly, grief visible for just a moment as he spoke in answer.

"The drider pits. Apparently she was given a choice: endure sixty days of torture with the driders and return to House Despana as a repentant priestess of Lolth…or die a swifter death as a sacrifice, whereby her soul would become the Spider Queen's property for an eternity of torment. She chose the driders, whose torments I do not think any of us can imagine."

Imoen felt the blood drain from her face, a cold feeling suffusing her stomach. The icy air was abruptly stifling, the bodies all around her looming too close. Gasping, blind, she scrambled from the ledge without thought, where she doubled up against the tightness in her chest. The flashes of knives behind her eyes, the memory of hot blood upon her hands, of her sister's distant screams… She covered her mouth to hold back her own scream when a figure flitted before her and a hand settled heavily upon her shoulder. _And oh gods…she could imagine. But what would_ _ **Elatharia**_ _have imagined?_

"I think perhaps some of us can imagine, Solaufein," Haer'Dalis told the drow warrior gravely. The tiefling had crouched before Imoen in the tunnel, and now let go of her shoulder as she looked back at him. Chewing her lip, she felt an echo of guilt. Of course he had suffered…and in the Abyss, no less. Embarrassment followed, though Viconia and Solaufein barely spared her a glance. Valygar would not raise his eyes towards Imoen as Haer'Dalis guided her back to the others, her legs trembling fiercely.

"I was spared because of Phaere's choice. I am to haunt her always until I die; and the sooner I die, the better as far as they are concerned," Solaufein finished.

"It certainly puts Phaere into a different perspective," Valygar grunted into the thoughtful quiet. But Viconia was shaking her head at Solaufein.

"You are a coward, male," she berated him – something which he appeared to have expected, for he barely flinched. "You live so close to the surface that you could escape at any time. Do you truly prefer such a doomed life over freedom? You chose to leave Lolth's power; you are already alone. There is less to fear from escape now than there ever was."

Instead of arguing, Solaufein nodded – though his frown had deepened.

"Yes. But I had planned to have my revenge first," he admitted.

"Against Ardulace, I can understand," Haer'Dalis nodded even as his face twisted into a look closer to a sneer than Imoen had ever seen from him. "But Phaere? It seems…unnecessary." Solaufein's stare was withering as it met the bard's.

"She has chosen this stupidity with the eggs and left me no choice. She intends to overthrow her mother, and that is something I cannot fault. But she wishes to do so in a manner that I cannot permit."

"There must surely be another way…" Haer'Dalis looked for support from Viconia, but none came.

"Solaufein is correct. If we are to avoid stealing from the dragon then Phaere must face the consequences. She is trapped by Ust Natha's code. There is no escape left for her."

Imoen watched the grim look on Solaufein's face and wondered if it really were so simple. He had endured some significant time of abuse from Phaere, however broken she was, and it looked to the aasimar more like simple revenge. Her thoughts turned to Irenicus, and to the pain such thoughts brought.

* * *

Through the gloom, beyond the stench of burned meat, above the distant crash of waves through the temporarily sealed cliff opening…Adalon sensed the golden power of a fallen god. And with it came the smell of blood – the blood of the wyverns who had so loyally protected her these centuries passed. Anger bloomed, slow and seething, and with a rumble of breath she unfurled from her place at the far end of the cavern closest to the open air she so missed.

Sunlight slanted in from the root-gnarled ceiling, and soil shook down from the earth above as Adalon rose to her feet, coins and gems rushing and clattering as she prowled forward, towards the tiny entry which led out into the Underdark. It had been necessary whilst her wyverns brought food to sustain her during this confinement. Only a fool would permit their eggs to linger untended, no matter how much she wished to fly in the open air.

The moment she beheld their small humanoid forms bumbling through the gap of stone, she called forth a flare of light. Not bright enough to cause her a problem, but certainly painful and disorientating for drow eyes. For these were seven drow and a duergar, covered in the blood of dead wyverns.

"If you are here for battle, know that your deaths will be all the more satisfying now that you have slain my servants," Adalon boomed, stalking forward at a pace that ought to have had these drow staggering back, even blinded by the light as they…ought to have been. Yet only two did, cowering with their arms raised. The rest stood there with their tiny feet planted, their weapons untouched. Nor were their arms raised for spellcasting.

"We slew your…servants because they attacked us without consideration," one of the female drow called up, her arms folded before her. There was something amiss here. Adalon could sense the divine essence strongly among the group – and now as she looked down to their brash leader she sensed it in her eyes. The spark of the golden light of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. The silver dragon bared her teeth and growled, stalking backwards without turning her head from the godchild. The blue eyed one beside the first held the spark as well, though also the glow of an aasimar.

"Bhaalspawn," Adalon hissed as the group scrambled together, light bodies rocked by the rumble of her words. "What do Bhaalspawn want with me?" And there was more – these were surely not drow. Not all of them. An instant later and her next spell revealed to her the truth. Two drow, an aasimar, a tiefling, a dwarf, a half elf and two humans. Disguised as seven drow and a duergar. Curious. Dangerous.

"We come with a warning," the human Bhaalspawn proclaimed, "But not a threat. The drow of Ust Natha intend for us to take from you your precious eggs to fuel a summoning and aid them in their conquest of the sun elves in the lands above. But we would rather deal with you, for we have no wish to fight one so…fearsome as you."

Adalon ceased her prowling to hear this, watching as the human pulled forth a perfect replica of one of her eggs from an enchanted bag at her hip. The girl had the audacity to hold her eye, though she refrained from extending the silver oval out to her.

"This is a fake egg. And I am willing to make five more, and to pass them off to my…mistress…as your true eggs, thus dooming her summoning. In exchange for your aid."

A few members of the group bristled at that, even as Adalon herself snarled, snapping her jaws just feet from the girl. Neither Bhaalspawn flinched, though the dragon's outbreath ruffled their hair. The blue eyed aasimar was staring at her sister with a frown.

"I should just kill you," Adalon said, and the human Bhaalspawn had the audacity to smile. It was a blank smile. Returning the egg to her bag, she raised her spindly humanoid arms and the female drow and the disguised dwarf stepped forward, pushing back their cloaks to reveal armour unmistakably of dragon scales. A red dragon, and a black dragon.

"We have already slain two of your cousin-kin. One was the red dragon Firkraag," the Bhaalspawn said coolly. Adalon tensed, her tail pushing at the coins piled behind her to cover her eggs. Firkraag was a dread name amongst her kind. "I suspect we could take you, too. If we had to." The warning rumble of Adalon's growl set them wobbling on their feet again, but in truth the dragon _was_ afraid. It was said none even of her kind could kill the mighty Firkraag, but…

"Please, my sister's not so clear about how much we _don't_ want to fight you or even think about stealing your eggs!" the aasimar implored. "We didn't want to kill your wyverns, but they done gave us no choice."

A moment or two passed while Adalon thought this over. The humanoids watched with poorly disguised fear, though the human Bhaalspawn did well to hide it. These two godchildren were hollow, but for the divine essence coiled about their beings – soulless. Cursed. And amongst their group it appeared that the male drow who hung back by the door and still cowered in the light was the only one utterly unused to the sun. He did not look to his companions, and he watched the interaction with evident confusion. Adalon had learned enough in her long life to recognise that he did not even know the truth of those who travelled with him. He believed them all to be drow, save for the dwarf. Unlike the silver dragon, he could not see through the strong Transmutations veiling them.

"In what way do you wish my aid in return for your 'magnanimity'?" Adalon rumbled at last. The half elf amongst the group stepped up, her pale eyes full of genuine awe as she stared at the dragon before her. This one's faintly bronze skin suggested sun elf ancestry, and a silver spear shimmered at her back while her hands were raised in supplication.

"We seek to stop the drow and those who aid them," she explained. The others nodded without any hint of dissent.

"And in exchange for our use of the fake eggs – at great personal risk for us, oh wondrous beast – we do humbly request your aid in fighting back these drow," the tiefling finished. The tone in his voice was perhaps a little mocking, but the chance to fight the drow was tempting.

"You have long been an ally of the sun elves of _Lil Berrkig dil Xonathul_ …The Field of the Battle," the female drow spat the Common name out as though it tasted awful. "Surely it would benefit you as much as any of us to put the ravening masses of Ust Natha in their place?"

That was true. And very tempting.

"How can I do this while my eggs remain unhatched?" Adalon pointed out at last. The human Bhaalspawn squared her shoulders.

"I can transmute the wall of this cavern, and temporarily redirect the passage away from the path known to the drow. My sister can lay traps in the event that it is found. And we have an ally who is willing to cover this whole place in Illusions, should you let him."

"No one will cast spells inside this cavern," Adalon disagreed, and the intruders were quick to bow their heads in acquiescence. "But…I am tempted by your suggestion. The drow deserve to be beaten back."

"Then we do agree," the human Bhaalspawn's teeth bared. She did jump a little when the dragon's tail lashed.

"Yes. But you will cast your spells before you leave. I would see the truth of your promise."

"Not a problem," the soulless human vowed. "Do we have a deal?"

"We do," Adalon said at last. Anything to remind those wretched drow that they should never threaten her eggs.


	52. Catching Spiders

**Big thanks to everyone who has favourited, followed and/or reviewed, and anyone who's just generally reading this. :P**

 **Warnings for violence.**

* * *

 **Chapter 51: Catching Spiders**

* * *

"I never thought silver dragons would _actually_ smell like rain," Imoen remarked once the party had achieved a safe distance from the newly configured passage into Adalon's lair. Her face was smudged with mud from one of the traps she had set, and she was watching the progress Viconia and Solaufein were making with interest.

"Ye mean ye could smell anythin' over the stink o' burned bones an' meat, girl?" Korgan scoffed, currently wearing the form of a grey skinned duergar – and most of the gore from the wyverns they had fought earlier.

"I done noticed that too," Imoen shrugged.

Elatharia watched the conversation but felt no urge to join in – her thoughts had turned to darker things…things that the others might not have considered, and which many of them would not like. It had been hard enough not to goad the dragon into a fight; it would have been less risky in many ways to take the eggs. Instead, now she had to make five more fakes by the time they returned to Ust Natha; it was just as well that they had agreed to camp near the svirfneblin stronghold that night, where they would be leaving Korgan. At least the dwarf had been willing enough to go to Adalon's lair after a few healing spells, eager to do something even if that consisted of intimidating a dragon he was not allowed to kill.

It was a half-day's journey back to the svirfneblin stronghold, back through tunnels that crawled with half-seen monsters. Such creatures prowling in the shadows made Elatharia wonder how much more dangerous it would have been for them if they had not taken their drow forms. It was just as well that they had no answers for that. And once Korgan had departed, the remaining group huddled in a pitch black cavern, with not even a fire to watch or to keep them warm.

There would be little sleep for Elatharia – while the others muttered to each other, she sat and formed dragon's eggs from gems. With each one, the work grew more arduous as she tired. And even once that was done, her head pounding with the need to rest, she had to stay up in order to recast the Transmutations on herself and her companions while Solaufein turned his back to take his watch.

It was after this that Imoen told to her Solaufein's story about Phaere, haltingly and with some aid from Haer'Dalis. She wondered why they were not trying to sleep – and only as they started to get up and rouse the others did she realise that it was 'morning' now. They needed to be back at Ust Natha, and she had never lain down once. Nor would she have a chance to rest for some time yet.

Once they had reached the steps up to the cavern floor of Ust Natha, Solaufein paused and turned to face those following him. He caught Imoen's eye, and then Viconia's, his grimace perhaps verging on a grudging smile.

"I wish to…thank you," he admitted as the group stopped in his wake. "Before we return. It is rare that drow do not turn on each other, is it not? And you have reminded me of the hope in leaving," he nodded to Viconia, whose face registered incredulity. He turned to Imoen, unbothered. "And I would say a farewell, because I will have to leave before tonight ahead of the army. After that Ardulace will bar the city gates for her summoning, to avoid rumours spreading amongst the other nearby settlements."

An awkward silence followed; a surfacer might have at least offered a handshake and the lack of such a gesture left Imoen, the true focus of his words, at rather a visible loss. She shrugged awkwardly and his smile was more genuine in answer.

"Eilistraee be with you," he offered at last, before turning and ascending the stairs ahead of them.

Imoen let out a long sigh as he disappeared, and turned to look at Jaheira over her shoulder before they began to follow.

"See. Not all drow're so bad, are they?"

"It is a spectrum, Imoen," the druid said stiffly. "He may seem better than he is simply because of the company he keeps."

"Or he may seem worse because of the company he is forced to keep," Haer'Dalis suggested with a wink, gesturing dramatically to the stairs. "If we are to follow through with our plan to weaken the drow, then we should return to the city."

Jaheira did nod her agreement at this, and was the first to step forward. Valygar glanced at Elatharia as he passed, ever in the druid's shadow, and his eyes were wary – as if he knew her thoughts. The passage floor was suddenly much more interesting to the Transmuter, and remained that way as the others headed out. At last, only Viconia lingered. Her hand settled upon Elatharia's shoulder lightly.

"There is something on your mind which you would not share with the others, _khal'abbil._ "

"Yes." There was no denying it, no need to with them gone. Viconia's eyes where knowing when Elatharia looked up. "We two should be the ones to take the eggs to Phaere. There is something I believe she will ask of us, and I do not think the others would understand."

Viconia's hand tightened on her shoulder, her mouth set in grim line as her understanding dawned.

"There is still time to leave. The elves would let you pass through the exit they guard…most likely. Even without the madness of battle to distract them. And the fighting will soon start; will disrupting this summoning have such a great effect? Will it get us any closer to following Irenicus and Bodhi?"

"The elves would not let _you_ through," Elatharia pointed out, her eyes darting to the stairway along which the others had just vanished. "And I cannot do any of this without you with me. We can make it through in the battle, it's our best chance."

Viconia's eyes widened at this, her mouth opening as if she might speak, her expression wavering as if she wanted to smile. Instead she straightened, letting go of the Transmuter's shoulder and giving a graceful nod of acquiescence.

"Then we will do this as you say, _khal'abbil_. There will be none among the drow left to speak of our passing with any detail."

* * *

The cavern floor of Ust Natha had changed a great deal since their first arrival in the city. The market was gone entirely; in its place bustled a growing army of drow, practicing spellcraft and fighting in designated pens, threatening and beating slaves wherever one looked. The commanders had mushroom skin tents to maintain their privacy – the only reason for walls and roofing underground, as far as Elatharia could tell. It seemed that in spite of their goddess's love of chaos, the stereotype of the drow as a race of ill-organised maniacs was rather an oversimplification.

Elatharia and Viconia left the others at the Higher Tavern, promising to be back soon after their meeting with Phaere at the Fighters' Society. No one argued about their decision to go in such a manner; there was logic in the explanation that one such as Phaere preferred to deal with high ranking females…and also in the issue of six separate frauds maintaining their charade at once.

They were ushered inside by a nervous female drow slave and told to wait in the dark, domed atrium of the building where the faerie fire decorating the corridors filtered down and glinted across silver plating, but otherwise no lighting was available. Upon the floor there was emblazoned a detailed ebon spider, warmed from beneath to glow in the infrared spectrum.

The wait was not nearly so long as Elatharia had feared it might be. Phaere came straight from battle practice, dressed in mithral and adamantine chain with the Ioun Stone buzzing around her tightly braided hair. Sweating from her exertions, she was dabbing at her neck with a peculiar towel made of spongy material unfamiliar to Elatharia, her red eyes already fixed intently upon the two females awaiting her. There was definitely a sense of impatient hope in that look.

"You have what I requested?" she snapped, and Viconia nodded. Phaere's breath escaped her in a subtle release. She smiled broadly, waving for them to follow as she and her entourage of slaves headed up the stairs for her office at the very top of the tower. "If what you say is true, my lackeys, then you will surely be rewarded greatly. But we should discuss this in private."

The drow priestess's eyes only widened further once she had dismissed all but her most trusted slaves, a pair of scrawny females with frightened faces, and they stood by the couch in her incense-scented room. She held the first of the eggs that Elatharia had handed over and marvelled at it in the dull light.

"I assume the dragon is dead, yes? Such beasts do not relinquish their eggs lightly."

"Of course, mistress," Viconia assured, perhaps a little stiffly. It was painfully ironic to watch Phaere fawning over eggs as fake as the ones she would hand over to her mother.

"Good. She would have only interfered in the battle to come," the drow priestess said as she placed the egg she held to join the others on the table with great care. She did not immediately offer any information, eyeing them both with a look of thoughtful but pleasant surprise.

"Do you have any further instructions for us, mistress?" Viconia asked at last. Phaere smiled.

"Mother would like to perform the summoning shortly after midnight," she purred. "And I believe she will summon you both – along with your companions – to observe. It will be a great honour to be first to see the demon…and an even greater one for you to witness Ardulace's death." Phaere grinned, and they both offered their most convincing smiles in return. The matron's eldest daughter paused for a moment. "Perhaps having a female wizard at hand might be a help. I imagine the males could learn a thing or two."

Elatharia nodded once, as if honoured, though behind her back her hands were clenched tightly together. Phaere's tone had hardly been _honest._ And now the matron's daughter was lifting a heavy coinpurse from the table and turning with a smug expression to dangle it before Viconia. "Your payment, as promised. Though…there is one more loose end to tie up, as a part of all this fuss about the dragon."

"Yes, mistress?" Viconia successfully kept her voice curious, though Elatharia had pre-empted this request. The Transmuter was relieved to feel so blank about it, and to watch the exchange rather than endure the brunt of Phaere's excited expression.

"Solaufein knows of all that passed between us. I would have you kill him."

* * *

Haer'Dalis was leaning against the doorframe of the Higher Tavern's entrance when Viconia returned. She had expected him to remark upon her arrival at least, but as it was he barely acknowledged her with a sidelong glance. A quick perusal of the tavern floor beyond showed their companions huddled around the table closest to the stairs, intent upon watching the busy crowd of patrons bustling by the bar and around the fighting pits. They did not seem interested in looking out for their returning companions. It was just as well.

"You seem awfully distracted, male," Viconia prodded when Haer'Dalis still did not answer her. He was frowning darkly, poised in near-perfect stillness in truth – though he appeared so relaxed in his pose. She elbowed him surreptitiously when he ignored her. "If you do not answer me I will be…"

"That is the female who so joyously whipped me just days ago," he growled, so quietly she barely caught it. The words sent a jolt like lightning through her, and Viconia tensed, her fingers curling around her flail handle.

"Where?" she heard herself snarl.

"The one closest to us, by the gates of the fighting pit."

She followed his directions and espied a tall, muscular female dressed in adamantine plate mail, leaning on the uprooted stalactite that served as a post for the fence, that three-headed whip coiled around one leg. She seemed disinterested by the fight currently raging between two withered orcs in the pit beyond, instead scanning the room with narrowed red eyes. Viconia could not help herself. It would be too easy. She gave Haer'Dalis a push, her eyes trained upon the female.

"Go to the others. Tell Imoen that Elatharia has gone to their room and wishes to be left alone awhile to get some rest – we will likely be summoned early tomorrow to watch the summoning, as a courtesy. Go!" she pushed him again when he hesitated.

Once Haer'Dalis had crossed the room on his errand, Viconia approached the female by the stalactite. One of the other priestesses by the gate saw her coming, and leaned toward the object of her wrath with a smirk.

"Look, Ziltha. One of the houseless _iblith_ has come for you." A quick glance at the sigil upon the shoulders of their armour proved them to be females of House Jae'llat. As they both turned to Viconia with near identical sneers, she manufactured her best fake smile.

"Forgive me, mistresses. But I have been sent upon an errand by Phaere Despana. Are you Ziltha Jae'llat?" Viconia inquired, her voice level though her heart was pounding. It was rather exhilarating to remember the deceit taught to her in Menzoberranzan. And of course it ought not to be possible for a houseless Ched Nasad mercenary to recognise Jae'llat's symbol. Neither female ever doubted the veracity of her claim.

Ziltha straightened to hear those words, looking Viconia up and down with distaste. Her eyes lingered upon the black dragon scale – it was perhaps a little expensive for a simple sellsword.

"Phaere sent you?" her lip curled. "I assume this is about the payment she owes me? _At last._ " She rolled her eyes at her companion, who just sniggered and turned away as the fight beyond the fencing became a little bloodier.

"Yes, it is," Viconia nodded. _Fool. Giving away information so readily_. "She wishes to see you now, before she returns to the army preparations." She gestured to the door, and Ziltha nodded.

The priestess of Lolth did not turn her back on Viconia, but she did leave at her side. She only took a few steps ahead once they left the tavern, apparently knowing already to head for the Fighter's Society. It gave Viconia time to mutter a prayer to Shar, her goddess's power flooding her in aid of her angry conviction. Summoning up a globe of darkness – more to shield her actions from official view than to achieve any advantage with one trained for such – Viconia lunged toward Ziltha and managed to catch her by the throat with one magically strengthened arm, even as she slashed at the snake head coiled around the drow's leg with the small dagger sheathed at Ziltha's own hip. The severed snakes hit the ground with wet thuds, not even time to hiss or spit their venom.

Her enemy attempted to pull her off, snarling and grunting with the effort thanks to Shar's blessing, and her clawing hands did achieve some deep and bloody gouges in Viconia's wrist where her mithral chain did not protect her. But she gritted her teeth, clinging on, and the struggle had them stumbling into one of the many alcoves around the Higher Tavern, out of the globe of darkness which now blocked the view of Ust Natha from them.

"So she sent you to kill me," Ziltha snarled, rounding on Viconia with a pair of knives which must have been concealed under one of the plates of her adamantine shirt. Her eyes were wild with poorly disguised shock, her back pressed to the uneven stone of the alcove. There was no time for spells in such close quarters, and a priestess of Lolth without her spells or her whip was just like any other drow fighter. Viconia grinned at her, and shook her head. She dropped the stolen knife as her free hand released the Flail of the Ages from its strap at her belt.

"No. This is personal," she promised, and dived forward again.

…or pretended to. Instead, she dodged to the left, predicting that Ziltha would attempt to duck under the anticipated swing of the flail. Instead, the real trajectory of the weapon caught Viconia's foe in the side, off-balancing her, and then a second swing knocked her legs from under her. The priestess of Shar trod on her nearest wrist before she could do anything with her closest weapon, and the Flail of the Ages hooked around the second. Ziltha shrieked as the enchanted heads burned her skin, and the second knife skittered across the floor as her arm convulsed. And still there was that mad hate in her eyes, that expectation that one day this death would come for her. It was just as well.

Viconia pried the other knife from Ziltha's trapped hand and picked up the other dropped blade. She buried them both in the drow priestess's throat.

* * *

Solaufein kept few possessions in his cramped room at the Male Fighters' Society. But it was the one room that had brought him any reprieve from the machinations and threats of the drow world since Matron Jae'llat had released him. And it had been a small mercy that he had not been forced to stay closer to Phaere, or in fact to live in House Despana's oppressive labyrinthine sprawl.

Of course, with just a bed and a crooked stone stool to furnish the room he had little space for possessions anyway. Just a chest by the headboard – but amongst his two sets of spare clothes he had hoarded a few gems, a few silver coins…and a map of the route to Skullport and the Promenade of the Dark Maiden. With his bag packed beside him, in the safe and pure darkness of his windowless room, he perched on the edge of the thin bed he had grown to hate and unfurled this map before him. Just looking at the path he must soon take set his heart pounding. To be free of Ust Natha and the followers of Lolth for good! It would not be an easy path, and it was a long way, but he was certain that the food he had stolen earlier would serve him well. And perhaps separation would give both him and Phaere a chance to overcome their memories of suffering. If she survived the doomed summoning.

A heavy knock at the door had Solaufein leaping to his feet, shoving the map under the sheets and then kicking the bag under his bed as he drew a knife behind his back. He hesitated; there was no reason for whoever waited beyond to assume he was within. Perhaps if he waited…but no, the knock came again – and then Merdin's voice.

"Solaufein! You done need to open up – it's urgent!"

He flung the door wide to see her waiting in the doorway with wild blue eyes, the faint flickering of the faerie fire in the corridor beyond forcing him to momentarily observe her in the human spectrum. She looked just as she had when they had parted at Ust Natha's gates, dressed in scout's leathers with her silver bow slung over her shoulder. She took half a step towards him, pushing at the air between them; urging him to let her in.

"We've got no time," she fairly gasped, glancing over her shoulder with a nervous energy that had his muscles tensing in readiness for a fight – any fight. He stepped aside to let her pass, closing the door behind them…though he could not bring himself to turn his back to her. Not in this place.

"What is it? Has Phaere learned of my betrayal?" he demanded when the young mercenary paced to the far end of the room, apparently checking for a window. She glanced at the bag poorly hidden under the bed.

"You're really leavin' quick, huh?" her smile was all too brief. "But no, it's not Phaere. It's my sister…Veldrin. She's coming to kill you and I think she'll be here real soon. We need to get away before she finds out where you live." Solaufein's shoulders slumped, but he was hardly surprised.

"And how did _you_ find out where I live?" Solaufein asked. She grinned a little bashfully – so full of expression, and so unlike the drow of this city!

"Not hard to find things out when you ask the right people." She shrugged.

It seemed reasonable. Solaufein just nodded, stepping towards her and pulling the back pack free. It was a little heavy, but he had carried worse for longer. She watched him shoulder the bag, her brows knotting. Solaufein could not blame her for such nervousness.

"Your sister – do you know why she is coming for me? Surely together we can…"

"She doesn't want anyone to know about the plan to betray Phaere and Ardulace…and she's afraid you'll turn on us if things don't work out for your escape." Merdin gestured to the door. "We really done need to get going. This room's too small for fightin' a wizard unless you want us _all_ to get blown up."

She seemed too frightened to ignore, so Solaufein just nodded and turned for the exit. He managed two steps before he felt his sword belt snag – his weapons clattered to the floor before he could reach them.

"Wh-"

He did not manage to turn, reaching automatically for the dagger he kept strapped to his leg, before hands imbued with _Strength_ closed around his hair and tugged back his head. Stumbling, he fell against his attacker; she staggered, but dodged aside – just avoiding the slash of his dagger, though a few strands of hair fluttered free. Snarling, Solaufein almost steadied himself – though his attacker remained reliably at his back. He heard a female voice that was decidedly _not_ Merdin's muttering a quick spellword, and the scuff of her boots as she avoided his attempt to overbalance her and thus stop the spell. He was too late.

Bright white light bloomed all around him, the pain of it shooting through his skull and forcing his eyes shut. Cursing, he stumbled forward, tripped over his own stool and fell heavily to his knees. His shoulder crashed into the wall, his legs caught in the feet of the stool…and he felt his attacker's knee pressing into his back. He thrashed, blind, and his hand scraped against skin as hard as stone. She snapped another spellword, and flame ignited all around her. Solaufein howled as fire bit at his arm and he managed to snatch back a blistered hand, trying to curl away.

"Veldrin," he wheezed, choking on the stench of burning skin and hair. "You do not n-"

"You don't know that," she disagreed through gritted teeth, and hauled his head back. "And I won't risk it. But it really is nothing personal."

Her knife bit into the skin of his throat, and pain soon blurred into a dull weakness as he coughed uselessly against a tide of blood. He thought of Eilistraee, and prayed that she would spare him Lolth's fury before the dullness ebbed to…nothing.

* * *

"Is it done?" Phaere heard herself ask. She barely heard the answer, but knew all the same. Solaufein was dead. Finally. A bad memory, an awful reminder – now removed. So why did she only feel her insides sinking, the hatred for her mother boiling even more within her veins? "Very well. Have Bodhi and Irenicus meet us here presently."

She dismissed the informant with a stiff wave of her hand, sparing a moment to compose her expression before turning to her mother. Ardulace was watching, of course. Smirking, too – with that pile of fake eggs clustered in a bowl beside her. It was all Phaere could do not to laugh in her face.

"Does it not feel good to be relieved of such a burden, daughter?" the matron mocked.

"He was a bore as well as a burden," Phaere snapped, and her mother laughed merrily. She imagined forcing a blade down Ardulace's throat and twisting it.

They waited in the throne room, her mother too excitable to sit upon the central seat for once. The illithid and aboleth had newly left the palace on the path to the army gathered below; it would be a matter of hours now. And a matter of hours before Matron Ardulace Despana finally got what she deserved.

Phaere's pacing meant that she did not immediately see the surfacers arrive; instead, she endured Ardulace's sickly sweet tone.

"Ah, honoured guests. I trust you are ready to leave?"

"All is prepared, mistress," Irenicus agreed coolly. Phaere turned to see him entering with his sister by his side. The wizard was dressed as ever in his unremarkable black vest and trousers, a hooded cape drawn low over his pallid, scarred face. Bodhi looked ready for the road, her chain leggings and leather tunic more practical than the drow dresses she had been favouring in the palace. "We will travel at the centre of your army, as agreed, and Bodhi will depart shortly after we break through the elf lines."

The vampire was bright-eyed and restless just at the thought, evidently. She quirked an eyebrow Phaere's way, but the drow priestess just gave a faint nod.

"Excellent," Ardulace purred, seating herself slowly upon the throne and waving a hand over the eggs by the chair. "My daughter has done her part in securing the final ingredient."

"Indeed," Irenicus said, though the word escaped him only slowly. His pale eyes lingered on the eggs and flickered up to Phaere's face just briefly. It was enough for her blood to run cold. Of course he knew. But a heavy pause followed and he said nothing of it.

"When will we be leaving?" Bodhi all but demanded, her smile a little manic.

"By midnight. Shortly before the demon is summoned – it will not want to linger long before battle, after all," Ardulace promised. "You will be at the sun elf camp before we have called it forth, of course." At least their guests seemed well pleased. And at least it meant they would be departing soon.

Phaere hid her smile, and at her mother's bidding set to the final war preparations with new zeal. Her mother had said the demon would not want to wait – how fortunate that she had no idea it would begin with her.

* * *

"The army's movin'," Imoen informed faintly when at last Elatharia opened her eyes, awoken by the night-time light of the Narbondel. "They must've unlocked the gates."

Turning over, she saw her sister leaning against the wall by the window, eyes enchanted for distance vision and trained on the gathered drow on the cavern floor far below. Realising it must have been hours since she returned from her grim deed at the Male Fighters' Society and all but fell into bed, Elatharia hauled herself into a sitting position. Several times she had awoken in a haze, jolted as if from a hard fall, but she was relieved to recognise that she did feel rested – at least rested enough to recast the group's Transmutations.

"Then we will be expected at House Despana soon," Elatharia groaned, swinging her legs from the bed and rubbing at her face a little blearily. Imoen nodded, though she seemed distracted. The lights of Ust Natha were dancing across her blue eyes, her naturally tanned skin, her pink hair; washing out all of her distinctive colours with its pallid light.

"I hope Solaufein done got out in time," the aasimar said.

Elatharia hid her wince as she reached for her mask. She froze when she heard her sister's gasp, the girl stumbling away from the window. It took a moment longer than it should for her to look Imoen's way – but the aasimar's eyes were still fixed on the city beyond, even if she could no longer see the army below.

"Wh-what is it?" the Transmuter demanded, standing when she saw the blind alarm on her sister's face.

"They're leaving with the army," Imoen hissed, still backing away from the window. Her hands were shaking visibly. "Irenicus and Bodhi. Edwin too."

Elatharia cursed, looking about herself uselessly as if there might be something nearby to solve the problem. Then they were going to be trapped within while Irenicus reached the surface long before them!

"We won't have time to get down there and follow them," Imoen agreed, her voice still shaking. It did not sound as though she was especially upset about their departure – apparently she had been more concerned about seeing them than following them.

"Then now we will almost certainly have to fight Phaere, or Ardulace…or the demon," Elatharia reminded her. "Possibly all three if we are very unlucky."

Imoen shrugged, though she still looked far from comfortable.

"Sounds better odds than fightin' Bodhi and Irenicus together," she pointed out, fidgeting as Elatharia moved past her to look out of the window, muttering a quick spell to extend her vision.

The Transmuter only saw the last few lines of the Ust Natha army prowling from the gates, every drow dressed in sleek black adamantine mail which would give them an advantage in close combat; it was both stronger and more flexible than anything she had seen amongst surfacers. The drow did not march but they did keep a semblance of formation – as well as a healthy distance from each other.

In the wake of the army the city was even stiller and quieter than before, though a number of the poorer members of Ust Natha would probably be glad to have their space back. The gates ground shut behind the departing army, and five burly, deeply scarred orc slaves staggered towards them with a long metal bar, their masters close behind with enchanted whips to urge them on. They struggled a little but after a heave or two they managed to raise this bar into the appropriate slots across the gates. The imposter surfacers were officially locked in until the summoning was complete.

"Aerie and the others must have gathered the svirfneblin armies by now," Elatharia mused. It would do no good to panic. "She said they would make the short journey to _Mag in Chatha_ and wait by its gates. They will be battling within hours."

"Gods, I done hope they'll be alright," Imoen sighed, peering over her sister's shoulder to check that the army had departed. Elatharia felt her relax behind her.

"Hopefully," she nodded absently. "But now we need to be ready for the betrayal to come."

The Transmuter spent the next hour with Imoen, going through the spells they might need and potential escape routes from the city. When they were at least satisfied _enough_ , she recast their Transmutations and went to the others' rooms to do the same for them. Everyone was on edge, but in the face of her favoured plan no one argued. Surprise would always be their best option.

Once things were settled they returned to the tavern floor to find it predictably all but deserted, the afternoon's revellers gone to fight. They ate what they could, given their nerves, and after a short time a messenger arrived. He addressed Viconia with wide eyes, bowing his head low and eventually remembering to stare down at his feet. He could not have been more than a teenager, scrawny and nervous with only one scar on his cheek. Everyone older than him had evidently gone to fight the sun elves.

"Mistress, forgive me…b-but Matron Ardulace and her First Daughter, Phaere Despana, request the presence of you and your group at the palace immediately."

Viconia put down her two-pronged fork with a deep glare, as if she had been afforded a great dishonour, but sent him away with a curt promise that they would follow. The look she cast across her companions was far from angry, but rather wary. And the fear in her eyes was clear for Elatharia to see.

"If this is a trap we are already as prepared as we could be," the Transmuter reminded the drow as the six of them stood as one, chairs scraping loudly in the large, quiet hall.

"True," Viconia acceded.

"And the sooner we are gone from this place, the better," Jaheira added gruffly. For once, no one disagreed with her. Elatharia even offered her a grim smile, which the druid acknowledged with a distrustful nod of the head.

* * *

"Y-you're certain you'll be alright?" Aerie fretted once her last healing spell was completed, the air shimmering all around her and the other surfacers from her best protective spells. Anomen nodded firmly in answer, though his face was still a little drawn. He was steady in his heavy armour though, and that was some comfort.

"We have several hundred svirfneblin at our backs, my lady," he reminded fondly, as if that might calm her fraying nerves.

"It still surprises me that they did not just send us to do it all for them," Jan suggested from the lip of the tunnel.

He was small enough that even Aerie could easily see over the top of his head, as much as a struggle as it was to turn her senses from the stoic ranks of svirfneblin from every deep gnome settlement which could send soldiers, the newly returned Lulthiss and Odendal rumbling orders somewhere at their centre. The deep gnomes had taken up places in all of the honeycomb of tunnels around the cavern ahead – it looked as though they had been created in the past for drow most likely, probably as a way of defending the huge, sweeping stone stairway that stood across the dark expanse of uneven ground, the cavern around it a maw of stone filled with stalactites and stalagmites, long and sharp likes monstrous teeth.

"Hard to believe that the surface lies just that way," Mazzy murmured, leaning out of the tunnel a little as if she might have heard something. Aerie just nodded.

The gates to _Mag in Chatha_ were visible at the top of the sharply graven stairway, covered in dark crystal that shimmered black to her _Darkvision_ augmentation. The smooth adamantine gates themselves were embossed with a huge metal spider and guarded by a twitchy group of drow males in ridged armour. Just looking that way made Aerie's skin crawl; she was glad Jan's Illusions kept them unaware of the army waiting so close by.

Some louder murmuring from the svirfneblin had Aerie and her companions turning around more out of concern than curiosity, and thus it was with surprise that they saw every deep gnome going to their knees, including Lulthiss and Odendal who briefly became visible as the last to bow. At the turn of the long tunnel there stood a remarkably tall female figure, the gentle white light that swelled from her dusky skin enough to displace Aerie's darkvision in favour of the human spectrum. Her bearing was straight and proud, her long silky hair as smooth and silver as the long tunic she wore, her pale eyes thoughtful – and piercing. She smiled down at the svirfneblin, nodding to them as she passed through, sharing a few quiet words with Lulthiss and Odendal.

"What is a human doing in these parts?" Anomen wondered, his eyes wide as he stared. Beside him, Mazzy shook her head even as she too failed to tug her eyes away.

"That is no human," the halfling disagreed.

The smell of rain washed over them as the woman approached through the slowly standing ranks of svirfneblin, their expressions glazed with awe as she passed. Only once she had neared the surfacers at the end of the tunnel did Korgan spit rudely, his tone more disbelieving than amazed.

"Oh by all the blind stinkin' gods," the dwarf cursed, drawing a horrified look from Mazzy.

Aerie looked back to the approaching woman now with new eyes, and something like hope swelled in her chest.

"Y-you are…are Adalon, the silver dragon?" she asked. The woman bowed her head.

"I am. Your disguised allies have brought my attention to this coming battle," Adalon greeted, her voice gentle and smooth.

"And th-thank you for your…your help," Aerie offered automatically, "I…I realise it isn't something you'd want to do to…to leave your eggs if you c-could help it…"

Adalon's expression softened to hear such words, but she held up a hand sharply for silence before Aerie could continue, her head cocked as if she were listening. Mazzy had stiffened as well, turning sharply to look through the tunnel opening once more, Korgan setting his feet and hefting his axe with a grunt as if he had heard something, too.

Aerie had to bite her tongue against the questions that she so desperately wanted to ask…and then she heard it. The rumble of a great mass moving, swelling to a drum beat of countless scuffing feet, the whispers of many harsh voices enough for one low roar of sound. Blood drained from her face and left her dizzy; Mazzy must have seen her fear, for she met her eye with a determined look and stepped up to the edge of the tunnel in front of the avariel.

"The drow are not being quiet for once," Adalon remarked as Lulthiss and Odendal finally finished giving their instructions and joined the others at the tunnel opening.

"The quiet will not help them in this, indeed," Odendal said, his hand raised to keep his troops at bay. Not far away, a mage watched for his signal, the robed svirfneblin staring into empty space with eyes that glowed a milky white – no doubt from the Divination connecting him to the other groups of the deep gnome army waiting around the cavern.

"The opening of the gates will never be quiet. If they had intended stealth, they would have used one of the more distant surface exits as they have before with their raiding parties," Adalon agreed softly.

But Aerie could not listen to more of this; she was far too on edge. Instead she took a shaky step forward, between Anomen and Mazzy, leaning on the halfling's shoulder out of a need for reassurance which she hoped seemed decidedly more like camaraderie. She felt Anomen's hand on her back too, his kiss at her temple, the faint clank of his armour as he had to bend so far to achieve this simple act of affection. She tried to smile up at him, but knew she failed.

"We are ready," he promised her.

"An' bayin' fer drow blood!" Korgan grunted, braced beside Mazzy. His teeth bared slowly as the rumble of the approaching army grew ever more.

The drow poured into the cavern like a black tide. Aerie had only once seen a swarm of spiders – tiny pale babies dropping free of their clustered eggs. At the time she had found it faintly repulsive and been guilty about that…now she could not help but compare the army of dark elves to that memory. She felt no guilt for hating _them_.

A faint touch at her elbow had Aerie turning around with a gasp; she saw Lulthiss blinking up at her with grave eyes.

"This will be the last of our meetings, avariel," the svirfneblin Conjurer told her with painful certainty. "We fight the flank and the rear guard of the drow – you must run forward, to the surface. No time for goodbyes."

"Goodbyes are too final anyway," Mazzy offered a little stiffly, her eyes trained on the army swarming for the gates. Anomen seemed to be praying under his breath that Jan's Illusions would hold.

"Perhaps, perhaps," Lulthiss nodded, patting at Aerie's elbow before backing up to Odendal's side. "You have saved us, and we now offer you aid. Long will the svirfneblin speak tales of you."

Aerie was both too afraid and too tearful to reply. Her throat had constricted painfully, her eyes welling up, her chin wobbling. She just nodded, sniffled…and turned back to the awful sight in the cavern. What she saw there soon banished her tears.

"Oh, by Moradin's hammer!" Korgan cursed. Aerie was glad that he said it for her.

Illithid had followed the ranks of the drow. There were not many of them, perhaps a score, but even in such small a number they were the last thing an army wanted to see. Even an army humming with magical protections, among them _Death Wards_ and the rather obscurely, ironically named _Chaotic Commands._ But the tank that rolled to a stop in the opening of the huge main tunnel made even Adalon suck in an anxious breath.

"Aboleth," the silver dragon breathed. A beat. "Curious. It does not seem to be participating yet…if it were, it would surely have already noticed us and turned a group about to investigate."

"A blessing, a blessing," Lulthiss rumbled, even as the drow parted for three figures.

They were all taller than the drow around them, one especially so, and from this distance Aerie could just make out the smudges of Irenicus and Bodhi's pallid skin. Edwin's back was turned, and she could see only the golden embroidery across the hem of his archmagi jacket.

"I th-think you…you spoke too soon," she said. Beside her Mazzy ground her teeth, her hand closing slowly around the hilt of her sword.

A moment of restless quiet passed, where the drow army shifted in its rather fluid ranks while Irenicus turned to the gates and raised his arms. From the way the air glowed around his hands, he must have been casting – and Aerie's suspicion was proven correct when the bar across the gate of _Mag in Chatha_ shuddered…and shattered. A boom resounded and the doors blasted inwards, loud enough to send her and her companions staggering back, covering their ears. The baying roar of hateful drow that followed was barely better – indeed, it was far more prolonged – as they rushed up into the dark temple above.

"It is time," Odendal stated. It was the only semblance of speech the svirfneblin needed; one swift hand gesture and the contingent behind the surfacers began to march forward. Jan's Illusions flickered away, revealing the other groups of the deep gnome army around the cavern beginning to move towards a convergence at the oblivious drow back line.

More cautious, the surfacers parted to let the soldiers and their leaders pass. If their plan was simply one of escape, and with Anomen still far from at full health, it seemed wise to assess their options. Although from the way Korgan took to prowling the tunnel's opening once the svirfneblin had passed through, it might be harder to contain him than would be ideal.

"Fear not," Adalon's voice was gentle at Aerie's side, her hand cool on her shoulder. The avariel turned in surprise to look up into her calm face. "I will do all I can to help you get out." She brushed a finger under Aerie's chin, in a semblance of affection which left the avariel wide-eyed. "There is such goodness in you."

When the dragon stepped forward, leaping from the cavern as light poured from her and warped her into her true, vast form, the surfacers braced themselves for battle. Adalon roared, beat her mighty wings and soared towards the drow.

* * *

Matron Ardulace Despana and Phaere were so full of nervous energy that they utterly failed to notice the same emotion in their 'honoured' mercenaries. For clearly practical reasons, they had decided to perform the summoning outside, upon the marble platform which connected House Despana to the city's highest walkway. They had employed at least twenty wizards, all male as was the drow way, who stood in a ring around the platform's perimeter, their hands working in intricate, synchronised patterns.

Light was swelling from the markings on the floor between Ardulace and Phaere. The former had a large box open at her heels, the eggs she believed to be an appropriate offering shining in the Narbondel's midnight light, whose tip stood just scant metres away. Meanwhile, Elatharia had already noticed the enchanted bag at Phaere's hip. No doubt that contained the eggs _she_ thought to be an appropriate offering.

"Irenicus wouldn'ta needed all these wizards to do this," Imoen muttered at her shoulder. There was something about the tone in which she said it…but…Elatharia shook it off. That was a distraction. No doubt her sister was nervous – even without a soul, one's instincts remained. And avoiding death was certainly an important instinct.

"I don't think _I_ would," Elatharia pointed out, earning a particularly distrustful sidelong glance from Jaheira, who stood at Imoen's other side. Viconia just nudged the Transmuter pointedly for silence. _Edwin certainly wouldn't._

At least Haer'Dalis and Valygar appeared to have a rather safer vantage point. As males they were less 'honoured' and had thus been relegated to watching from the city's walkway, silhouetted starkly against the Narbondel behind them. The tiefling looked relaxed, his feet planted in readiness but his arms folded, while Valygar was shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Ah yes – the ranger hated magic. An automatic smirk curved Elatharia's lips as she turned her head back to the summoning circle.

Imoen's hand closed tightly around her wrist as red veins of light began to weave through those markings across the floor, spreading until the stone shimmered. Through it could be seen a world of swirling chaos without visible land; dark clouds brightened and striped by endless and multitudinous flashes of red lightning, a strong scent of sulphur rising up into the air around them. Jaheira tried to stifle a cough – as did Ardulace.

A tense moment or two of silence followed, the wizards around them dropping their hands and staring with expectant fear at the portal they had opened. Elatharia's heart began pounding only when she heard the thump of the monster's wings, her mouth going dry and her stomach starting to churn. Her thoughts were blank as still water…but her body remembered.

The demon arose slowly, vast leathery wings powering its huge, humanoid form up through the portal and allowing it to drop with impossible grace to the platform which reformed beneath it, its heavily muscled body flickering with dancing flames that put faerie fire to shame. It landed facing Ardulace, who met its fiery eyes with fearless ones of her own, her teeth bared as it rose to its full, impressive height. Phaere had backed up, though – and Elatharia could hardly blame her. This was a balor, a dread demon of the Abyss.

"Who calls?" the beast growled, its voice shuddering like the low rumble of a falling building. It lowered its great horned head to better see the drow priestess leering up at it, its hand curled around the handle of the fiery greatsword which it wore at its hip.

"I am Matron Ardulace of House Despana, the first house of the ancient drow city of Ust Natha," came the bold answer, "And I have beside me offerings…in exchange for your allegiance."

The balor scoffed, its long tail lashing and forcing Phaere back several more nervous steps. Elatharia carefully extricated her wrist from Imoen's hand. She sent her a warning look. _Unless you want to join me, you know the plan._

"What is it that forces a worm like you to beg for my allegiance?" the balor rumbled. Anger flickered across Ardulace's face, but she reigned it in.

"We go to fight the sun elves of the surface," she stated, as if that ought to explain everything. "And here, these are my offerings."

She pushed the box forward with her boot, and the demon stared down at it for a long moment. The matron leapt back with a shout of surprise when the beast swept the container and the fake eggs aside with a lazy swipe of one taloned hand. He bared his teeth back at her, teeth as large as shortswords and many times sharper.

"You offer fakes and think I will accept them without question?" the balor roared. Ardulace was gaping up at it in horror, but she had the presence of mind to call for her wizards to do something, and to reach for the snake whip at her side.

"Treachery! I have been betrayed by worthless mercenaries!" she howled it, gesturing the surfacers' way wildly. "Kill them! You can have all of them!" Though the wizards were casting, it seemed they were holding their spells in the event that the balor took up the offer. And he did pause, sniffing at the air as if curious, turning slowly to look their way while Phaere skittered around his back to her mother's side, grinning like a fool.

Elatharia's hands were shaking so hard that she had to clench them together at her back as the beast's fiery eyes settled on her, and then Imoen, widening as if in surprise. He even took half a step back, and then his low laughter shook the platform beneath their feet.

"You offer me Bhaalspawn? Do you think me as bad a fool as you, worm?" he demanded, his whip lashing at the air between him and Ardulace, forcing her back another frightened step. "Demons do not accept the children of gods to play with. But I think you will do nicely…"

"I have the true dragon eggs!" Phaere shouted a little desperately, holding her bag of holding out to the demon. She did have the sense to scramble back when the balor plucked the container from her hands, her mother gaping at her now instead of the demon. It peered inside, and then laughed again, upending the bag and letting the eggs fall out to roll about the platform. A quick dispel by the balor and they reverted to their true forms. Six moonstones.

Phaere's breath sucked in sharply, her eyes so wide that Elatharia wondered if they might pop free. The demon was watching her too, and seemed to hesitate where perhaps he would have reached straight for the two drow.

"You are doomed already, it would seem. Perhaps Lolth will permit me to toy with your souls in the Demonweb." The balor sounded amused, backing up as the ground began to glow beneath him again.

"You are leaving?" Ardulace shrieked. "Take the mercenaries…or…or my daughter," she shoved Phaere forward. "How can you refuse when we summoned you?"

"You are doomed," he reiterated. "And I will not side with you against Bhaal's children. Not when you are about to face their wrath. A pity I cannot stay to watch." The balor dropped through the portal without pause, and the moment its body was through the ground sealed up again, leaving the matron's mouth working for words, and the wizards around them starting to cast again.

Now she and Phaere were both united in their hatred of the mercenaries, turning to them and spitting out orders; no doubt they intended to murder each other once their underlings were dealt with. Elatharia met their eyes as she banished the Transmutations on herself and her friends. It was shocking enough to give the drow pause, as she had hoped.

"Rivvin _filth_ ," Phaere snarled, pulling her mace free instead of her snake whip. "This is your treacherous doing."

"It is," Elatharia agreed as her friends began to edge away from her. "Your deaths will be, too." The drow scoffed, but she just turned to Viconia as the drow reached her other side. Her eyes slid to Imoen's drawn face, the golden light flickering in her pupils as if in sympathy. But the Transmuter could already feel it rushing beneath her skin, crawling to get out. And she had to let it, or they would never escape. " _Run_ ," she snarled to her companions, just once before the Beast ripped its way from her.


	53. And Up to Reascend

**Many thanks for the reviews, favourites and follows. (Wow, 200 reviews! :D) Your support is greatly appreciated.  
The titles for this chapter and two other earlier Underdark-set chapters come from a quote of John Milton's Paradise Lost, Book 1:  
 _I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,  
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down  
The dark descent, and up to reascend._**

 **And now, predictably with a warning for violence and gore:**

* * *

 **Chapter 52: And Up to Reascend**

* * *

Elatharia's transformation was so sudden – and gruesome – that it gave even the drow pause. It was a precious hesitation, one on which Viconia could not dwell before grabbing Imoen's wrist and hauling the girl with her towards the walkway, Jaheira already barrelling through the guards ahead. The shriek of the Beast behind them echoed dizzyingly off the smooth walls of the House Despana and the low cavern ceiling, and that only spurred Viconia on. That, and the rising screams of the drow who attempted to stand in its way.

The jab of one guard's spear forced Viconia to relinquish her hold on Imoen. She ducked beneath the polearm, and then dodged aside again when the snarling male readjusted. Fear drove her, just as it surely did him. Her breaths were fast and shallow, her heartbeat thundering like a drum roll in her chest. Stepping forward, Viconia elbow the spear aside and swung the Flail of the Ages with all the force that she had. It hit the male in the chest and did little damage, but as he staggered back she took a step forward, and swung again. His eyes widened and he attempted to dig in his heels, the spear clattering onto the marble platform beneath them as he reached for a dagger. But Viconia's next swing slapped the weapon from his hand. He howled as the weapon's enchantments burned at his broken fingers – and her next swing forced him back one more fatal step. His arms wind-milled as his feet slipped and scuffed at the edge of the platform for just a moment before he fell back, careering over the edge and into the deep, cold darkness of Ust Natha, screaming all the way.

A glance to the side showed that Imoen was making short work of the other guard, the hilt of his own drow dagger now clutched tightly in her hand, the blade buried in his throat. It was just as well – the shrieks of panic and hastily called spellwords from the drow behind them were fast turning into agonised screams, accompanied by the crunching and tearing of flesh and bones. Above it all, Viconia could hear Phaere and Ardulace screeching for their goddess's aid with ever greater fear and fervour. It did not seem that their prayers were working.

But instead of dropping the dead guard and charging over the small bridge toward the walkway, Imoen hesitated. Viconia only just caught the pause in the corner of her vision, and her feet skidded on blood-slicked marble as she changed direction back for the aasimar. _Shar save me, why do I bother?_

"Imoen!" she snarled, taking a step towards the girl even while a whirlwind of bloody slaughter filled the darkness behind her, barely ten feet away. "Imoen!" she shook the aasimar, and at last the girl let the body drop fully, landing with a limp thump upon the floor.

The chaos of the battle behind the aasimar was so fast and bloody that it would have been impossible to determine any individual events, but all the same it was vying with Viconia's determination. Her better judgement told her to turn and flee; Haer'Dalis, Jaheira and Valygar were calling for their companions with increasing urgency. But, if they got through this, leaving Imoen behind would hardly endear her to the others – so instead of fleeing, Viconia shook the girl for a second time, and at last Imoen took half a step forward on legs that dragged.

A glance over the aasimar's shoulder to the platform in front of House Despana showed a scene of carnage – what remained of the twenty drow wizards was an unrecognisable mess, the spells they had flung either having come too late or been effectively useless. The Beast, now dripping with blood and gore, had its back turned to Viconia and the trembling Imoen, facing Phaere and Ardulace – who were now wide-eyed and panicked. Their backs pressed up against the locked doors of the house with their enchanted maces braced in their hands, they were both bleeding from shallow cuts. No spells would come for them, and their snake whips lay lifeless amongst the bloody mess of their guards. Evidently Lolth favoured the chaos sown here by the Beast. By Elatharia. And surely by Bhaal.

Swallowing hard, Viconia forced herself to keep backing up, finally reaching the bridge between the platform and the walkway where the others waited. Imoen was muttering something incoherent to herself, and as Viconia continued to haul her forward, the girl finally looked up from her reddened hands. And what the drow saw there made her stomach drop and her blood run like ice – her fingers tightened on Imoen's shoulders lest she let go entirely. For where once the girl's dark pupils had been rimmed in striking silver-blue there now shone twin golden suns. Her whole body was shaking now as well, even as she stumbled forward under Viconia's power. It was unmistakable – the rising, buzzing power of the Beast about to tear out of her. If she changed into the monster there Viconia did not know if she would have time to fight back, or flee…or call for Haer'Dalis's aid. And would Jaheira and Valygar not favour Imoen, even as the Beast? She had to stop the change…however possible.

Viconia hit her. It was perhaps a little harder than necessary and something inside her cringed to do it – behind her, Jaheira cried out in horror. But Imoen stopped shaking, her head whipped to the side by the force of the blow. She did not stagger – if anything she seemed to regain her balance – but she spat blood, and brought a hand up to her cheek gingerly. The look she turned to Viconia was bluer than blue sky once more, and her grimace was one of guilt and not reproach.

"Sorry," Imoen said, jumping when Phaere shrieked a curse to the Beast-which-was-Elatharia…only for the drow's call to turn into a scream of pain. The aasimar's eyes were wide and fearful, and she grabbed Viconia's hand with renewed urgency, skipping past her and pulling her along.

Finally they reached Haer'Dalis and the others. For once even the tiefling looked grim: braced for a fight and frowning deeply. Jaheira had a swollen eye from her battle with one of the guards, and a split lip too. It was still easy to recognise her hateful glare all the same even as they turned to run. Another scream urged them on.

"As if all the carnage were not far worse," Viconia snapped to the druid before Imoen and Haer'Dalis both pulled her with them, everyone calling for speed without much coherence as panic took over.

Ust Natha was almost empty – and, Viconia was relieved to admit, drow societies were not so soft as those of the surface. No one would come to Phaere or Ardulace's aid. Their guards were dead, their House mostly off fighting the sun elves by this time along with most of the other nobility. Anyone who lingered would know to keep well out of the way of a seven foot beast of iron-hard hide and razor sharp ridges.

This pervasive apathy proved a priceless boon to the escaping surfacers. No one called for them to stop, no one so much as reared their heads from out of the few buildings they passed in this sparser top level of the city. There was barely a sign of movement on the ground floor…

Imoen skittered to a stop at the stairway down, her hesitation coming too late for Jaheira or Valygar to notice, but Viconia managed to pause with her, even with Haer'Dalis pulling on her arm. Both tiefling and aasimar looked past her and cursed colourfully, eyes widening. Glancing over her shoulder, Viconia knew why – Elatharia, still in the form of the Beast, had moved on from House Despana, whose leaders remained as little more than a bloody mess at their own front gates. Now the Beast was running for the fleeing surfacers, and gaining with limb-weakening speed.

"Viconia! Imoen!" Haer'Dalis snapped. It actually made the drow jump, coming from him. There was a madness in his eyes she had not seen before.

"We can't done use the main gates!" Imoen blurted in arm-flailing panic, even as the three of them bolted down the stairs. Her voice was high and increasingly shrill. "The slaves barred it!"

Blind, unthinking fear was momentarily overwhelming. Why was it so much more frightening, being pursued by one who you hoped you would not have to kill? Viconia hardly had time for the question, let alone the answer. Instead it was Jaheira who spoke up, breathless and grim as they all reached the next walkway.

"Then we will have to get through the guarded exit on this level," the druid said.

A determined look migrated around the group, and with the Beast's claws screeching on the adamantine walkway above as it turned for the stairs they made as one for the gates. It was a little too far to sprint, and both Haer'Dalis and Valygar were several paces ahead of the others by the time the noble houses of Ust Natha had passed them by in a shimmering blur. Viconia fancied she could hear the panting of the monster behind them, and when the guards at the gate wavered with wide eyes to see it approaching she realised that was no fancy. Her legs found an extra burst of speed. She could hear Imoen panting at her side – and if nothing else, she could focus on Jaheira's back and the idea of lodging a dagger there.

"Stand aside or die!" Haer'Dalis warned, his feet skidding on the floor now as he attempted to avoid crashing into the gates. He failed, and his shoulder clanged loudly against the metal. Anger welled up in Viconia's chest when the guards continued to hesitate. It looked like they were thinking about escaping into their guardtowers and letting the monster have the escaping surfacers.

Arriving at speed, Valygar took one of the guards by the throat, crashing into him and sending the sword he attempted to use clattering down into the abyss of Ust Natha. While his fellow gaped at the approaching Beast, the young drow male was lifted by the force of the ranger's arriving momentum – and perhaps some anger and fear too – to crash against the metal beside the panting Haer'Dalis.

"Open the gates and let us out. The…the _monster_ will follow us and spare you," he snarled as at last Viconia and Imoen skidded to a stop nearby. Haer'Dalis had already unsheathed a short sword and had it aimed at the second guard while Jaheira doubled up, wheezing for breath a moment before the last arrivals. "If you kill us, or leave us to die…it will come for you next, fool!"

The guard staggered as he was released, but he only had to share a stunned look with his colleague to reach a silent agreement. They both scrambled for the wheel to open the gates, which began to rumble open as Viconia and her companions turned with weapons braced. Only Imoen stood without a weapon raised, and resisted Jaheira's ferocious tug at her arm to pull her back. The girl's bow remained stubbornly across her back.

Now barely ten feet away and gaining rapidly, Elatharia was still in the form of the Beast though it appeared that somewhere along the way one of the monster's thin, stretched limbs had been injured somehow, for its sprint was increasingly uneven and blood trailed in its path. Its stretched ebon form was almost a blur but Viconia could clearly see its long talons slick with blood, longer each one than Haer'Dalis's short swords, and it yet gnashed at the air with jagged teeth which filled its gore-spattered maw.

The moment the doors opened Viconia stumbled back through them, reflexively urging Haer'Dalis with her. Her hand was fisted so tightly in his tunic that she half expected the fabric to tear. Valygar followed, and then Jaheira fairly threw Imoen after him. The ranger steadied her, all four backing up into the dark tunnel which now echoed with the rumble of the gates…and with a thunderous thump as the Beast reached Jaheira. The druid's eyes widened in anger rather than fear as its talons dug into her leather jerkin, not biting through all the way thanks to various enchantments which only now proved themselves to Viconia's doubting eyes.

"Stop, Elatharia!" Imoen shrieked, now standing with her back to the tunnel wall. Valygar was braced for a fight close by.

Perhaps the Beast hesitated. It's eerily human eyes certainly widened as Imoen called, green like those of the girl from whom it had ripped its way. However it happened, Jaheira managed to drag herself free, her face even more bloodied now as she staggered through. By this time the gates were easily wide enough for the Beast to follow and it did without hesitation, the ridges on its back shrieking deafeningly against the metal and leaving deep grooves behind.

Viconia and Haer'Dalis had stumbled back against one wall, and now it turned to face the other – where Imoen cowered. The girl seemed caught between determination and fear – she howled for Jaheira and Valygar to stay their weapons even as darkness began to fill the tunnel with the gates to Ust Natha now grinding closed. Haer'Dalis tensed at Viconia's side.

"There must be some way to stop her!" Imoen let fly a few magic missiles, enough to stagger the Beast but certainly not enough to truly hurt even the girl it had so recently been. "Elatharia! Stop, please!"

"Perhaps she is gone for good this time," Jaheira snarled. "We can't risk…"

"A _Sleep_ spell!" Haer'Dalis cried at last, "I _knew_ Aerie had done it once before! Imoen – "

The Beast was met by Jaheira's spear in its gut before it could reach Imoen. Valygar hesitated, but his sword was out as well. Viconia heard herself curse, her heart hammering as Imoen blurted out some spellwords, her hands moving snappily in spite of her panic.

" _Azka – sízre!_ "

Silver light bloomed from Imoen's fingetips, filling the darkness which now hung thick around them. The gates clanged shut, and the Beast flopped to the ground. Jaheira's spear tip slid free, tinged with an orange glow as Viconia's sight shifted to infravision.

The druid staggered back with widening eyes as the monster's form dwindled to reveal the battered and bloodied form of Elatharia, Imoen already leaping to her aid. And in spite of the horrors that had passed, and the fear that still jangled her nerves, Viconia was quick to follow with Shar's dark healing already growing in her palms.

* * *

It appeared that the drow truly had not expected – or even considered – an ambush of any kind. Adalon had taken wing scant seconds after the svirfneblin swarmed from their hiding places around the cavern. A stampede had begun almost instantly; the wizards and priestesses at the back of the drow army did not know whether to face off against the svirfneblin now flinging spells their way or to aim for the dragon swooping down upon the centre of their forces.

The rush of feet, the screech of steel, the howls of pain and rage, the boom of Adalon's wings beating the air…it all echoed around the cavern and grew to a deafening roar. Screams and shouts of panic only rose as the dragon's descent saw her hovering metres above the drow, buffeting those beneath her so harshly that they fell to their hands and knees, choking for breath. Those who did not fall seemed ready to kill to escape; the dark elves had already begun to stab each other in the back – quite literally – to make way.

Aerie watched it all with horror and something uncomfortably like…satisfaction, which only made it worse. It was hard to blink, though she dearly wished to close her eyes. She clutched her mace tightly, but when Mazzy ordered her to stay by Anomen's side in the mouth of this tunnel, the avariel did not complain. Her healing skills had always been far better than her fighting skills, even imbued with every arcane protection that her wizarding powers would permit. It had taken a stern glare to hold back Anomen, and it saddened her to see his eagerness for battle.

Mazzy and Korgan leapt into the fray when a pair of drow warriors spotted them and ran for the tunnel entrance spitting hateful curses at the sight of surfacers. For a time Aerie was distracted by the necessity of the battle; first sending out protective spells to her companions and then focused on the _Chant_ of Baervan Windwanderer. It was a relief to feel the warmth and light of her god after so long in the dark – and to see the dark elves so caught unawares and driven into disarray.

It looked as though a large proportion of the Ust Natha forces had made their way into the temple before Adalon landed on the steps, the snap of breaking drow bones and the echo of their screams as she crushed them audible even from Aerie's position. When the dragon roared and breathed her silver fire, the stampede reversed on itself. Five thousand drow pushed and pulled, and blades slashed. Surrounded by two thousand svirfneblin, their only exit cut off by a vengeful silver dragon, the dark elves' treacherous nature was in clear evidence. Some pushed forward their fellows to avoid the fire themselves, others continued to cut their way through their own forces only to be pushed back by the svirfneblin.

Through it all, the illithid and the blurred shape of the water-tank behind them just stood in silence, unmoving. They made no move to help and showed no sign of fear – in turn, neither deep gnomes nor dark elves gave them any heed. It was as if the fighters simply could not see the psionic beasts. And as the battle was slowing, the cavern floor running with rivers of slippery blood and the warring sides' swings coming slower, heavier…the illithid simply turned and melted into the darkness after the silent drift of the free-wheeling water-tank. The drow had been betrayed, and they did not even know it.

When drow forces had thinned considerably, most trampled or cut down or dying, Mazzy turned from her most recently vanquished foe. Calling for Korgan – who stood atop a pile of the dead with a bloody grin beneath a gore-splattered visage – the halfling waved urgently for Aerie and Anomen. It took a little help from the avariel, but the knight managed to wince his way down from the tunnel mouth to join the battlefield just as Korgan stomped over proudly to Mazzy's side and Jan appeared suddenly between them with a fizz of blue sparks.

"We should make our way to the temple now," Mazzy panted, her face grim and eyes steely as the others joined up around her. "The drow are beaten back, but who knows what comes next…" the boom of Adalon's wings beating the air once more momentarily drowned out all other sound and every member of the group cringed away automatically. Aerie almost slipped on the limp arm of a fallen svirfneblin and jumped away with a horrified shriek, her stomach churning.

It was a grim journey that they made, their way lit by one of Aerie's cantrips – but even so, it was impossible not to slip on the bodies of the dead and dying. Several times Mazzy stopped to hand out mercy to gasping dark elves. Korgan was less gentle. By the time they reached the steps, all five of them were spattered with blood, and very little of it their own. It was a treacherous climb to the blasted gates of _Mag in Catha_ but the promise of sunlight, or at least the open sky, had Aerie's eyes focused solely on the opening. She heard the roar of Adalon's breath somewhere across the cavern, and the distant clang of weapons. She was never free of the screams. But at that moment every thought she had was on the charred hallway ahead, wherein were scattered the blackened remains of those drow who had attempted to escape Adalon's wrath.

There was little to see as the five surfacers first stumbled grimly into the Temple of _Mag in Chatha_. Just a smouldering hall littered with the smoking bodies of drow, every wall-hanging burned and golden symbols twisted out of recognisable shape now moulded to walls and the floor by the silver dragon's breath. It was hard not to choke on the stench of burning flesh.

The way ahead was clear, however. One needed only to follow the shouts of fresh battle and the clatter of weapons, beyond the wide open latticework gates at the far end of the hall. Here the hard stone of the drow was warped against the baked earth walls of the surface elves, the gates and doorways thereafter of living roots. A shallow slope of packed earth greeted their blood-soaked boots, the path curving slowly upwards in a long and gentle spiral. For a moment the group hesitated, looking to each other. No bodies lay along this route, but already they could smell the fresh surface air. Tears came to Aerie's eyes as the scent of grass and night-blooming flowers came carried on the gentle breeze. It was all she could do not to rush past her friends, heedless of whatever waited ahead.

When at last they did make their cautious way to the top of the spiral, where the earthen walls parted into a domed hallway of interwoven vines, it seemed the battle had moved on – dead drow littered the moonlight-dappled ground. As they crept through the archway ahead, out into the open night air at last, it was to a bristling ring of gleaming elven steel. Now the escaping surfacers could only raise their hands and drop their weapons as a score of battle-weary, blood drenched sun elves eyed them with cold distrust.

* * *

"No…no! I-I'll give it to you. J-just…just don't…"

The sun elf's voice cut off abruptly. With one callous sweep of his hand, Irenicus had finally let the warrior's soul dissipate, though he had been toying with it for hours. Or so it seemed. Now the male elf just flopped face down onto the ground, his skin withered and horribly torn after his ordeal. Moonlight played off the proud shine of his armour, a testament to the desperate escape mission he had attempted as the battle began. No other soldier of his ilk could say the same – and now the gilded box which he had cradled as gently as a newborn lay dropped by his still form, its catch jarred open and its edges sinking in the mud.

"At last," Bodhi sighed noisily as Irenicus bent to retrieve the box, nudging the sun elf's body aside with one boot to avoid bloodying his cloak. The vampire mistress stood by one of the ornate standing stones on this low hillock, heedless of the dead elves scattered around them though her arms were bloody to the elbows, a thin line of red still trickling over her chin. Her eyes flashed now as Irenicus stepped back in grim silence, opening the lid of the box slowly and angling the contents her way as she reached his side.

Edwin caught a glimpse as well, though he had little wish to approach the pair. Within the container, cushioned upon fine velvet which lay colourless in the moonlight, were three smooth horns. They were small, no longer than the Red Wizard's hand span, and each decorated only with a single glittering jewel at their tapered ends. He doubted they would make an especially loud or impressive noise when blown.

"I had almost forgotten what they looked like," Bodhi cooed, leaning into her brother's side and running a fingertip over one of the horns, leaving a sticky trail of blood across its dark surface. Irenicus's pale eyes slashed across her face in silent reproach, but if she noticed this she ignored him. "Such a pity that the wards will not let me pass even with any one of these Rhynn Lanthorns."

"Indeed. Though it will only be a temporary problem," Irenicus agreed, nodding when she made as if to pick up the bloodied horn. He closed the box before she could dirty the others. "Once I am inside, I will lower the wards against undead. You may enter then."

"Alright," Bodhi sounded a little grudging, slipping her Rhynn Lanthorn into a hidden pocket somewhere in her cloak and casting a faintly nervous look around them.

The ring and crash of battle still sounded, more distant than ever now. The hillock upon which the trio stood gave them a good enough view of the broad valley across which battle had been waged since not long after midnight. The dead littered the field, in their greatest numbers around the domed lattice-work temple set in the hillside perhaps half a mile away. Shouts and stretches of summoned light still highlighted continuing skirmishes, but for the most part the drow had done little more than get in each other's way. At least they had created a good enough distraction for Irenicus and Bodhi to flit by with just a few Illusions to veil them. The siblings had been certain from the beginning that the sun elves would send one soldier away with this box – and the way to it had been bloody. Edwin had felt some significant indignation at the elves' assumption that he was aligned with Irenicus and Bodhi, but had hardly stood back and attempted to hide. (The fools had deserved every spell they took for turning their blades his way!)

"We should part immediately," Irenicus was saying, and that had Edwin looking up sharply. Bodhi's teeth flashed in amusement to see his surprise. "I take it your lodgings in Athkatla will provide the appropriate sanctuary until I can lower the wards on Suldanessellar. I may need a few days, sister," his tone was one of pragmatic warning. "To gather my true allies now that the drow have proven themselves so…ineffective. And to break through into the city."

"My lair is warded and guarded well enough to keep out the Radiant Heart or the Shadow Thieves, if they were even thinking of coming for me," Bodhi dismissed, though her brow furrowed as she looked out across the field of battle. "Something seems wrong here. Ardulace and Phaere were so certain of victory but their forces buckled all the same."

"The main force never arrived from the cavern below," Irenicus shrugged. "Most likely the enemies of Ust Natha were already mobilised against them. It matters not – they provided the distraction that we needed, and forced Ellesime to send out the Rhynn Lanthorns. It is all that we needed."

Bodhi's nod was a distracted one. Edwin watched with intrigue as she struggled to pull her eyes from the scene of abject failure. It was all he could do not to smile – if anything was Elatharia's doing, then this quiet, creeping disappointment for the drow most certainly had to be.

The flare of Irenicus's silent spell forced the attention of both Red Wizard and vampire mistress back to him, just as the silver bloom of a _Teleportation_ spell engulfed him. His face was set and steady upon Edwin as he went, leaving just a whisper of disturbed grass in his wake and a chill in the Conjurer's veins.

"Come along now, prisoner mine," Bodhi fairly snapped, drawing the hood of her cloak low over her head and glancing with narrowed eyes at the horizon. There was still no hint of the sun, just the pallid shine of a moon mostly obscured by dissipating rainclouds. "Valen is waiting." She clicked her fingers over her shoulder as she turned to go, and something tugged at Edwin's thoughts. (The wretched compulsion which now raged within his blood.)

Gritting his teeth, Edwin made to follow the vampire who was now making swift progress away from the battleground to a long, dark carriage standing just in sight on the broad paved road which wound ahead and behind, north to south. He could not imagine anything more awful than spending the next few days trapped in that cell of a carriage with Bodhi…until he saw one of the horses stamp at the ground impatiently. Red wisps of fire fluttered about its dark hooves, and cinders flared before its face as it neighed. Of course these were Nightmares. At least the journey would be quicker (if a great deal bumpier).

Careful not to force any further scrutiny from Bodhi, who was now already making for the waiting carriage, Edwin turned to follow. Still, he risked one more glance over his shoulder at the temple – and saw a commotion at the gates, the glint of steel, the waving of hands. The tattoo for _Farsight_ upon his shoulder allowed him a better view. That was Aerie, flapping her arms for peace as the sun elf guards swarmed around the avariel and her group. There was no sign of the group who had confronted Edwin in Ust Natha. Still, his lip curled in bitter amusement as he headed after Bodhi.

They had to reach cover before the sun rose.

* * *

"Hey. Hey!"

The hands which gripped Elatharia's shoulders did not stop shaking her even as her eyes cracked open and revealed Imoen crouched over her, the aasimar's brow furrowed. For a moment the world wheeled all about; memory failed her and Elatharia almost choked on the thick, smoky air – all she knew was that she lay upon hard stone, her clothes twisted about in a manner which suggested she had been dressed by someone whilst in this prone position. There were other faces peering down at her as well, though it took a moment to focus. She saw Viconia and Haer'Dalis, both now relaxing as she took in their faces, and beside them the figures of Jaheira and Valygar. The druid's expression was so drawn it appeared almost blank, a kind of blind shock in her pale eyes. She took a step back as Elatharia looked at her.

And still Imoen continued to shake the Transmuter. It took a monumental effort to raise her arms, but she succeeded in batting her sister's grip from her shoulders. The aasimar sat back on her heels and started to tug at Elatharia's arm instead.

"Wh-what…"

"No time! Get up, big sister. We need to get outta here. Haer'Dalis carried you this far, but then you done started floppin' and gaspin'. The surface isn't far, but we can't stay here now you're awake."

For a moment Elatharia blinked in dismayed confusion, hearing the tense tone in her sister's voice. Then, as she managed to haul herself onto her elbows and recognised that she now wore the Robe of Vecna and her father's grey cloak, she began to recall. The plan for her to take on the form of the Beast, the old mask she had tied to her face to hide her markings without ruining her far more precious clothes. She remembered the hateful golden light, and the blood-red blindness which had followed. Ah, and the pain of Jaheira's spear in her gut in the one moment of clarity as the Beast receded and Imoen's _Sleep_ spell claimed her consciousness. The druid took another step back now as Elatharia's eyes found hers with far more understanding.

"Get up, _khal'abbil_ , your sister is correct," Viconia put in now, pulling on her other arm until she and Imoen could fairly drag Elatharia to her feet. The Transmuter swayed, until the aasimar wove a determined arm around her waist.

"Alright, alright," Elatharia groaned, wincing as the others now turned for the gaping doorway ahead. Her knees were all but knocking as she attempted to follow. "I ache all over though."

"Plenty of time for achin' later," Imoen grunted beside her.

The Transmuter only truly understood the utter literal truth of Imoen's earlier comment as the sisters limped their way through this long, charred hallway. She smelled burned flesh, saw the charred bodies littering this whole blackened room and took it immediately for Adalon's doing. There was the gleam of one of the Despana house pins, and there the sigil of House Jae'llat upon a cracked breastplate.

She was too unsteady to look behind herself, but she saw the blood upon the boots of her companions. They had made their way through the remnants of a slaughter to get here, or else they had wrought one. And given the promises of the svirfneblin just days before, she knew the most likely explanation.

They ascended the earthen slope to the surface at an eager but unsteady pace; even without a soul it seemed that Elatharia's instincts called out for the open air. She smelled the freshness, the scent of flowers tinged with the grimmer reek of battle, and recognised the easier breaths of Jaheira, Valygar and even Haer'Dalis. When they came out through the earthen wall ahead and into the dome of vines above, all six of them had to shield their eyes at least momentarily against the silver shine of dappled moonlight.

Elatharia and her companions were allowed no time to admire the change in scenery as they stepped out of the archway and into the dizzying open spaces of the surface. The Transmuter heard the high, urgent tone of Aerie's voice from somewhere out of sight just as several heavily armoured elves spat hateful curses and lunged for Viconia.

The drow yelped in shock, the blade of an elven spear reaching far enough to draw a thin line of blood at her throat. Haer'Dalis responded just as quickly as this new enemy, and now his shortsword pricked the chin of the snarling aggressor in return.

"E-everyone! Th-these are our c-companions!" Aerie was shouting, though Elatharia could only see the swing of her golden hair, washed out to white in the moonlight, as she pleaded with some unseen power. Korgan's raucous laughter was audible too.

Some six hard-faced sun elves blocked their path, weapons crossed as Haer'Dalis, Viconia and their comrade contended. Groaning in frustration, Elatharia was too weak to protest with any threat of violence. She found her blurring eyes turning upwards, to the drifting clouds so high above and to the moon, Selûne, gleaming down upon them.

There were too many voices snapping all at once for Elatharia's tired mind to follow, but from the way that Imoen's arm tightened around her it could not have been good. The guards snarled in Elvish and Haer'Dalis responded in Common; Viconia seemed so stunned by his immediate aid that her mouth was agape with no words forthcoming. Aerie was still calling out in the distance, in Elvish now as well though her accent was an unfamiliar one. Eventually the guard whom Haer'Dalis held at stalemate was jostled aside, both of their weapons falling as the space was made. Viconia was quick to back up, sending a plainly frightened look over her shoulder to the Transmuter. Jaheira stepped into the space the drow left, her hands tight around her silver spear

"If you travel with the drow then you must be in league with them!" an angry male voice barked now over the commotion.

The guards stood to abrupt attention, their spears pulled back by their sides and crossed over to bar the way. The male elf who stepped up to face Haer'Dalis and Jaheira cast a long, cold look upon each of the group before him, his eyes lingering upon the druid. Dressed in ornate platemail, he wore a crested helmet which revealed an angular, weathered face and narrow, piercing eyes. There was a long cut across his neck which had been partially healed, and his cloak was heavy with blood. Over his shoulder, Elatharia could see Aerie watching on with anxious eyes, small hands wringing together.

" _You would not be standing here before us if it were not for our actions beneath the earth, sir_ ," Jaheira was saying in clipped Elvish, the words coming more easily to her than did those of the human Common tongue. The elvish commander's thin brows rose to hear that and he settled his feet as if waiting for a highly interesting elaboration. " _But not all of my companions speak our tongue. I must ask that you_ …"

" _And some are injured too_ ," Imoen put in haltingly. By now her fingertips were digging into Elatharia's ribs. And though the aasimar fairly held her up, the Transmuter might have disagreed with the description – any injuries dealt her that day had been healed. It was the Beast which had so drained her and left her limbs heavy and aching.

" _I see that_ ," the elvish commander allowed at last, some unseen subordinate's _Tongues_ spell allowing his next words to meld seamlessly into the Common tongue, "And therefore I see that you are in no state to bargain. Your companions preceded you, and it is only under the vow of an avariel that you yet live."

"That we _live_?" Imoen sounded utterly scandalised. Elatharia wondered how she could feel anything at all. "We done saved your pompous gilded 'lives'!"

The commander quirked an eyebrow at that, his mouth curling into something a little like a smile.

"'Pompous', perhaps. But also cautious," he pointed at Viconia, who braced herself for a fight. Now the commander's smile was a decidedly wolfish one. "Take the drow. Have her bound and under _constant_ guard until we can decide her fate."

"No!"

Viconia lunged for the Flail of the Ages and Haer'Dalis whirled on the closest guards, jostling Jaheira into the others quite deliberately. But it was all in vain, for the guards were too agile and too great in number for tiefling and drow to hold them off; Imoen protested but could not let go of her sister. Jaheira and Valygar remained quiet in the face of the struggle – Elatharia fancied she saw a look of decided satisfaction upon the druid's face as Viconia and Haer'Dalis were both wrestled to the ground. Enchanted bonds wound about their wrists and as they were hauled to their feet the tiefling narrowly managed to kick the commander in the face. His teeth were bared, his normally whimsical expression twisted into something feral. If he said anything, it was in the hissed speech of the Abyss.

" _Khal'abbil_! If you have any soul left at all…" Viconia's voice was hoarse, her eyes wild. She continued to struggle as she was dragged back, her feet slipping in the muddy ground and leaving deep furrows behind. Haer'Dalis had already been forced in the opposite direction, though it took four of the six guards to do it.

Elatharia felt the faint swelling of anger and indignation rising in her chest, and ground her teeth now as she met the drow's eyes. Her legs were too weak for her to move much, now mostly held up by Imoen's will alone.

" _I will not leave without you,_ " she signed with her free hand. The fight went out of Viconia at that, though she shook her head a little desperately. They both knew it was as much as could be offered for the moment.

Once Viconia and Haer'Dalis had been hauled away, somewhere into the darkness of this muddy plain, no guards remained around the Transmuter and her remaining companions save for their commander. Elatharia finally caught sight of the hills around them, one low hillock drawing her eye. There, just ahead of the dark treeline, a cluster of standing stones stood at the centre of some distant but visible scene of utter carnage. It took one look to know it. Irenicus had been there. And – as if to prove her right – Imoen tensed by her side, her eyes trained the same way.

"Now we may talk more freely," the elvish commander said, his tone lighter as if somehow they must all innately agree on the wrongness of Viconia…and possibly Haer'Dalis too even as he wiped blood from his nose. Elatharia's smile was more of a grimace as she finally met his eye. Oh, if only he knew.

But now Aerie was rushing forward, sparing a half-pleased look for Jaheira before bustling straight into Elatharia and helping to support her weight.

"I'm…I'm so sorry a-about this," the avariel exclaimed in a rush. "General Sovalidas! W-we need to find somewhere to t-take her…"

"Of course." Addressed by name now, the elvish commander bowed his head in agreement and gestured for them to follow. "Elhan's tent is this way. He must speak with all of you but there will be seats." He appraised Elatharia with one faintly disgusted look. "She does not appear _wounded_ , after all."

Too weary to argue for the moment at least, they followed in Sovalidas's wake across the muddy mess of the battlefield. There was a decided lack of sun elf dead, though plenty drow – Elatharia could only assume that they had already taken away their warriors for proper burial.

"W-what happened?" Aerie was asking as they walked.

"It's a very long story, but I can tell you the quick version," Imoen offered when Elatharia could only shake her head, her feet dragging. The aasimar had time enough to relay recent events, and the avariel to tell of the drow defeat in return.

The nearest cluster of elvish tents stood against the hillside not far from the temple itself, the domed structure of vines out of which they had emerged. It was hard to make out much detail even with her enchanted mask and the darkvision it provided, but they were clearly more durable structures than those of human travellers. Constructed of woven vines they appeared permanent, if small. The one long, canvas structure they had erected looked to have been hastily made, its posts of unhewn branches which had been hammered askew into the ground. With no sides, this showed rows of wounded soldiers lain directly onto the canvas floor, tended by solemn elves in muddied robes.

It was to the largest of the vine tents that Sovalidas brought the travellers, holding the hinged door-flap open for them as they followed a guard within, and already Elatharia could hear the cordial tones of Anomen and Mazzy. It appeared that only Aerie and Korgan had witnessed their recent arrival – there was no sign of Jan.

The halfling paladin and the knight were just rising from woven chairs as Elatharia came limping in with Aerie and Imoen at her sides. Both looked weary and conspicuously freshly washed, dressed in tunics and trousers now rather than their armour. While they greeted Jaheira and Valygar, Elatharia allowed Imoen to lower her into a chair in the corner of the room, slumping against its creaking form without even the strength to rearrange her position.

Meanwhile, the guard who had preceded them was leaning around a partition of tightly woven reeds, his words too softly spoken and rushed for the Transmuter to catch anything of the elvish. After a brief exchange with the figure beyond, he backed up with a bow before turning and exiting the tent. Elatharia watched it all with weary detachment, seeing her companions greeting each other with awkward back-patting and hugs – something which Korgan had already retreated from, grunting about elvish wine before vanishing into the night.

"My soldiers tell me that you brought a drow to our camp," a deep voice stated, the words accented strongly with the tones of nobility which Elatharia had heard several times in Candlekeep. Had this male elf who was now stepping out at last from behind the partition spent some time in Evermeet or Evereska? He spoke as an elvish noble, a lilting tone to his voice which was more expected of a moon elf. Still, he was unmistakeably a sun elf, with his finely chiselled bronze features and long copper hair, his brows a little heavier and chin a little stronger than his moon elf kin. A long scar cut through his jaw, twisting thin lips, and he stood at about the same height as Anomen, with a lithely muscular frame which proved him to be a warrior. A sword hung at his hip, but otherwise he wore soft black cloth, fringed in gold. "You can understand that drow are not welcome here. The Knights of Suldanessellar exist solely to stop the spread of the dark elves from beyond our temple of _Mag in Chatha_."

"She is our friend and ally, and not a drow of Ust Natha besides," Elatharia told him stiffly, her hands tightening on the arms of her chair as if that might somehow lend her strength. Her companions shifted uncomfortably on their feet, but the male elf waved imperiously for them to take the seats gathered around the room. His golden eyes narrowed at the Transmuter's words, a look of superior disbelief which only made her distrust these elves even more.

"I am High Knight Elhan of the Knights of Suldanessellar," he said as he stepped into the light, leaning his hands on the vine-and-stone desk by the partition and surveying the newcomers with a grim frown. He did not appear wounded from battle, though the pointed green boots he wore were spattered with mud from the field. "I speak for Queen Ellesime in this place, and so I will offer you the patience and withheld judgement that she would. Unless you give me further cause to doubt you."

"And why should we trust _you_?" Valygar asked, leaning forward in his chair as if anxious to be on his feet again.

"We have not yet killed you, though you all ascended from the Underdark," Elhan pointed out coolly. "And with a drow, no less."

"V-Viconia isn't…isn't like the other drow," Aerie admitted, her furrowed brow suggesting that she could hardly believe she was saying this. "And Haer'Dal…"

"Enough!" Jaheira had declined a chair, preferring to stand stiffly by the tent opening and peer out into the night. Now she whirled on all of them. "High Knight Elhan, I was raised in the Wealdath just as many of your soldiers. I know the truth of Suldanessellar – and we have discovered a threat to your city which cannot be ignored. It is more important than pointless haggling over ancient laws."

Elhan's hard expression fell just briefly at her words, his hands clenching at his sides as he stood straight once more. Intrigued, Elatharia watched him closely as Jaheira continued to explain recent events – of Irenicus and Bodhi, and their plan to overrun Suldanessellar. All of her companions were watching as well, in various states of fatigue. They all seemed eager to resolve things, to get up and find somewhere to eat and rest. But Elatharia, cold at heart and too tired to move, found – quite suddenly – that she saw the truth.

"You already know."

The conviction of her comment was enough to silence Jaheira, whose eyes were still wary as they settled upon her, and now Elhan was the only one pretending not to have heard her.

"You do," the Transmuter smiled coldly when the Knight of Suldanessellar risked a glance her way, struggling to keep his expression unreadable. "You already know of Irenicus and Bodhi and their plan to get to Suldanessellar. Why aren't you following them? I saw the comrades of yours they left slaughtered on that hill."

A moment passed in which Elhan visibly warred with himself – at last he let out a long sigh of defeat.

"We have…had dealings with the one named Irenicus in the past, it is true. And we sought to thwart him on the battlefield. In so doing…we now cannot follow our enemy, though we may dearly wish to," Elhan admitted with a wince. "He has taken from us the very items which were meant to protect our queen and her city from his invasion; the Rhynn Lanthorns, which are now the only way to reach the city. They were intended to be our method of return once the enemy was destroyed, but we did not predict that Irenicus was with the drow, and that he had planned for all of this."

"Are you saying that we have no way of getting to him before he reaches Suldanessellar?" Anomen asked, aghast.

"Bodhi cannot pass through Suldanessellar's wards," Jaheira offered, earning a few surprised looks from Aerie, Mazzy and Valygar. "The city is protected against the passage of undead."

"She'll have taken one of the Rhynn Lanthorns so she can get there later," Imoen stated with eerie calm. "He'll bring down the wards for her once he's there." Seated beside Elatharia, her face was blank, but her voice sounded strained. Something flickered in Elhan's expression at her words, but he only nodded as if her comment was an interesting suggestion.

"Then she will return to Athkatla," Jaheira surmised, drawing a confused frown from Mazzy. A pang shot through Elatharia – the halfling still did not know the truth of Bodhi! Indeed, neither Anomen nor Aerie were aware of the whole truth of Elatharia's previous affiliation with the vampire. The Transmuter never intended for her sister to find out, either.

"Her lair is warded beyond anything I've ever seen," Elatharia warned, ignoring Elhan's horrified look. "But Jaheira is right. We will find her there."

"Sounds like a trap," Valygar pointed out. No one disagreed.

"It is our only way," Jaheira shrugged. "Even if Bodhi expects to be followed she holds the only key to reaching the Hidden City. If Irenicus is already on his way to Suldanessellar the enchantment on his Rhynn Lanthorn will render him untrackable. If we are to get to him, then we must first find – and kill – Bodhi. Before she goes after him and her Rhynn Lanthorn veils her passage, too."

"Then it appears you have some vendetta against this foe of Suldanessellar," Elhan sounded pleasantly surprised. Elatharia's lip curled. Did he truly think he was fooling anyone? "If you can bring back the Lanthorn for us, we will be in your debt."

"Then in return, you must permit us to go to Suldanessellar with you," Jaheira insisted, and though Elhan blanched at the idea he did nod.

"We are too beleaguered by our recent battle to offer you much immediate aid, but we will be waiting here for your return," he agreed.

"Given the greeting you gave us and our other companions, you may satisfy yourself in the knowledge that we will leave your camp at dawn," Elatharia promised. "With Viconia and Haer'Dalis."

* * *

The sun elves refused flatly to discuss the release of either Viconia or Haer'Dalis until morning – no doubt because they assumed the dawn would render the drow more vulnerable. And since the rest of the group were in no position to bargain, weary as they were, they had retreated to gather their thoughts and perhaps even gain a little rest.

The dark swath of the Wealdath bordered the valley in which the temple of _Mag in Chatha_ stood on three sides, tall and densely packed trees marking out the borders of one of the largest continuous forests in all of Faerûn. It was rumoured to be a treacherous place for those uninvited by the elves – as it was, the group kept the trees to their back. They had been too long under the cover of the earth to seek any more shelter.

Elhan permitted them access to washing facilities used by his soldiers; a basket full of dwindling soap bars and directions to the stream which flowed out from the forest just west of the battlefield. It was late, and the knee-high waters were startlingly cold, but the others seemed eager to wash away the memories of the Underdark.

A tent was offered, but they all refused it. They preferred to lie down upon the mossy banks of the stream with their bedrolls, under cover only of the stars and clouds and moon; the air was warmer this far south, even with Leafall closing in. By this time, scant hours to dawn, the elvish camp had grown quiet, the distant prayers of healers and the groans of the wounded drowned out by the rush and gurgle of the nearby stream. Elatharia fell asleep to this comforting wall of sound, and the muffled whispers of Aerie telling Anomen of the avariel constellations. Soon, sleep came in a rush of leaden darkness, weighing down painful and weary limbs in a tide of total oblivion.

Elatharia woke with a gasp, eyes flying open, skin crawling with the sensation of panic. But all was still, the sky grey-blue with early morning gloom, the air cool on her bare arms. The elven camp across the muddy field to her right was all but deserted, every visible soldier hidden away in those vine tents – except for the grim-faced priests steadily working their way across the remains of the battlefield, dragging each drow body they found to join a pile not far from the bloodied hillock to the north west, whereon Irenicus and Bodhi had left a scene of carnage amongst the standing stones. They were building a pyre.

The first trill of birdsong burbled into the morning quiet as Elatharia sat up, shaking off the dew from her cloak and rising, every rustle and thump of movement deafening to her newly awakened ears. It was disorientating having such open space all about her – she had almost grown accustomed to the dark, cramped menace of the Underdark. But now there was a wispy sky stretching up above and the sun steadily rising over the curving treeline along the eastern hills whose grassy curves were washed out almost to blue in the fragile light. And of course, there was the bloodied mess of the battlefield, churned up mud and gore which could not be dragged away to the gruesome pyre. There crows were already starting to try to pick at the bodies of the defeated drow, wafted away half-heartedly by elvish clerics in reddened grey robes.

The others were sleeping soundly when Elatharia picked her way out from amongst them, though they were all dressed and ready for the road. Imoen had curled up with her back to one of the chalk-striped boulders by the stream, her pink hair limp across her face; Jaheira and Mazzy were not far away, Valygar a little further off. Aerie and Anomen lay together a little way up the bank, the avariel's golden hair splayed artfully across the knight's broad chest. Korgan looked to have fallen into a drunken stupor several paces from the bank, his boots caked in blood and mud. Face down, his snores were mercifully muffled, an empty bottle still clutched in his hand. There was, however, still no sign of Jan. And no one knew where the Knights of Suldanessellar were keeping Viconia and Haer'Dalis.

The ground was still sodden from the rainfall which must have preceded their passage out of the Underdark, her boots starting to sink in the deep mud from the moment she stepped away from the mossy bank. Every step accompanied by the arduous, sickening suck and squelch from the churned up ground, Elatharia wrapped her father's cloak about her and forged on. The smell of death assaulted her from twenty paces as she approached the growing pile of drow bodies. The flicker of her _true_ father's power stirred at the back of her thoughts and she folded her arms tightly across her chest. The most recent transformation she had undergone had _hurt_.

As she neared the gruesome mound, Elatharia was struck by the familiarity of several faces, though not by anything close to regret. At least she could not make out Viconia's visage amongst them. And as she drew closer still, the priests dragging the last few bodies to the pile eyed her warily, muttering to each other in their sun elf dialect as if there were no way she could have understood them. From what she could make out it seemed that the standing stones on the hillock at whose foot they had gathered was some kind of symbol to their gods, and whatever slaughter Irenicus had wrought there was a deliberate defilement. They hoped that the burning of the drow dead would go some way to returning the place's sanctity.

"Our drow and tiefling remain quite unharmed, fear not," Jan's voice chirped from just by her elbow. He grinned up at her when she gave a start, seeing him flickering into being close by on the grassy rise. "I watched them pile 'em high one drow at a time. And before they started, I took a look at the rest of the camp. Not much left now, even after everything."

"I noticed you were missing," Elatharia managed, much more nonchalantly than she felt after he had so surprised her. Her eyes narrowed as the gnome continued to grin up at her. His dark hood was pulled low over his bushy brows, but she could still make out the conspiratorial look in his dark eyes. "What is it?"

"Take a look for yourself," Jan suggested, pointing to the top of the hillock. "Really, I'm quite happy to lie about most things but Viconia is being held in that tent – just there," he added when Elatharia glanced anxiously back at the pyre, which was now flaring up with fire. The gnome gestured to a small vine tent between Elhan's and the temple. "And Haer'Dalis in the one opposite."

Giving the scene one more suspicious look, Elatharia followed Jan up to the top of the hillock. She half expected the priests to try to stop them, but they only earned a few disapproving looks. Besides, even before they reached the top she could make out the scorch marks across the earth, and even before that the deadened grass which the rising sun painted in clear orange against the verdant green at the hillock's base.

At the top, where the ground was level and utterly blackened, where the glistening mass of gore and blood which she had espied in the night had now been cleared away, Elatharia could not doubt that this was Irenicus's work – though the mess must surely have been all Bodhi. The standing stones were unbroken, though the jagged tip of one was coated still in congealing blood.

"They were here," Elatharia snarled at last, taking in the blasted area. "Though I think we missed the show."

"Seems that way," Jan agreed quite casually, padding across to the one area of green, an oval as long as a man was tall by the central standing stone, this one graven with a silver-painted star. An emerald glinted at its centre. "But I got a look before they tidied it all up. There was only one elf left whole – right here," he pointed down at the living grass. "And he wore a blue cloak with a horn stamped across it. From the way he was all withered to the bone it looked like…"

"Necromancy," Elatharia nodded, rolling her eyes. "Gods, couldn't they have made it a little less obvious that he was the one carrying the Rhynn Lanthorns?"

Jan shrugged.

"Military uniforms. Never a good idea if you ask me. If no one wore any uniforms, no one would know who to fight in the battle. No one would know who to kill to break the army. No armies."

A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped Elatharia, though it was rather half-hearted. Her eyes were turning to the standing stones, and Jan followed her train of thought quite willingly.

"It's a statement," Elatharia said for him. "The one who carried the Rhynn Lanthorns died at the foot of Corellon Larethian's stone, the chief god of Suldanessellar. He hates those who defile the dead – but also those who run from their enemies. As the protectors of the Rhynn Lanthorns surely did."

"You know a lot about elvish gods," Jan sounded pleased. He nodded towards the jagged stone, the one still discoloured by congealing blood. "And they quite creatively skewered one of the defending mages upon that stone."

"That's Sheverash's symbol, the broken arrow," Elatharia nodded. "The god of hatred against drow, and the elvish god of vengeance. And it was Bodhi's work – only she would bother with something so dramatic."

"She must've been busy then," Jan sniggered. "The whole hill was covered in blood and gore when I got here."

Most of the other stones were variously blackened, though their symbols remained intact. Amongst them Elatharia recognised the golden heart of Hanali Celanil, the leaping dolphin of Deep Sashelas and the feathered wings of Aerdrie Faenya. Only two gods remained unrepresented to the Transmuter's knowledge – Fenmarel Mestarine, god of scapegoats and isolation, and the trickster god, Erevan Ilesere.

Only one was almost so blackened as to be cracked and warped. Elatharia could still make out the tree symbol of Rillifane Rallathil, the patron god of Suldanessellar.

"I think he made his intent clear," she said at last. She could still feel the death in the air. The _murder_. It was making her uncomfortable. "We should wake the others and set out. Though how we're going to catch up to Irenicus before he has done whatever he intends, even once we have the Rhynn Lanthorn…"

"Aha!" Jan cried as if he had been expecting this, skipping forward and waving his hand in the air in front of her. "I can help with that!"

Too taken aback to respond, Elatharia just watched him expectantly. When he reached into one impossibly deep pocket and drew out a roll of parchments, shaking them out for her to peruse, her eyes widened. She knew the plan drawn across each of them, though was far less well acquainted with the detailed notes and diagrams of cogs and bolts.

"This…this is the Planar Sphere," she breathed.

"Absolutely! Wingless and I have been fixing the details, but I drew it up a while ago. Quite a good way to wait out the days in the Underdark, if you ask me."

"This…this could fix the Planar Sphere," Elatharia realised, looking back down into the gnome's grinning face. "It would…be able to travel again."

"Exactly," Jan nodded, "There are a few things that still need solving – things I expect you and your sister can help with. Wingless isn't the most academic wizard I've ever met, you know. Clever, but not very well informed."

"This will help," Elatharia told him, handing back the papers. "Thank you."

She turned back to head for their companions with new resolve, and perhaps a little more hope as well. With the Planar Sphere they could return to this temple of _Mag in Chatha_ without need for a long journey – now all they needed to do was find Bodhi…and take back Imoen's soul.


	54. The Flying Banner

**As ever, a hearty thank you to everyone reading and reviewing, and to those who have favourited and followed.**

* * *

 **Chapter 53: The Flying Banner**

* * *

As soon as the sun started to rise the elves peeled up the ceiling of the tent, which opened like a blooming flower to let the light stream in. The _darthiir_ watched with expectant, hateful stares when Viconia did little more than wince and spit a few curses their way. They muttered nervous questions of each other, frowning, and their bafflement was at least a little entertaining. Though it was hard to find anything they did amusing when they had her tied to a post and Haer'Dalis held elsewhere simply for the crime of attempting to defend her. The thought made her limbs ache with the desperate need to tear free, and to lunge for them with her flail…if only they had not taken the weapon away from her.

But here she was, her wrists rubbed raw by the magical rope, her arms twisted behind her aching back. She had been sat up against this post all night upon the bare grass, her head lolling from weariness – but she would not allow herself to sleep in front of those two scarred warriors who had watched her with such vicious eyes in this cramped, otherwise empty tent. It had not been an easy resolution to keep; there was nowhere to look but the blank canvas walls…or the sliver of moonlight which had shown between the two guards, gradually brightening as the birdsong rose.

She had given up attempting to demand answers from them hours ago – all that she could be certain of was that they did not intend to kill her. Which meant that her companions must have been nearby – one drow alone amongst a host of vengeful sun elves would never have survived the night. Still, it preyed on her mind. As did the thought of Haer'Dalis being dragged away.

Viconia heard the voices of Elatharia and Aerie several minutes before the tent flap swung aside, the guards jumping immediately to attention as their leader stepped through – swiftly followed by the avariel and the Transmuter. Jaheira stalked in after them, planting her feet at the entrance and watching with crossed arms, her visage still and icy.

The drow spared a sneer for her guards as they were ordered to haul her to her feet, and she did her best to hide her hiss of pain as her stiff limbs protested against the movement. She soon turned reproachful eyes upon Elatharia, who did at least look rested and mobile – perhaps more so than the meagre time ought to have permitted.

"How long do you intend to keep me here, _darthiir_?" Viconia snapped above the protests of her companions.

"H-high Knight Elhan, we…we are about to leave! Surely you c-could just release her and…and let us on our way!" Aerie was imploring. The guards tightened their holds on Viconia's arms when Elatharia took half a step toward the drow.

"There is no way that I can permit any drow to travel with you to Suldanessellar," Elhan disagreed, the disgusted curve of his thin lips only worsening as his eyes travelled over Viconia's dishevelled visage. She cursed at him, and he folded his arms as if the evidence he needed had been given.

"I think you misunderstand," Elatharia said, turning to face him with a slow deliberateness which Viconia knew all too well. "We do not need you to find our way to Suldanessellar. If we take the Rhynn Lanthorn from Bodhi, we can go there without you – and you will be left here, unable to follow. And I _will_ leave you here and all your wounded soldiers to _rot_ if you do not free her."

Now Elhan's expression darkened to one of anger, his jaw clenching visibly. Viconia bared her teeth at him and he pretended to ignore it.

"Then I must insist on certain assurances," he gritted out at length. Aerie blew a sigh of relief, though the strange courtesy she seemed to believe she was doing Viconia did not extent to a smile as she glanced at the captive drow. All the avariel could manage was an awkward flinch.

"What kind of assurances?" Viconia demanded. He shifted uncomfortably as if her voice made him sick. His eyes found Aerie's, for he had yet failed to truly look either Elatharia or Viconia in the face.

"I must insist that she swear her loyalty to our cause."

This drew a sharp laugh from Jaheira which made Aerie jump. The glance the druid shared with Elhan held altogether too much understanding.

"Yes, Viconia," the druid sneered, "Declare you loyalty. When you eventually betray us I will hold your statement up as proof of the untrustworthy nature of your kind."

She bit her words back a little when Elatharia twisted to face her, perhaps still wary after jamming her spear into the shapeshifted Transmuter's body the previous night. Still, the bitter honesty in Jaheira's words filled Viconia with a cold and pure rage.

"Bah!" she spat at Elhan's feet. "Such a statement is unnecessary. I have proven my loyalty better than the druid who came here to gloat when it endangers her least. But if it will help your doubts, I do so swear my loyalty to Elatharia and her cause."

A flicker of amusement passed across Elatharia's face at the phrasing, an expression almost entirely absent in recent times. But the moment passed – for Elhan was already shaking his head.

"No," he snapped, gesturing to the guards. One held onto Viconia while the other untied her – as if she might have resisted the breaking of her bonds! "…She must agree to a geas as well. That is the only way."

Elatharia whirled on him, and Jaheira even blanched a little. Aerie was the quickest to protest, though her words came out too stammered to have much impact. But Viconia slumped in her captors' hold, all too aware of her lack of sleep and the endless arguments which Elhan and his wretched kin seemed determined to lay out between her and freedom. Really she had little choice, if any.

"Have your spells cast and secure my will to the task," Viconia agreed before any more words could be traded – her response silenced all of those in the tent, and as one they turned to gawp at her. She shook her head when Elatharia started to protest. "Though such methods make me wonder how different the surface elves truly are from the drow – or indeed from the mage we now hunt."

"Such talk does not endear you to me, drow," Elhan snarled, waving for the guards to bundle Viconia past him and through the tent flap, Jaheira stepping quickly aside to let them pass.

The rest of the group waited outside – save for Haer'Dalis. Mostly they looked tired, enviably clean, and more than a little anxious, watching as Viconia was pushed toward a waiting female sun elf whose numerous belt pouches and preference of simple cloth proved her to be a spellcaster. The drow could not avoid cringing back, painfully aware of the brightening sunlight and the awakening camp. Tents now dotted the muddy field – and a burning pile of dead drow some distance away caught her eye momentarily. Various elvish knights and priests were milling about the camp quietly, but they were starting to stop and stare at the drow in their midst.

A few words were exchanged between this spellcaster and Elhan, and Viconia braced herself as the casting began. It seemed they had agreed on her previous statement of loyalty – which was just as well. She could hear the others still arguing with the sun elf commander behind her, but the white light growing in the chanting spellcaster's hands was soon too distracting. It swelled in Viconia's vision, holding her gaze until it blinded her, seeping into her senses and prickling over her skin, tugging and momentarily emblazoning her promise upon her mind. Her own words rang in her ears and she was left with a crawling sense of _duty_. She knew that death would be the punishment for breakage of the bond.

 _I do so swear my loyalty to Elatharia and her cause._ Oh Elhan. What a fool.

The light faded from her vision, leaving her blinking in the cool breeze and gradually aware of the hand squeezing her shoulder. Viconia half expected to have fallen, but found to her relief that she yet stood though her breath was ragged and her head was spinning. She saw it was Elatharia by her side, glaring forward to where Elhan was dismissing the spellcaster.

"You take too much pleasure in this, knight," the Transmuter snapped, but Elhan just shrugged.

"With the spell my doubts are assuaged. You may leave with all of your companions – and we will be awaiting your return with the Rhynn Lanthorn. Farewell."

He turned before any pleasantries could be offered, though it seemed unlikely that they would have been, clicking his fingers to a pair of guards who stood by the tent opposite. They ducked inside and a few moments later dragged Haer'Dalis out with them. Viconia was embarrassed by the relief which flooded her, though it made her smirk to see him shrugging roughly from the hold of his guards. They had made the mistake of untying him already. They babbled something at him in elvish but he ignored them, striding straight towards Viconia with a purpose of direction that made her feel startlingly expectant. He stopped half a stride away, his face softening.

"My Blackbird, I heard the scene," he told her, his black eyes flickering to Jaheira with a look so cold that it made even Viconia a little uneasy. "The sun elves are cruel and unreasonable to demand such from you."

Satisfying as it was to see him so angry, the drow knew it would be unwise to waste more time. She turned to Elatharia instead, finding that she did not know what to say to Haer'Dalis in front of the others.

" _Khal'abbil_ , we should leave. Whatever decisions are to be made, we can make them on the road," Viconia spared a look Haer'Dalis's way and could not help taking a step towards him. His hand settled at her waist, barely touching – as if he understood. Meanwhile, Elatharia was nodding even as she eyed the pair with a wizard's detached curiosity. She turned to the others and started to herd them to the horses which appeared to have been spared them by their less than gracious hosts.

The press of Haer'Dalis's lips at her temple had Viconia turning back to look up at him. The sunlight showed him in his true colours; the deep blue of his hair, the dark lines curving over his pointed chin, the pallor of his skin. His eyes were perfect inky black, as ever.

"You could have got yourself killed needlessly," she admonished, though her voice sounded a little weak to her own ears when his more familiar smirk started to tilt his lips.

"Indeed, my fair Blackbird. But _would_ it have been 'needless' to attempt to defend you against such monsters as these?"

Viconia could only roll her eyes at him, tugging at his hand as she headed after the others. She did not bother to hide her own smile at the sentiment he had offered her. Not the failed attempt to protect her, but the acknowledgement of what the surface elves truly had been to her.

* * *

They had been given a few terse directions by the elves, pointing them northwest towards the convergence of two of Tethyr's most well-worn roads. One, the Trade Way, would lead them straight north into Amn, and the other, the Long East Road, wove its way all the way from Alaghon in Turmish to Murann in western Tethyr. The party did not pause to consider their options – the crossroads waited a day's ride ahead of them, and none of them had any wish to linger so close to the Knights of Suldanessellar or the bloodied battlefield. They left the ring of hills which surrounded the ancient elven temple, past the defiled standing stones and out into the open grasslands north of the Wealdath.

At least the mounts were strong and sure-footed, carrying them at some speed for most of the journey thanks to a few well-chosen rests. For Imoen the countryside passed in a blur where once she would have been wide-eyed and wondering, noting every exotic plant and animal that she saw. Still, the blue sky which had wheeled so dizzyingly above them throughout the morning was soon overcast by heavy clouds, brought in by the cold western wind which so competed with the relative warmth.

There were a few farms dotted in the distance as they travelled through rolling grassland, cows and sheep grazing for miles, but other than a few startled farmhands they met no people on their hasty ride. Eventually, some eight hours after noon, their horses picked their way out from a shallow valley and Imoen saw the crossroads of which the elves had spoken. Here the ground sloped up gradually and with it the Trade Way curved into view, rising northwards where its path was bisected by a second dark stripe. This one travelled east to west; the Long East Road.

At this crossroads there stood a broad, sprawling building by a small copse of trees, a lake glistening gold in the setting sun behind it. A Tethyrian flag was flying high over a chimney which puffed out an inviting curl of smoke – this was the inn the elves had promised awaited them here. A few exclamations of relief went up amongst the others, Korgan especially vocal about his need to escape off the back of Anomen's horse. Only Jaheira seemed disappointed, lingering as the others dug in their heels and galloped off for the road.

It was a revelation to find the two roads paved so neatly, nothing like the dirt tracks of the Western Heartlands or even of Amn. Imoen was surprised, too, to find them so deserted but for a few donkey carts rumbling by back to some nearby hamlet or farm, and as the group arrived at the stables of the Flying Banner Inn it soon became clear that they were the only guests for the night.

A servant ran out to take their horses, a gangly boy not old enough to shave, and in his wake came the bewhiskered innkeeper himself, eager eyed and friendly though his heavily accented Common – or perhaps theirs – caused some problems at first. Still, between them Anomen and Mazzy successfully ordered the party's room and meal. It turned out that the inn was empty and the roads almost deserted thanks to a combination of the lull in trade before the completion of the harvest and the settling chaos of Tethyr's ongoing civil war. Thus the innkeeper happily rented them each a room, a luxury denied any of them for longer than they could recall – from the way several party members blew out their cheeks in relieved sighs.

It was universally agreed that they would stay outside to eat, where several tables were set up by the lakeside. The rainclouds still hung threateningly above them but such a long sojourn beneath the earth had left almost every member of the group eager to spend as much time outdoors as possible.

Once they were all seated and with their meals brought out to them, Imoen kept her head down and stirred the steaming bowl of vegetable soup before her; at her elbow, Elatharia seemed just as distant. The Transmuter's eyes were fixed on the jagged purple shadows of the Sword Mountains which peeked just above the dark streak of trees lining the horizon. The sun was setting, lending its last hour or so of light in a dazzling streak across the land but soon those mountains would be out of sight.

"We need to discuss our plans," Jaheira spoke with stiff determination above the quiet slurping and munching.

"Couldn't ye even let us eat first, druid?" Korgan grumbled from around an impossibly large bite of bread. Across from him, Mazzy winced away from the spray of crumbs. Anomen spoke for the distracted halfling, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and a frown on his face.

"This is far more important than your ale, Korgan. I do not doubt that more conscientious members of this group will sleep better tonight knowing that we have a plan in place…"

"Bah!" the dwarf stood abruptly, almost toppling Jan and Elatharia as he clambered from the bench they shared, picking up his flagon and his bowl of soup as he went. "I've never been one fer makin' plans. Just gimme the money and point me in the direction o' the kill when ye're ready."

"Predictable," Viconia smirked from the far end of the tables, her back to the lake. She watched Korgan stomp his way up the grassy slope to the inn. Even this earned her a glare from Jaheira, though the druid soon turned her attention to the Transmuter.

"Elatharia," Jaheira snapped. "You are the most familiar with Bodhi and her lair in Athkatla. I suggest you use your ill-gotten knowledge for a _purpose_ , as hard to believe as that may be."

"Wait…what?" Imoen twisted around to look at her sister, her stomach churning at the sight of Elatharia's guilty expression. "How did you know Bodhi?"

"Yes, this is not something any of you have deigned to tell me, either," Mazzy agreed from Jaheira's side, her brow furrowed in confusion. From the druid's other side, Anomen and Aerie shared a suspiciously grim look.

"Some of us…worked for her in Athkatla," Elatharia admitted when Imoen turned back to look at her. The Transmuter rubbed at her forehead in that way which her sister knew all too well. She used to do that when Parda found her snooping in the Forbidden Magics section of Candlekeep. "We thought that she was an ally against Irenicus – she promised to help us across the sea to Brynnlaw for a small price."

"A small pr…" Jaheira seemed too horrified to finish the exclamation. The hatred that filled her face made Imoen straighten up in surprise.

"And why did you never tell us of this?" Mazzy demanded. She looked at all those who remained at the table with dawning realisation. "Am I…am I the only one who _doesn't_ know about this?"

"To an extent, my Tiny Hawk," Haer'Dalis agreed, only smirking more when the halfling balked at the nickname. "Aside from our newest addition, of course." He gave a mock salute Imoen's way – and out of habit, she returned the gesture. That did make him laugh.

"All that _any_ of you need to know is that Viconia, Haer'Dalis, Korgan, Edwin and I worked for Bodhi," Elatharia sighed, irritably waving away the horrified expressions and scandalised spluttering of Mazzy, Anomen and Jaheira.

Valygar remained quiet and vigilant at the opposite end of the table from Viconia but Imoen had the sense that he was no more impressed. For her part, the aasimar had no idea what to think. Perhaps it was the void within her – the lack of a soul – that tempered her disbelief. Meanwhile, her sister was continuing.

"But we thought it was our best chance of getting to Spellhold. And…it probably was, actually. It _does_ also mean that some of us here have been to Bodhi's lair before. I could take you straight to her personal office, if you asked me."

"I get the sense that there is a serious 'but' hiding in your boastful words," Jaheira fairly snarled.

"There is," Elatharia nodded, her tone eerily blank. Her eyes flickered to the side, meeting Imoen's just briefly. "Because if you're thinking that Bodhi will be easier to get at and defeat just because we know where she is, and just because she _appears_ to be cornered…then you are quite mistaken.

"As you all know by now, Bodhi is a vampire – and she has various minions. Some are vampires, others are…undead of less intelligent sorts. Her entire lair is protected by innumerable wards – ones that Jan's device will not be able to disarm. If we go in there, we will have to do so without magical protection. It is possible, however, that I can have some effect upon the undead who serve her – the zombies and ghouls. Imoen could too, I expect."

"The Bhaal taint," Imoen breathed, and her sister nodded absently.

"The best way to regain Imoen's soul would be to kill its current host," Viconia put in while Mazzy and Anomen both grew pale at Elatharia's words. Clearly whatever the human knight had known of this, it had not been so detailed. "To do that, since Bodhi will be expecting and probably even hoping for a fight, we will need allies. Something that may be difficult after our altercation with the Shadow Thieves," she added wryly.

"They will have to listen to us," Valygar grunted, "No one wants a vampire hiding out in their city with a lair that big and that well protected. Especially not with the Knights of Suldanessellar calling for that…"

"Rhynn L-Lanthorn," Aerie supplied. Beside Imoen, she was fidgeting and sending repeated nervous glances Anomen's way. The knight still looked pale, staring down at his hands as if he could not meet her eyes.

"Then we need to find allies," Mazzy reasoned, though there was a new kind of wariness in her expression as she looked upon Elatharia. "Anomen – the Radiant Heart will surely come to our aid against such evil, unnatural foes, don't you agree?"

"They will," Anomen choked out, still not looking up.

"There is a Harper base somewhere in the city," Jaheira added, "It is…possible that they will answer the call of the Knights of Suldanessellar."

"Good," Mazzy nodded, looking around at the others now; to Elatharia, Haer'Dalis and Viconia. Her voice lost its faintly friendly tone. "I suspect none of you have left many allies behind."

"We didn't make many to start with," Elatharia pointed out with a quirk of her eyebrow – it only seemed to set Mazzy more ill at ease. "There are other things which we can do, however."

"Oh! Yes, indeed," Jan spoke up at last. "You see, we can fix the Planar Sphere! With a few more calculations, it should be ready to travel once more." He beamed proudly, but only Haer'Dalis looked remotely pleased by the news. Imoen just watched with mounting confusion. Her sister had never mentioned any of this to her.

"So the plan is quite simple," Jaheira said, starting to stand and catching Imoen's eye as if she expected the aasimar to follow. She sent similar looks to Mazzy, Aerie and Valygar. "We ride for Athkatla on the morrow and once we get there – in full daylight most preferably – we will gather what support we can and attack Bodhi immediately before she has any chance to prepare herself further."

When no one disagreed, the druid climbed from her bench and strode off back towards the inn. After a token pause, Mazzy and Valygar both excused themselves and followed – but Aerie and Anomen lingered, too awkward to speak to each other about whatever it was that had so clearly bothered the knight. Even without a soul, Imoen knew it was best to leave them to it.

* * *

"I…I d-did tell you everything…everything I knew," Aerie was protesting. There was a shrill edge to her voice, one which Jaheira suspected betrayed the avariel's lie – she was protecting the knight's fragile ego, no doubt.

"You must have known that Jaheira was keeping something from you, my lady. You should have told me. How else am I supposed to keep you safe?" Anomen sounded just as strained, and most likely there was a lie in what he said as well.

Jaheira saw Mazzy roll her eyes just before the halfling turned away in an attempt to hide the look, leaning against the nearest post of the inn's small front awning and pretending to watch the last splashes of pink and gold across the western sky. But for the torch lit by the front door, they would soon be in deep darkness – the rainclouds were low and thick, just as they often were at this time of year in northern Tethyr.

In spite of the threatening downpour, it felt much better to be outside where the druid could hear the huffing of the horses in the barn and feel the cool breeze on her face. The others seemed to think so, too – though perhaps Mazzy had agreed to linger here more out of a need to stay out of Korgan's way. The dwarf had gone to the bar to demand more ale and it would be a long while before he was satisfied.

Meanwhile, Valygar had seemed quite relieved by the prospect of the outdoors, though his human eyes would soon be limited to the red-gold sphere of light around the torch sconce. Quiet as ever, he had taken a seat beside Jaheira on the bench and lit a pipe, and though he was careful to keep downwind of Jaheira the flare of red with each puff persistently drew her eye. She had never seen him use it before – perhaps the chilling memories of the Underdark were getting to him, or perhaps the threat of things to come. Perhaps both.

At last Aerie and Anomen's voices stopped abruptly, the pair coming into view as they made their way around the barn with the avariel's conjured light bobbing after them – though she was quick to banish the spell when Jaheira gestured for her to do so. Both Aerie and Anomen were looking to their companions with slightly wary expressions – most likely hoping that nothing of their argument had been overheard.

"You…you wanted to talk to us?" Aerie prompted once all five of them were gathered beneath the awning. Her eyes flitted nervously across Mazzy's visage when the halfling turned around with a look of stern reproach.

"Yes," Jaheira nodded. "You should all know the truth by now. That Bodhi is the leader of the vampire faction who fought the Shadow Thieves in Athkatla, and that Elatharia was working for her against them."

"So we…we fought the Shadow Thieves when…when we had no cause to?" Aerie's brow furrowed. "B-but you…"

"I had no choice," Jaheira interrupted, frustrated. "Elatharia had already sabotaged all of our efforts. Bodhi was our only chance of getting to Brynnlaw – just as she and Irenicus had intended, no doubt. If we had not acted as we did, the Shadow Thieves would have killed us because of our affiliation with her and we certainly would never have got on any ship. Imoen _needed us_." _And I needed my revenge._

Mazzy was shaking her head in disgust all the same, and Anomen was gaping at Jaheira in utter horror, something more like rage boiling in his eyes and showing in the shake of his hand as he now gestured wildly in the druid's direction.

"Do you…understand what you have done?" he demanded. "I am a member of the Radiant Heart but we are not immune to the power of the Shadow Thieves, such is Athkatla's evil reality. I am…I am complicit in your dark deeds!"

"But we…we did save Imoen," Aerie offered. Mazzy nodded slowly at this, but Anomen brushed it aside.

"Bah! It seems to me that we only made the situation worse."

"A chance of getting back her soul is still better than staying trapped in Spellhold," Valygar put in, his words so quiet that Jaheira wondered if the others could hear him clearly. Anomen's expression was one of blank anger; it did not look as if the ranger's words had changed his mind – though they did draw a tremulous smile from Aerie.

"Well, we do not know what it is that Elatharia did in Bodhi's service," Mazzy reasoned, the hopefulness in her manner quieting Jaheira's instinct to correct her. "I…I cannot imagine it can have been _worse_ than what the Shadow Thieves asked of her. It is not so bad to weaken an organisation like theirs, is it? Though I do understand your fears, Anomen. The Order may well not take kindly to such a mistake from a newly anointed knight." It sounded as if she were attempting to console him, but the comment only stirred Anomen's anger further. He whirled to face the halfling so quickly that Aerie, caught between them, gave a squeak of alarm and jumped back.

"And they will care nothing for your complicity? I thought you were a paladin of the Order yourself," he looked her up and down with a shaky sneer but the halfling just set her feet and folded her arms, watching him levelly. "Though I assume that you aware of how they humour your delusion."

"Anomen…" Aerie tried to calm him, reaching out for his arm, but he shook his head.

"The only reason that you will not suffer as I do from our companions' folly, Mazzy Fentan, is that you never were truly a member of our righteous cause. You have fanciful dreams beyond your upbringing and faith. None of your kind can ever truly know the honour and strength needed to be a paladin."

Mazzy's eyebrows rose, her lips twitching in disdainful humour as she looked up at the raging knight.

"It is certainly true that many knights of your kind flaunt such prejudice," she nodded coolly. "Though I would expect better of one who has studied under Sir Trawl and Lord Firecam. I took my vows to Arvoreen in the Radiant Heart alongside them as they made theirs to Torm and Tyr."

Anomen looked ready to argue about this too but a moment's pause gave him a chance to regain his composure enough to offer a rigid and rather insincere bow of the head before stalking inside. Aerie watched him go with her mouth agape, but Mazzy met Jaheira's eye with a look of grim acceptance.

"It was only a matter of time before that happened," the halfling sighed, reaching out to pat at Aerie's elbow as if she was the one who needed consoling. "He is a young knight, and has never found the calling of the Order an easy one to follow."

"I don't think that excuses his words, Mazzy," Valygar disagreed, tapping at his pipe absently. His expression was as hard to read as ever but it seemed that perhaps he was more comfortable now that Anomen had gone, kicking his heels out as he leaned back against the wall of the inn.

"N-no, it…it doesn't," Aerie said softly, her mouth downturned as she attempted to watch Mazzy surreptitiously for a less measured emotional response. But the halfling just gave a long sigh and hopped onto the bench adjacent to Jaheira's.

"Perhaps it is for the best that he went away for now," the druid offered into the awkward stillness, looking back challengingly when Aerie balked at such honesty. "We have something important to discuss and Anomen has always been more of a follower than a leader."

"We cannot stay in the company of people like Elatharia and Viconia for much longer," Valygar grunted as if he had read Jaheira's mind. She nodded in relief.

"Getting back Imoen's soul from Bodhi and hunting Irenicus; those are two necessities for which we need each other. But once that is done I would separate Imoen from Elatharia," Jaheira explained. "I doubt I have to persuade you of my reasoning – but I will not expect your aid, either. All I ask of you is this: if you will not help me, do not work against me if it comes to a fight."

* * *

The chill wind which came stirring over the grassland from the Sea of Swords had blown the rainclouds further east…and more followed in their wake. It brought with it the scents of flowers and damp grass and sent the wisps of smoke rising up from the Flying Banner undulating across the darkening sky. Imoen wondered if this was really the reason for the inn's name; standing there on its hill above the open grasslands, nestled at the broad, well-worn meeting place of the Trade Way and the Long East Road, the smoke swayed like a banner which could probably be seen for miles.

Elatharia and Jan had moved to a table closer to the inn in order to peruse the gnome's plan for the Planar Sphere; it had become obvious that Aerie and Anomen had something to resolve. Conjured lights hovered over both tables, illuminating them in globes of pale light, but Imoen had preferred to move closer to the water's edge and to sit cross-legged at the bank skimming stones. The ripples shone with strands of light; silver from the wavering moon and the flickering red of firelight from within the inn. The white glow of the conjured light bobbed away as Aerie and Anomen audibly argued their way back to the inn.

There was something relaxing about the sinking darkness, the cool breeze, the hushed voices – and the quiet hum of Haer'Dalis's lute, recently released from a long and enforced absence within Elatharia's bag of holding. Imoen could feel the magic he wove into the notes, so faint that it just barely brushed at her senses. It brought a smile to her face.

She saw the raindrops before she felt them, a gentle boiling across the lake's surface, then a few fat drops splashed across her scalp, and the bridge of her nose. Behind her, Imoen heard Viconia's cursing though of course the drow's rise to her feet was typically inaudible.

"My Blackbird! You have a remarkable dislike of something so entirely inoffensive," Haer'Dalis laughed. Lying back on the grass, Imoen could imagine Viconia's sneer.

"Inconvenient, not inoffensive," the drow grumbled. "Ugh! Male, I am certainly not your serving girl…" The hollow hum of Haer'Dalis's lute suggested that he had handed it over to her; she continued to complain about his nerve as she made a swift escape for the inn.

Eyes closed against the rain, Imoen lay upon the shallow slope and listened to it pattering across the grass and rushing against the surface of the lake. Perhaps it was strange to want to stay out here in such weather, but she had never been one for such conventions. Back at Candlekeep she had been infamous for her willingness to frolic at all hours of the day, no matter the weather – though the sun had always been her favourite. Now she was sallow from the months in captivity and the rain washing over her face felt like a miracle.

Her skin prickled with a swelling wave of unease and though she _heard_ nothing, Imoen sat up as quickly as she was able. Haer'Dalis's deep, carefully gentle laughter proved her right; knees hugged to her chest, she watched him as she crouched beside her. She could only just make out his face in the gloom, the firelight from the inn flickering against his knowing expression. His hood was pulled down but it was hard to tell how low; his eyes did not shine in any light. Imoen shuddered involuntarily and looked back out at the lake with a grimace. His aura scratched at her.

"We will never be able to sneak up on one another at least," he remarked. "You will have to forgive me for making you so uncomfortable, but I remain curious."

"Back in Candlekeep the scholars used to say curiosity gets you killed as often as it helps," Imoen heard herself retort. Haer'Dalis snorted.

"No creature has control over its own destiny, truly. We all stumble blindly into the future, towards our ends. Curiosity is just one of many uncontrollable symptoms of living."

"S'how it feels after you've made the mistake, yeah," Imoen shrugged, pressing her chin against her knees. The rain was trickling down her back, colder than she had remembered. "So what's your curiosity?"

"You are remarkably unbothered by Jaheira's distrust of us – and of your sister's choices," Haer'Dalis prompted readily. "When more of the truth was told, all you did was balk at the Raven's failure to tell you. You have never asked about the Planar Sphere, or what it was that Bodhi asked of us. Yet you do not seem like one who would truly wish to stay adrift from her own life, and her own choices. After all, you chose to stay out here in the dark and the rain when all the others left."

"I wasn't there so I don't judge," Imoen told him, though his words _did_ make her wonder. "Jaheira and Elatharia have never got on, but now it's worse. I'd rather not be the one who done pushes them further apart."

"And of your sister's choices?"

The question brought with it the threatening tide of darker memories, of things heard in Irenicus's halls, of things taken – and freely given. Imoen chewed on her lip for a moment, hands gripping her legs tightly against herself before she gave up and scrambled to her feet. Her chest felt tight.

"Nothing's ever so simple as 'choosing' when the likes've Bodhi and Irenicus're pushing you," she managed eventually. She heard the faint rustle of cloth as Haer'Dalis stood in her wake, and the aasimar took a few more fevered steps towards the water. The pebbles were slippery and uneven, crunching under feet. "Jaheira and the others can't know that. There're things…things Irenicus made us see…" _Made us do, made us feel, made us think._ "…That make you believe what you're doin' is the only way."

The rain was starting to fall harder now, stinging her cheeks and thumping against her scalp.

"Then you do not favour the druid?"

"Hey, as long as Elatharia's not been out there killing off Amnish for fun I'm not goin' to think one way or the other until I get some proof for myself," Imoen told him, wincing against the rain as she turned to look back at the tiefling.

"Then you are no follower," his smile flashed white. She jumped when his hand settled on her shoulder, looking up into his dark eyes warily. "And you should know that we would not be able to feel each other's' auras if you were truly soulless, my Wildflower."

* * *

When Viconia heard the lock turn and the door creak open, long habit had her reaching for her flail – though expectation stopped her from raising it off the table as she turned to look. She released her grip entirely when she saw Haer'Dalis bolting the door behind him. Her eyebrow rose when he turned to face her, his eyes slowly taking in the sight of her bare legs and thin nightshift in a way that made her strangely nervous. Had he ever looked at her _quite_ like that before?

"You assume quite a bit in entering so, male," Viconia said into the quiet. A smirk came to his face.

"Ah, then perhaps I shall simply take the lute which you did not need to lock in here and return to my own room?" he asked cheerfully, striding across the wooden floor and reaching behind her for the instrument which she had left on the table. His eyebrows rose in mock bemusement when she put a hand against his chest to stop him. "No?" he asked, leaning around to catch her expression when she attempted to hide her treacherous smile. Her hand tangled in the neckline of his shirt as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as his whispered words drifted against her skin. "I didn't think so."

"I do wonder at why they bothered to give you a separate room," she murmured, raising herself to sit on the table edge as their lips met and her thoughts melted away with the heat of his skin against hers. His hair was still wet from the rain – or perhaps from a recent bath, as was hers. Her hands undid the clasp of his belt and let it clatter to the floor before she had even consciously thought about it; he shivered as her hands slid under his shirt, exploring the muscles of his stomach. The shirt was soon discarded too, and when he leaned back towards her the kiss was deeper, more _desperate._ Her breath caught and shook as his hands smoothed slowly and boldly up her legs which now wound their way around his waist, his lips teasing their way down her neck and forcing her back to arch.

He lifted her suddenly and she gave an inadvertent yelp. Too dazed to glare and far too distracted, Viconia just tightened her legs around him and smirked into their next kiss when he staggered just a little before backing up towards the bed and sitting upon its edge. He watched her with the eyes of a predator as she rose up on her knees above him, slipping the straps from her shoulders. When he spoke, it took a moment for her mind to register the words.

"I know what you did, Viconia," he told her softly, his hands settling on her waist and pulling her closer. "To the one who so humiliated me in the Underdark."

Irrational fear rushed through her and he must have seen the look on her face for his hands tightened slightly against her, that smile still playing on his lips.

"It was a matter of drow retribut…"

"I know what it was," he said and her blood rushed even hotter to see him smile like that. "And from the look in your eyes it would seem that you feared what I might think of it."

When he flipped her onto her back she felt her treacherous limbs welcome him closer. How long had it been since they had the chance to be like this?

"And I know what you endured at the camp," she gasped as his lips continued a path down her neck, "Allowing yourself to be imprisoned by…by them for standing up for me."

She felt him smile against her, but they did not need to share any more words.

* * *

 _Two nights later - 27th Eleint 1369  
The Graveyard District, Athkatla, Amn  
_  
Bodhi was taunting him. (Of course). But Edwin had lived long enough amongst the Red Wizards of Thay to at least understand when someone was trying to draw his attention – the vampire mistress may have been old (and gods knew _how_ old) but she did not appear to have grown very wise in that time. Evidently she favoured fast, ruthless methods of a less calculated nature than her brother…which meant that waiting in this labyrinth beneath the Old Graveyard in Athkatla was entirely against her instincts. Still, she _was_ taunting him, and it was making him…restless.

The bite Bodhi had given to him was not enough to render him a full vampire (she certainly had no intention of giving him the power which came with such a change) and instead she taunted him with the threat of further enslavement. There were rites which went with the change; but drinking human blood once one was already a thrall? That would just keep you chained more tightly to your enslavement. Edwin was already bound to her – she must have forced him to drink from her blood once she had drained him in the Underdark, or perhaps snuck it into his food. He could feel her commands nudging at his mind…and he could also feel her strongest emotions. How demeaning, to be left with little more worth than that of a familiar! (No matter how inadvertently advantageous it had turned out to be.)

Bodhi's rooms in the labyrinth were entirely at odds with the crumbling, cobwebbed halls which surrounded it. Though it had once been a series of rich men's crypts, she and her minions did not live like the drow. It was dusty, and still smelled musty, but once one got away from the patrolling undead and deeper into the labyrinth some significant efforts had been made to furnish the place. Of course, he had seen some of it when Elatharia had brought them to Bodhi's meeting chamber, but as it turned out that small little 'office' was just an atrium, the books in their little bookcases entirely fake.

The true lair stood beyond this, unevenly plastered outer walls lined around and around with wardings whose arcane letters crept in slow spirals across their surface. In all his life, Edwin had never seen anything like it. The unique organisation, the _movement_ of the letters all suggested sorcery…or perhaps some strange arcane-divine hybrid. Regardless, only a person of great power could create such protective magics – and that was power which Bodhi surely did not have, perhaps not even strength which her cold brother could match.

Beyond the atrium, the walls were lined with stolen tapestries and curtains to hide the crumbling stone, torches and hearths lit with illusory fire to avoid burning. It seemed that vampires liked the light, though they did not need it. They also liked their comfort, though they dwelt in these old crypts. Plush couches, thickly stuffed mattresses, gaudy tableware, expensive Damaran rugs – they filled their rooms with these things, from what Edwin had seen. There was a whole chamber bursting with wine barrels, and another with a huge vat across which various unfortunates were hung to drain. Blood was piped to every room. It came out of taps in the walls, mixed with some Alchemist's secret to avoid it clotting.

But of course there was no wood. Bookshelves, tables, chairs – it was all stone, or metal. There was no real fire, either…nor any gods' sigils for fear of holy water. It was probably quite a chore for the glassy eyed thralls to bring a stone bowl of water for the Red Wizard, along with a hunk of dry bread and a slab of meat for every meal. The first two days he had prodded at that meat and thought of the humans whose blood drained into the vat just down the hall. (Cannibalism had never appealed. It was the food of the desperate and impoverished, after all. Very demeaning.)

Bodhi had commanded him to remain in her complex of rooms, excluding her own sleeping chamber. A small closet of a room had been set aside for him, though it was just a mouldering empty space. He used his travelling bedroll for what little sleep still came to him, though it was hard to tell if this growing insomnia was due to the enthrallment Bodhi had placed upon him or simply the environment into which she had forced him. It was clear, after all, that he was never meant to be as the true thralls, those pale, listless mutes who dragged their feet to do each of the numerous vampires' biddings. Their glassy eyes and thoughtless movements proved that – what good would Edwin have been to Bodhi in such a state?

He had thus far seen little of the other vampires since his arrival alongside their mistress just two nights before. The nightmares had brought them swiftly to Athkatla under cover of night, and Valen had welcomed them at the entrance to the crypts. But if the other vampires communed with their mistress, it was certainly not in front of Edwin. He was mostly confined to the library, after all. Out of personal preference or Bodhi's insistence it was hard to tell, but it was his one solace.

Bodhi's library was hardly impressive in size, but it was filled with ancient and peculiar books. Most were in Elvish, a tongue Edwin had never mastered, but the rest could easily fill his time until…whatever it was that came next. There was a single writing table – more a high plinth in truth – and a cushioned metal chair by the illusory fireplace. It was here that Edwin had spent most of his time so far.

It was a relief to see books in Mulhorandi – some of them texts by famed Red Wizards and others necromantic tomes from Mulhorand itself. But there were other books, ones in Netherese, which had already caught his eye. And how fascinating, because he would never have known to look at them first had not Bodhi's thoughts flashed that way upon their first entry. He had caught a glimpse of a title, and a sense of intense urgency. It had been a simple thing to take the books when she was out of the room and to construct an Illusion in their place, scratching the necessary symbols into the empty space across the stone shelf to make it permanent. The information within was priceless, and the scrawled notes probably more so…except these annotations were written in elvish.

A raised voice – Bodhi's – had Edwin looking up for the first time in…some time. He could not make out her words through the closed and warded door into her bedroom, but he had observed a tall, hooded figure follow her in there some time ago. Any attempt to see more would have forced him to turn around as they had passed by, and such curiosity had seemed too dangerous. But now, though the details were inaudible, it was clear something was going wrong. Bodhi sounded increasingly angry, her words rapid and high. Few things could have made him happier beyond jamming a stake into her heart.

He tensed as the voices neared the door, quickly closing the book and stowing it safely in one of his enchanted pockets. A glance in the direction in the direction of the argument reminded him also of Bodhi's temper. Perhaps it would be unintelligent to be caught listening to her distress. At least Valen was in there as well – the vampire mistress's wizard underling had a habit of otherwise following him on his business, though the only place he could go to outside of Bodhi's chambers was the sheltered cliff edge to relieve himself. The thraldom she had forced upon him had him trapped for now, his thoughts fogging dizzyingly if the distance grew too great between him and his mistress. But the rising sun now had Bodhi just as caught; her visitor would be leaving, and she would not be following. Morning sent her to her coffin.

So Edwin rose quickly, wincing as his chair scraped across the stone floor of this renovated crypt, and headed for the exit just as he heard the handle clicking down at Bodhi's door. Cringing, he slipped out into the corridor and strode at speed as if he were heading on his usual journey. He caught the sound of Bodhi's shouted words, and the slam of her door but nothing further – thus he hesitated at the turning, wondering if he could catch a glimpse of the departing figure. He almost leapt out of his skin when a hand settled on his shoulder and his contingent magics flared…and fizzled out thanks to the wards all around this place.

Biting back a yelp, the Red Wizard whirled about, stumbling back against the wall, and saw the tall, hooded woman with whom Bodhi had been arguing. She was watching him with a smug smirk, her arm falling unthreateningly to her side, and though the formless cloak was hardly memorable he had seen her necklace before – the seven feathers of Bhaal's Zhent cult. And of course she stood several inches taller than him even in those flat boots. He had only ever seen one female that tall – the woman who had watched Bodhi blackmail him outside the Copper Coronet; the woman who had passed him and Elatharia (and the others) when first they came to Bodhi's atrium.

Her face was visible this time, pale in the manner of the far western reaches of Faerûn with a flare of freckles across each of her high cheekbones, her features regular and rounded. Her brows were shapely, her twinkling eyes a deep and vibrant green, framed by pale lashes. A fall of thick copper hair fell free of her hood, down over one shoulder.

"Your mistress makes almost as many demands on me as she does on you," the woman offered quite cordially, her voice low and with just the faintest hint of an unfamiliar accent. Or…perhaps it was a little familiar. "It is tiresome, is it not?" She smirked more broadly when he attempted to feign innocence. "Do not bother, Edwin Odesseiron. You heard her anger, if not her words."

Utterly baffled, Edwin found his voice had caught. Attempting to regain some dignity, he straightened up from the wall and tugged on his waistcoat, coughing uncomfortably.

"I take it you and she were _disagreeing_ ," he managed.

"Indeed. She has plans for me, and you. And for this place," she shrugged, gesturing for him to walk with her as she turned for the tunnel which would lead them to the exit. "I have a better idea. Come, your bond will let you reach far enough I wager."

Edwin hesitated, something cold twisting in his stomach, but a glance back the way he had come showed an empty hallway of closed doors. The vampires were all seeking rest as the sun rose above them, and Bodhi knew he could not go far. So after a deep breath, his curiosity got the better of him. He followed the woman who wore Bhaal's secret symbol.

She passed down the single straight corridor which opened out into the rougher tunnels, where the paved ground became cracked and uneven and the stink of mindless undead drifted on the dank air. Here Edwin felt his senses fraying, his feet dragging, and he stopped at the very edge of Bodhi's lair, where the thick darkness stretched and her undead sentinels roamed. And as if she had known, the red haired woman turned to face him, just a step into that darkness. Her pale skin stood out, illuminated enough by one torch behind him, and she still wore that smug smile. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Well? I sense your questions. You might as well say something, ere we part." Her jovial tone jarred his senses – something felt _wrong_. And peculiarly familiar, like déjà vu.

"You follow Bhaal," Edwin said, though snakes writhed in his stomach. The woman smiled more genuinely now, inclining her head either in curiosity or acknowledgement. "And you have been an ally of Bodhi's. Why then are you speaking with me?"

"I know of your…former companions," the woman admitted, "Elatharia and Imoen of the Bhaalspawn. They slew Sarevok…among others." Her eyes glinted with secret amusement, and Edwin fought back a sneer at such unnecessarily playful behaviour. She shrugged. "I had some plans, like I said. Plans that Bodhi disrupted, to her folly. She and her brother took some things which do not belong to them."

"Imoen and Elatharia's souls," Edwin realised. The woman nodded, spreading her arms as if to take in the whole lair.

"I've a new plan now – and you're going to help me. Not because of any enslavement, not from blackmail. For revenge." The smile turned feral, and even as the swell of magical power grew around her hands, Edwin felt his unease uncoil into something a lot more practical. Hope.

He watched as the walls began to hiss, black writing materialising and melting away into the air; the wards on Bodhi's lair were unfurling and dissipating. This was her safe haven, the crypts into which she had hoped to lure her enemies and render them helpless when her wards choked up their spells. She would wake, come night, and perhaps she and her minions would never suspect a thing. But when Elatharia and the others inevitably came to fight back Imoen's soul…Bodhi would not be as safe as she believed.


	55. What Manner of Man Is This?

**As ever, thank you to all those who have favourited and followed and to those who have reviewed. And indeed to anyone reading. :) And now, I thought I might as well include the quote from which I took the chapter title:  
**  
 ** _"What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear – in awful fear – and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of..." –_ from the journal of Jonathan Harker in 'Dracula' by Bram Stoker _.  
_**

* * *

 **Chapter 54: What Manner of Man Is This?  
**

* * *

Athkatla shone brilliant white against the glittering blue slash of sea, even from miles away. The long stretch of farmland sloped down from low hills around the Amnish capital, farmers with sweaty brows looking up to squint warily at the passing travellers. It was harvest season and it looked as though everyone was out in the fields, piling carts high and leaving the land flat with a faintly golden haze, interspersed with untouched swaths of grass and the deciduous trees of the region which were now starting to shed amber and crimson leaves. And in the distance loomed the northern mountains, ominously whiter with snow than they had been before. It would be some time yet before the cold truly came – and Elatharia suspected that Amnish winters were a great deal less bitter than the sleet and hale lashed walls of Candlekeep.

Indeed the sun was beating down upon the group as the road at last brought them and their weary horses to the high gates of Athkatla, the whitewashed walls teeming with archers and patrolling guards. There was a huge bell hung above the portcullis, and above that there fluttered the banner of Amn, whipped about by the erratic coastal breeze.

They had avoided the other Amnish cities on their ride north, concerned that the Shadow Thieves' retribution would easily have stretched across the country – and possibly beyond. Jaheira and Valygar were well versed in the ways of the wild and the group had not struggled on the journey but it would be a welcome thing indeed just to bathe in warm water without the constant bustle and chatter of the others nearby. For when she was not seeking necessary privacy or actually sleeping, Jan had been chattering constantly at her side, going over every detail of the Planar Sphere's mechanical and magical rejuvenation. It was important, but by the end of each day Elatharia's head had been spinning and her temples pounding.

The clamour of the city had been audible for almost as long as the shining walls had been visible. It had started as a low buzz, a hum in the distance, and as they approached the clatter of horses' hooves, the cacophony of speech, the rumble of carts – all of it had swelled dizzyingly. It had been so long since they were in a human city, Elatharia found herself taken aback – she had almost forgotten to transmute Viconia into her moon elf disguise. And one glance at Imoen's tense posture, her hands clenched tightly on her horse's reins, and the Transmuter knew that her sister felt this change of place even more acutely.

"Ah, Athkatla," Haer'Dalis sighed at Elatharia's side, leaning forward on his horse with a broad smile as he watched the line dwindle ahead of them. There was a small cart as well as a few returning travellers on foot carrying bags of tools. "One could write many poems of the bustle and whirl of the city, I believe."

"I thought you…you hated the city, Haer'Dalis," Aerie pointed out. He glanced over his shoulder at her quickly, as if surprised that she had addressed him – but soon recovered. Meanwhile, her brow furrowed and she kept her gaze on the tiefling, as if she could sense Anomen's stare.

"I do dislike the mercantile insistence of the Promenade, yes," Haer'Dalis agreed, "But I am not beyond accepting that it has a certain…atmospheric charm. A poem…"

"Heh, I wrote a poem once," Korgan offered as he swung himself from the back of Valygar's horse, landing with a grunt and a great clatter but not even coming close to losing his footing. It did force Jaheira's horse to scramble aside in alarm, which almost uprooted Mazzy from the same mount and also drew a few stares from those ahead of the party in the queue.

"A…a poem?" the paladin exclaimed once she had regained her balance. The show had drawn laughs from Haer'Dalis and Viconia – even Valygar was smiling a little. In front of the halfling and focusing on hushing her horse, Jaheira looked decidedly less pleased.

"Aye, I can write poems," Korgan grinned up at Mazzy, puffing himself up a bit and hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Wrote one to me favoured lass back in the north."

"That's very…romantic of you," Mazzy winced, looking around at the others as if they might somehow save her from the dwarf's attention.

"Well, ye shoulda realised it sooner, lass! I cannae remember it all quite so clearly now, but I'd bet it's still right there on the wall o' the tavern's privy! Ha!"

Now only the dwarf laughed, the others looking away and rolling their eyes. But Mazzy watched him with a bemused frown, as if the rudeness had not quite hidden his honesty and she did not know what to think of him.

Any further conversation was drowned out by the grinding of the portcullis raising for the cart ahead of them; travellers on foot were permitted to pass through a side gate, provided they had an exceptionally good reason to enter untroubled or they had enough coin for a bribe. Elatharia watched dispassionately as the cart rumbled in, revealing the cramped Gate District with its well-worn cobbles and tightly packed shops. A man who had been leaning on the wall of one establishment stood slowly as the Transmuter and her party became visible; he was trying to look casual, but she saw the fear in his expression when she made the point of meeting his eyes – and caught the flash of silver stitching beneath his cloak when he turned and melted into the crowd. She smirked…out of habit.

"I hope you are prepared for the consequences if this plan of yours fails, Elatharia," Jaheira snapped as she urged her horse ahead of the others, Anomen in tow. The priest wore a perpetually discomfited expression, having endured Jan at his back for most of the journey after his initial pairing with Korgan had proven intolerable for him.

"Just remember that this won't actually get any easier without me, druid," the Transmuter called back. Jaheira did not so much as glance over her shoulder.

It was hardly a plan, really. More of an inevitability, one that Elatharia had simply decided to accept. At least they had the sun beating down on them, brighter than it was warm at this time of year; Bodhi and her lackeys would be hiding away thanks to their curse for several hours yet. The thought of Edwin flashed across her mind. Of his kiss in Ust Natha, and of the demand she had made of him before they parted.

The gatekeepers took their horses for a small fee and the group squeezed their way across this smallest of the districts on foot. Elatharia found herself clinging to Imoen's hand as they went, though she could not recall who had reached for whom. Her sister remained eerily silent, though the Transmuter thought she saw the aasimar snatch a coin purse from some unsuspecting passer-by. Habit.

The Crooked Crane was a tall, narrow inn of some five storeys which leaned up against the district's north western corner. There were stray dogs rummaging around in the alley by the kitchens undisturbed and a pair of bored guards at the door who both had the barely upright look of drunkards. Faced with such a well-armed group, they did not accost any of them as they just had the man ahead of them.

Inside, the inn was dark and smoky but fairly empty. From the chatter filtering down the cracked stairway it sounded as though most people preferred the tavern on the next floor, so Elatharia was happy to slide into one of the chairs by the ground floor window, leaning on the sill and watching the outside bustle with wary eyes while her companions took seats around her. It was a little disorientating because the whole inn was tilted, including the windows. The legs at one end of the table each had a battered pile of news pamphlets jammed beneath them to avoid spilled beer.

"It occurs to me that we do not all need to be here," Jaheira said as she and Mazzy returned from the bar. The Transmuter had little interest in what it was that they had ordered.

"They would come for all of us who were involved, together or not," Valygar sighed, raising his eyebrows in defeat when Elatharia looked to him. "Though I am not sure what good any spellcasters would be in a fight, lest the Cowls come for you. We would be perhaps four combatants fewer if battle spilled into the outdoors."

"It's only Elatharia who's the spell-only kinda caster," Imoen muttered.

"And the avariel does not _fight_ even when she can," Viconia sneered. Aerie's jaw dropped in scandal but she never had a chance to defend herself – indeed, Anomen had no time to leap to her defence either.

The door opened with a bang and a group of black-hooded men and women stalked inside. One gesture and the barman ushered away the serving girls. A snapped threat sent the three other patrons hurrying for the stairs too. Elatharia just folded her arms on the table in front of her while her companions attempted to reach for their weapons as subtly as they could. This was exactly as expected.

"You are clearly quite mad to return after what you did, all of you," one of the men stated while his companions formed up in a semi-circle around the table. They kept their hoods up, the red sashes at their waists and their silver-and-black leather jerkins proving that they were Shadow Thieves. But he lowered his cowl, revealing a weathered, pointed face and a dark complexion. His black hair was peppered with silver, hanging thin and straight just past his ears, his bright eyes a strikingly pale blue. And most importantly of all Haer'Dalis turned abruptly to look at him more clearly and the man smirked back, spreading his arms in mock greeting.

"I saw you! You were the lutenist entertaining Aran Linvail afore we did slay him!" the tiefling exclaimed. Beside him, Jaheira took a sharp breath as she recognised him, too.

"You believed it, yes," the lutenist smiled, shrugging and spreading his gloved hands further as if some fatal error could not be helped. " _I_ am Aran Linvail."

He tensed when Elatharia barked a laugh that she did not feel. The others looked at her in disbelief, and she just shook her head at him.

"Maybe you're Aran Linvail _now_ ," she agreed, "But I don't believe for one second that you were Aran Linvail before. She killed him," she pointed at Jaheira, leaning forward and holding the lutenist's hardening eyes. "He's _very_ dead."

"You did kill someone, yes," Linvail nodded, his hands falling pointedly to the knives at his hips. His lackeys reached for their weapons too. "And now you return to Athkatla and sit here in this inn as if you expect us to treat with you rather than slay you where you stand."

The Beast stirred willingly, _hungrily_ at Elatharia's command and her skin rippled visibly – enough for Imoen and Viconia to flinch away from her. She knew that her eyes had flared with the golden light, for the world was momentarily awash with it. And this latest Aran Linvail, along with all of his companions, leapt back with a shout of alarm, drawing his knives. Glancing down, Elatharia realised her hands had scored deep furrows into the table top.

"Good luck trying to kill me," Elatharia snarled. "Any leader who hides himself as a servant and runs at the first hint of a fight can't be that good at killing. I would like to remind you that I had no choice but to kill your leader – were you not going to do the same to me anyway?"

"We have returned to slay the monstrous vampire, Bodhi," Anomen put in with some evident impatience once it became evident that Elatharia was not about to turn into the Beast. Her companions looked as tense and frightened as her enemies.

"The very creature you were working alongside," Linvail snapped, still with his knives raised. He had not moved his stare from Elatharia's face since her threat of a transformation, his voice trembling just audibly. "You betrayed us to work for her, and now you return to the city to kill her? Did you put yourselves on display in the hopes that we might have any interest in helping you?"

"If you don't I'm sure I could kill you, too," Elatharia offered with a shrug. Imoen's elbow dug into her ribs. Hard.

"There is no choice about it," Jaheira said, irritable as ever. "Bodhi cares even less about you than _she_ does," the druid jabbed a finger in the direction of Elatharia. "The vampires are gathering strength in preparation for a great battle. After that…Bodhi will come for you and crush all of Athkatla if she can. Our best chance is to do this together."

Linvail's hesitation was telling. He wavered, glancing at his lackeys before clicking his fingers and stepping back with two of them. They whispered quite ferociously together for a short while and when they returned to face Elatharia and her companions the steely smugness had returned to Linvail.

"The druid does speak the truth. We are all of us guilty in each other's eyes, and surely you know your former ally best."

"But?" Viconia prompted.

"But all of you who were involved in the attempt to take down our organisation must leave Athkatla within a day of Bodhi's defeat. You will not return," he glanced at each of the group, ignoring Anomen as the knight bristled in horror. "Mazzy Fentan and Valygar Corthala were not involved, of course. The ban will not stretch to the two of you…though you should watch your step in this city from now on." The paladin looked visibly relieved, though a frown was forming at her brow as she watched Anomen. The others seemed reasonably disinterested by this news; only Jan had relatives in the city and Elatharia doubted very much that any ban would stop him going where he liked unchecked.

"I…I am a knight of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant H-" Anomen was spluttering, pulling away sharply when Aerie put a warning hand on his arm.

"The Order do not rule this city," Linvail shrugged, more callous than malicious. " _We_ do as much as the Cowls." He cast a look over Elatharia and Imoen. "Whom I am sure would be happy to throw _both_ of you into New Spellhold at my suggestion."

The aasimar's eyes dropped to her clenched hands at that and she visibly swallowed hard. She tensed even more when Aerie put a hand on her knee, but raised her eyes to at least express appreciation to the avariel. Elatharia leaned her head back against the window and sighed as she sneered back at Linvail.

"You clearly didn't understand my threat earlier," she noted. Linvail shook his head, talking over Anomen's continued demands.

" _You_ clearly do not understand, Bhaalspawn. The Shadow Thieves have hundreds of loyal members. Monster or not, we would take you down eventually. And better yet – the mage Irenicus still lives, I hear. Perhaps I could hand you back over to him?" he waited a moment while that threat ought to have sunk in. Elatharia just held herself as still as she could, dizzy at her lack of fear. Somewhere her soul was screaming. And meanwhile, perhaps believing that he had frightened her properly this time, Linvail stood straight again and sheathed his blades. "Well, it is settled then. We will meet you outside the Graveyard at nightfall. If what you say is true, then we cannot risk Bodhi making the first move once she awakens. There will not be time to be ready any sooner."

* * *

The party had declined to linger in the Crooked Crane once Aran Linvail left; the ale they were offered to drink looked suspiciously lumpy and no one touched it. Instead they squeezed their way back out into the Gate District, where the sun shone upon cobbles worn smooth by countless feet over countless years and the stink and noise was almost unbearable. Imoen's head was spinning, her heart thumping in her chest. It was hard to breathe, her ribcage a tightening vice of rigid iron.

There were people everywhere, shouting and chattering and laughing…somewhere someone's baby was bawling. It was barely a relief once they stumbled free of the small but rowdy market square and onto the main road. Although it was dominated by the city gates at one end and a smaller set not all that far in the distance, it was less busy here. The pavement was lined with clusters of rundown housing but only a few people were on the street as the group gathered in the mouth of a nearby alley. The odd rumble of a passing cart disrupted their discussion, but otherwise they went unremarked. There was a cat prowling across the half-broken balcony above them and a crate full of mouldering vegetables, but no people passed them.

"We have no time to waste," Mazzy was saying as Imoen leaned back against the wall a few steps away from the others, trying to catch her breath. "We should decide upon a meeting place and convene there before we go to the Graveyard tonight. It would be useful to have some kind of battle strategy but if Jaheira manages to bring the Harpers to our cause _and_ the Radiant Heart listen to Anomen and I then I fear we will be too disparate to do much more than pass on our plans and hope for the best."

There were a few nods, though Imoen noticed that Anomen was less responsive. Aerie had a hand at his back, as if she understood that he was in some kind of distress.

"The Copper Coronet is close to the Slums' entrance to the Graveyard," Elatharia said, folding her arms stiffly. "I would offer the Planar Sphere but I cannot say what state it will be in by tonight."

"Not a very habitable one for so many, I'd wager," Jan agreed. "Lots of cogs and bolts across the floors and maybe some leaking pipes, most probably."

"I would rather we meet on neutral ground," Mazzy dismissed, her eyes hardening as she looked over Elatharia, Haer'Dalis and Viconia. "Your dwelling has been the site of several undisclosed plans, after all."

Viconia, who had already been rolling her eyes at Jan's words, added a long sigh to her affectation of disdain. It was always slightly disconcerting to see her behaving in such a manner when transmuted into the shape of a moon elf.

"A little late to be self-righteous now," the drow breathed.

"The Coronet's fine by me," Korgan grunted, already turning to leave, "I'll see ye afore the blood spillin' and no sooner." He stomped off before anyone could think about calling him back – although it looked like no one intended to.

"Anomen, Aerie and I will go to the Radiant Heart," Mazzy stated, looking over the priest as if she expected him to argue with her. "Jaheira, I take it you intend to head for the Harpers now?"

"Yes," the druid took a step forward as if she intended to leave immediately but Valygar reached for her elbow and met her eyes levelly when she turned to look at him in surprise.

"I will go with you. My family had dealings with them in my youth," he explained.

Imoen thought that she saw the faintest hint of a smile on Jaheira's face at this though it was hard to tell when the druid's back was almost entirely turned to her. A glance across the group showed Viconia watching the pair with a slightly disbelieving look, one eyebrow arched. Mazzy's expression was a little gentler, but there was something similar in it all the same before she returned quite sharply to the business at hand, waving for Aerie and Anomen to follow her as she said her farewells.

Elatharia opened her mouth to speak, turning Imoen's way, but Jaheira cut across her. The aasimar had the absurd urge to back up as the druid approached her and placed a hand at her arm, pulling a little as if to guide her forward.

"Imoen should come with us," Jaheira fairly growled. "We need to get her some proper clothes – some armour, preferably."

Elatharia's answer consisted of a dead-eyed stare, a look so cold that Imoen found it distinctly unfamiliar. _Do you truly believe you know your sister, my dear? Her essence flows like a river swelling in spring, like a tide rising at a rush. Yours is like a well, potential not so quickly tapped but just as deep._

"Alright," Imoen heard herself gasp the word, tugging back against Jaheira's guiding hand and causing the druid to turn to her with a wary look. "Just…less of the pulling. And less of the talking 'bout me like I'm not right here."

"You make a good point, my Wildflower," Haer'Dalis noted with a smirk, offering Jaheira a mocking bow as she passed him and Viconia, who was too busy berating the tiefling for his invention of Imoen's nickname again.

* * *

As far as Aerie had seen, not a single room of the Radiant Heart headquarters could be considered anything less than grand, and perhaps a little gaudy too. From the more familiar main hall with its pillars and holy symbols, where colourful light poured through stained glass windows across a pink marble floor, they had been led down one long stone corridor, its undecorated walls holding in a colder breeze than the one which drifted outside. Beyond this they had passed into a spacious cloister where a vast square of green grass surrounded a tall, tinkling fountain. And though it was the long way around, after a brief discussion with their robed guide Anomen and Mazzy led Aerie along the echoing paved walkway, and not across the much more appealing grass.

A plain wooden door stood in one corner of this cloister; it was here that they stopped and Mazzy knocked firmly twice. For a moment there was only the quiet tinkling of the fountain and the three returned adventurers looked between each other nervously – Aerie's eyes lingered on Anomen. He had been especially downcast since the Shadow Thieves insisted upon his banishment.

At last Aerie distinctly heard the creak of a door from within the closed off room, followed by two male voices conversing in a muffled manner which suggested that they had intended not to be overheard. There was another pause.

"Enter!" one of the voices called, and Mazzy opened the door in the next instant, marching inside proudly like the true paladin that she was. Aerie cringed at the memory of what Anomen had said to the halfling just days before even as she followed her companions inside.

Within waited the stern figure of Sir Ryan Trawl, seated behind a long wooden desk cluttered with papers, half-melted candlesticks and several pots of ink. He was twirling a quill in his hands, and at his elbow stood Keldorn Firecam – whose grim expression immediately settled upon Anomen. There were only two chairs in front of the desk; none of the new arrivals made a move to sit and Aerie found herself shifting nervously from foot to foot, her eyes wandering across the smooth curved plaster of the high ceiling down to the empty fireplace and over the fogged window which looked out upon the foamy blue sea and the open sky.

"We had feared you would return, Anomen," Keldorn offered stiffly at last. The young priest's hands clenched to fists at his side and he looked to be focusing very hard upon his level expression. "I am terribly sorry to hear all that has passed and I do not believe for one moment that you intended for this to happen. But the Shadow Thieves hold far more sway in this city than any of us would wish, I am certain. They have officially barred you from Athkatla…" he hesitated, his piercing eyes taking in the faces of all three adventurers. He rubbed at his greying beard with a wince. "Ah, I see that you have already heard."

"Surely there must be something that can be done?" Aerie asked when Anomen just glared at Firecam and Trawl, the latter of whom now shook his head with a long sigh.

"My lady, I wish it were not so but we do not have the power to keep Anomen safe. It would be wiser to leave as swiftly as you know how and return when things have died down…"

Anomen was shaking at her side, and Aerie only managed to gape in horror before Mazzy cut in.

"My lords, we have returned and stay until tomorrow night under the sufferance of the Shadow Thieves. The monster Bodhi, who dwells in the Graveyard with a coven of vampires, has returned to Athkatla but soon intends to join her brother in his mission to destroy the ancient and sacred elvish city of Suldanessellar. We humbly ask you to join us in this quest to rid the city of such an unholy beast and her minions."

With every word the halfling seemed to swell with strength, and it almost made Aerie feel a little better. It certainly had an effect on both paladins behind the desk; they shared one knowing look and nodded at the same time.

"You will have our aid as soon as it is needed," Sir Ryan Trawl agreed, already reaching for his quill and a fresh scrap of parchment. "I will send an order to the troops immediately. I will name you as commander, of course."

"Very good, sir," Mazzy offered half a bow, as if such an honour – and Aerie could only guess that it _was_ an honour in this human world – were normal for her. Perhaps it was. "We intend to head out at nightfall before…"

While the halfling explained the details to Trawl, Aerie turned to Anomen and reached out for is arm; he flinched away, his eyes trained on the sky through the window, his mouth downturned. Wringing her hands, the avariel stared up at him for a long moment wondering at the best thing to say; eventually Keldorn Firecam moved around the desk and reached her side, placing a heavy hand upon her shoulder and smiling down at her before turning his attention to Anomen.

"Come, Sir Delryn," he said carefully, "Walk with me." And he said it with such firm conviction that it seemed long habit forced Anomen to obey without a second glance to Aerie. The pair left through a side door and she heard their ringing footsteps dwindling down one long corridor even after Mazzy had finished explaining events and details to Trawl.

"It saddens me, Lady Fentan," Sir Trawl was saying once Aerie finally turned her eyes back to his weathered face. He still had that fussy beard, his grey hair combed back over his head. His armour glinted upon a stand in the corner by the window. "That such villains as these Bhaalspawn have so misled you."

"They're not villains!" Aerie blurted, jumping back self-consciously when Trawl and Mazzy both looked to her sharply. Two sets of piercing blue eyes shining out at her made her legs feel like Turmish jelly. "I mean…I mean I d-don't really know Imoen and well… m-maybe Elatharia's done some bad…some bad things but it's a lot more c-complicated than that…"

"I understand that you have a compassionate heart, my lady," Sir Trawl offered slowly in the manner of one who is speaking to a small child – and ill used to doing so. Setting his quill down, he rang a bell at his elbow before clasping his hands before him on the table. "I hear you are a priestess of Baervan Windwanderer? We do not meet many of your ilk, and it would have been an honour to have one of your faith working with us in these halls, but for the Shadow Thieves' ban. Perhaps one day we shall, if you are interested?"

Dizzied by the compliments, Aerie opened her mouth to speak but Trawl interrupted.

"But I do also understand that you have not been raised amongst the paladinic orders. We who follow Tyr, Helm, Torm…and Arvoreen," he nodded to Mazzy, who inclined her head to him even as she continued to watch Aerie with a furrowed brow. "We serve gods who have fought and continue to pursue imbalance and evil of just this sort. The Bhaalspawn are born of an evil god, the Lord of Murder. No matter who they are, their souls are corrupted. Wherever they go, chaos and evil _will_ be sown."

The ominous weight of his words sent a shiver down Aerie's spine and she found herself chewing on her lip, hands twisting in the skirt of her knee-length tunic. Mazzy was still looking at her strangely as a servant slipped in through the side door and took the note Sir Trawl had written back out with him under swiftly muttered orders.

"We should leave," Mazzy said once the servant had gone, and Sir Trawl stood to shake her hand across the desk.

"I take it you will be returning to Athkatla soon, my lady?" he inquired, "The ban does not extend to you."

"Perhaps. I was thinking of taking up the call to Watchers' Keep, in truth," Mazzy admitted as she stepped back. Sir Trawl's eyebrows rose, but he just nodded wordlessly. "It was my husband's greatest wish to aid them in their time of need. I should like to honour him."

"Of course, my lady. Patrick would have been very proud."

They shared a nod, and then Mazzy was heading for the door and opening it really a little too quickly. Aerie, alarmed, stumbled back out with an awkward wave of her hand which drew a faint smile from Sir Trawl. The quiet of the bright cloister washed over her for just a moment before she felt Mazzy's hand at her elbow.

"Sir Trawl is right, Aerie," she said softly, her face so serious. "Elatharia and Imoen are going to bring with them evil wherever they go. And Elatharia is bringing it on herself, I fear. It will be a good thing when we can get away from her."

The words felt painfully true. Aerie's shoulders slumped and she looked back to the fountain at the centre of the grass, sparkling with sunlight. Her heart felt so heavy.

"W-we should wait for Anomen…"

"I think I will go on to the Coronet," Mazzy said abruptly, almost as if she had surprised herself. "Sir Trawl said his men will meet us there at the appointed hour, so I doubt we have little more to do here."

Aerie watched the halfling leave at speed and wondered at the paladin's mood. It was as though the mention of her husband had forced her to seek a way out of the conversation, and the idea of her pain made the avariel decidedly unhappy as well. Her mood did not improve once Anomen and Keldorn returned, the younger knight still wearing that mask-like expression as if that ought to hide his grief at being forced from the Order by the Shadow Thieves.

* * *

Had Imoen's soul still been intact, she would surely have felt the relief of finally owning her own clothes more acutely. For so long she had been dressed in the grey prison pyjamas of Spellhold, and thereafter when she had not been wearing stolen drow leathers she had been dressed in Jaheira's spare clothes. Now at last she had a soft black tunic and leggings made to fit _her,_ a leather jerkin in which to keep her new daggers and boots enchanted to aid swift movement. All of it had been bought with the gold taken from the sahuagin city – enough money shown quickly to Ribald Barterman at the dizzyingly crowded Adventurer's Mart to have them ushered into a side room, and her clothes fitted and fixed within the hour. They were a great deal drabber than that which she would ordinarily favour but she had felt no urge to disagree. She could just imagine Irenicus telling her how _illogical_ tan leather and pink cloth would have been.

Waukeen's Promenade was the busiest, loudest, most brightly coloured open space Imoen had ever seen – it put Nashkel Fair to shame. The scents of spices and jostling bodies and the clink of coins all around were quite exceptional, all of it conducted in a vast theatre of trade. The golden symbol of Waukeen stood proudly catching the afternoon sun at the centre of the curved tiers of stone houses. She had found her eyes transfixed until Jaheira urged her to follow.

They made their way from the Promenade to the Docks though the druid never shared their destination with either Imoen or Valygar. She walked ahead of them at speed, and it was sometimes hard to keep sight of her against the passing ebb and flow of people. Meanwhile, the ranger at Imoen's side did nothing to break the silence; where once she would have chattered enough for both of them now she felt the gaping hole of quiet. It was a relief when they reached the Docks, where most of the traffic consisted of empty carts returning to warehouses at this time of day and most of the people were busy at work in the distance. The whole place stank of fish and salt, the streets out here not spared the mercy of a working sewer system and it took some carefully placed footsteps to avoid stepping in something foul as Jaheira led them down a side street well away from the wharfs and along the line of the district walls.

The cheeping of many birds could be heard almost from the end of the street, even above the creaks and crashes and clatters of the docks. The sound of their chatter was almost deafening by the time Jaheira stopped at the gates of a cramped, over-grown garden which looked entirely out place in this district. On their walk here, Imoen had not seen a hint of any other greenery – beyond mould and moss – around the nearby houses.

The small metal symbol above the gate, that of a delicate harp, was the proof that they were in the right place. Wards flared and fizzed out harmlessly as Jaheira stepped through, holding the gate for Valygar and Imoen but closing it firmly once their boots had vanished amongst the high grasses and tangled weeds. A tall, bare tree teemed with a jostling flock of colourful birds, pecking at strings of seeds left out by whoever tended the garden. The hut which stood at the far end of this small garden was little more than a one-room lodge, and it was sagging at the sides as though from long disuse, missing several tiles from its roof.

There was a man just making his way up from a set of creaking spiral stairs through the floor of this outhouse when the trio arrived at the open doorway. Clad in brown cloth and dark leather, he eyed them blankly for a moment with pale but unremarkable eyes, his face deeply lined and his thinning grey hair a little untidy. His olive skin suggested that he was most probably a native of Amn – and the Harper pin at his collar proved that he was one of those they sought. Eventually surprised recognition showed in his expression.

"I should barely recognise you, Jaheira," he offered gruffly, clasping arms with the druid almost absent mindedly and eyeing her companions. "Ah, and…Valygar, is it? I have not seen you in almost as many years. How old were you when last we met? Eighteen?" he clasped arms with the ranger as well, though he skipped past Imoen in favour of offering a bemused look Jaheira's way. "I do not see Khalid with you."

"He is dead, Rylock," Jaheira said. Her voice was flat, and the man looked back to her with a sharp intake of breath. Honest grief twisted his face, but the druid stepped back from his hand when he attempted to settle it upon her shoulder.

"Jaheira...this is grave news. How long? How…"

"Longer than it should have been ere I told you," she admitted, so still. So cold, but for the faintest waver in her voice. "I currently seek the man who murdered him. A man whose sister now rules the vampires in the graveyard and intends to join him in taking down Suldanessellar."

"We have heard of this 'Bodhi' who dwells in the darkness of the city," Rylock nodded, his tone lowering. He waved for the group to follow him into the crooked old hut and led them down the shuddering metal staircase, now all business, into the true Harper Hold. "Meronia sent her best scouts to watch the graveyard some time ago – they spied companions of yours entering and exiting Bodhi's lair unharmed. And then you all left Athkatla at around the same time. Our leader will be interested to hear the truth."

"She is not my leader, Rylock," Jaheira snapped automatically.

They were just reaching the bottom of the stairs, which stopped in the centre of a dimly lit storage room, a spacious but cluttered cube of hollowed out earth propped up by a pragmatic structure of wooden beams and stocks. Imoen felt the pressure tighten on her temples as she descended after Valygar, her eyes adjusting unwillingly to the low light. It was as though the earth were pressing down on her; it was too soon since the Underdark hung around them. She half expected Phaere to leap out from the dark tunnel ahead…and barring that, the remembered sniggers and howls of kobolds in the dark rushed back to her. Khalid _had_ been with them back then.

"Jaheira, she may not be your senior amongst the Harpers but she at least holds a position with a name," Rylock chastised.

"I thought the Harpers didn't like to label themselves," Imoen pointed out, drawing a searching look from Rylock. His eyes lingered on her pink hair and the silver bow across her back before he turned back to Jaheira, preferring to address her.

"And I thought that we had a rule which did not permit non-Harpers into this compound," he told Jaheira, his tone sterner than it had been before. She watched him with a frown now.

"Clearly the warnings we bring are too important for 'conduct'."

Rylock dismissed her words with a wave of his hand and a sneer, turning for the opening and the dark tunnel beyond. When Jaheira followed, Valygar and Imoen did too. Ahead waited a long passageway, its damp earthen walls crawling disconcertingly with wriggling earth worms and subterranean insects. Even Valygar looked a little uncomfortable, though Jaheira's grim expression never wavered and her eyes never strayed from Rylock's back.

"Did you know Jaheira'd been to Amn before?" Imoen heard herself asking, just to break the silence.

Valygar glanced at her sidelong.

"I believe she told me once, yes."

And nothing more.

They passed a number of closed doors, all of them chipped and mouldering wood. One of these was open; within, Imoen saw walls of white plaster and a hard bunk close to the floor. These were safehouses or travelling stop-off points – Harpers were not known for their well organised permanent complexes. _Harpers are like cats most of the time, Imoen,_ Khalid had said. _Unless you give us something to fight for. Elsewise, we'll spend most of our time off wandering – but remind us a place has food and shelter, and we'll come by for a little while._ But of course he had stammered through it something awful. Even with her torn soul, Imoen swallowed against the lump in her throat.

The opening through which Rylock led them was at the end of the earthen corridor; far enough in that it must have passed beyond the Docks District walls and into the Slums. From the way the wall here was made of stone and the room into which they passed displayed walls of bare brick, it appeared that this section of the compound was made from the appropriated foundations of some other building.

More crates lined the walls, piled high and nailed shut – Jaheira eyed them with a faintly concerned expression which made Imoen especially suspicious. But a woman was just standing from the circular bench built around the room's central column, setting a large logbook upon the place where she had been sitting before turning to face Jaheira and dismissing Rylock. With a nod to the druid and the new woman, he departed through a door across the room.

"I would greet you, Jaheira, but I remember that you have never been one for such things," the woman said with a hint of humour. Her accent was heavy with the regional roll of Amn, her form thin and long-limbed beneath faded brown leathers. Her skin was a shade or two darker than Rylock's, long black hair plaited over one shoulder. And now her dark eyes flashed over Imoen and Valygar. "So perhaps you can tell me why you are here, and who you have brought with you. And then perhaps you can explain why your companions have had clearly _cordial_ dealings with Bodhi…and a Red Wizard."

"My companions are not Harpers, Meronia," Jaheira snapped, which only drew a sharp laugh from the woman.

"Oh yes, because that _was_ another question I was going to ask. Just what are you doing for the cause, Jaheira?"

The druid straightened at that, something a lot more like embarrassment than rage coming to her face.

"Khalid and I were tasked with the protection of Gorion's ward…Elatharia. And another of the children of Candlekeep – Imoen." She gestured to the aasimar, who froze at Meronia's sharp-eyed inspection.

"Ah. Another Bhaalspawn? Gorion was a good man, and perhaps a little starry eyed I hear."

"He acted in a manner of which Elminster himself spoke highly, 'I hear'," Jaheira countered, a hint of strain in her tone. Beside Imoen, Valygar crossed his arms and watched in silence.

"Elminster all but raised him. What more would one expect?" Meronia asked, only to wave the words away. "But of course, Gorion was a man who did many great deeds for our organisation. I do not intend to speak ill of him, especially not to you – or you," she nodded Imoen's way, and the aasimar managed a grateful smile.

"It is the other Bhaalspawn who has been dealing with Bodhi," Jaheira sighed into the calmer mood, her shoulders slumping. She pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing up her eyes as if entirely weary with such a truth. "I had no choice but to turn a blind eye, because I had to get to Imoen. Now Elatharia's poor choice of ally has returned to the city, intent upon aiding her murderous brother in the destruction of Suldanessellar."

"Ah, and now this all makes sense. A quest which the Harpers would consider worthy, indeed. A shame you come to us so late."

"But not too late," Jaheira said. "If there are any fellow Harpers in this Hold, we are in need of aid. Bodhi is a force who intends to overbalance the city's powers. Once she returns from the destruction of Suldanessellar she intends to control everything here with her vampire underlings."

Meronia gave a long sigh, but nodded her head.

"We have a number of fellow Harpers staying here. And we can't very well just let her march on Suldanessellar," she offered a grim smile which Jaheira shared…before holding up a hand rather too dramatically. "But wait – one more thing. I can't let you go with our promises of aid when you haven't explained to me what you are doing following a girl whose allies include a Red Wizard amongst their number."

"It's not as simple as that!" Imoen interrupted, "But if it helps, Jaheira's never sided with Edwin."

"First name terms? How curious," Meronia rolled her eyes and turned away from Imoen pointedly. "Jaheira?"

"He is an unfortunate necessity for now," the druid admitted, "Though once we have defeated Irenicus and Bodhi I have no intention of continuing any alliance with him. Or with Elatharia."

Meronia nodded as if well pleased – a little too smugly by Imoen's reckoning. The aasimar found herself staring at the back of Jaheira's head instead with mounting disbelief. Did the druid truly intend to abandon her? But the words rang hollow for now, and there was no time to discuss it, even if Jaheira had been willing.

"We will meet you at nightfall by the Slums graveyard gates," Jaheira informed curtly, before turning on her heel and heading stiffly back the way they had come. She did not meet Imoen's eyes as she passed.

* * *

The 'basement' of the Planar Sphere was strewn with plans, cogs, bolts and innumerable other tiny mechanisms, tools and components. Somewhere amongst the piping Elatharia could hear Jan clattering, muttering to himself about measurements and spell theory. She did not look up when he banged his head on one of the broader pipes; she was too busy checking his equations and fixing the errors he had made regarding those parts of spell theory which fell into the eerie world of Necromancy.

The floor was now so treacherous that Elatharia had resorted to perching upon the edge of the tables pushed haphazardly into the centre of the room; she had gradually migrated around until she was sitting cross-legged amongst a pile of notes and reference books taken from the library above. Her hair was still wet from her bath, courtesy of the Sphere's complex system of enspelled plumbing, and she had at last noticed the extent of the gold now impinging upon her natural dark brown. Tangles which had stuck even long after Irenicus's dungeon now slipped free and left her hair straight as it once had been before, hanging almost to her elbows after such an extended time of neglect. Absently she had knotted it behind her head and left it at that. Perhaps Imoen could have at it with a knife one day soon.

There was a familiar calm to this place, especially now that she knew that Jan would be fixing the wards – most of which had faltered and eventually failed in their absence. Where once even Aerie could cast a journeyman's Divination and catch a glimpse of her and Edwin…soon no one, not even an archmage, would be able to look in. Only teleportation spells of her choosing could get through. _And gods, that was fortunate._ Her hand strayed to the bag of holding at her hip but she snatched it back, shaking her head to focus her thoughts.

Viconia and Haer'Dalis had lingered only long enough to witness Jan making this apparent mess, the drow's expression gradually widening into one of open horror before she made a swift exit. Elatharia might have agreed with her distaste at such a chaotic scene had she not been able to see the order of it. Now the tiefling and the drow had vanished into his room. She could hardly blame them – how long had the group been travelling together without a chance for peace? Only now could she feel her body hoping to relax after the stresses of the Underdark…only to recall the threat of Bodhi ahead.

"I hope you heard the doorbell, oh queen of this kingdom," Jan called, his voice tinny as it echoed back from amongst the metal pipes. Elatharia nodded uselessly, though he could not see her. "The wards didn't explode and the door opened, so I'm fairly certain it was Imoen who entered."

"Alright, I'm just going," the Transmuter said, though the mundanity of this situation left her feeling out of place and rather baffled by her own calmness. She peered down at the sheets before her one last time. "Jan, these notes are correct now but I still think it could take about four days…"

Elatharia had turned around in the direction of the gnome, who was crouching somewhere behind the pipes nearest to the defunct portal and its hollowed out runes…but gave a shout of alarm when she saw Edwin standing there just feet from the table upon which she sat. Papers scattered as she scrambled back and found her feet. Exclaiming something inaudible, Jan banged his head again on his way out to see what the fuss was about.

"What are you doing here?" Elatharia gasped, tugging at the skirt of the Robe of Vecna when it caught on a chair. Edwin's eyes followed her action listlessly. His expression was oddly blank, his naturally tanned skin strangely pallid. Her stomach dropped when she saw the blood congealed at his neck, and then her mind span in confusion at such a response. _No soul!_

"I am not here, Elatharia," Edwin told her slowly, his words faintly slurred. His arms hung by his sides and he was dressed just in his black trousers and one of his loose red shirts. The neck was askew and she could see the swirl of black tattoos across clammy skin otherwise stained with blood and broken by a jagged bite wound. She could see the patterns across his forearms as well – and the sign language his left hand flashed her way. _I will not_. Just as he had when Bodhi took him in the first place.

"A projection," Elatharia managed at last. Jan finally hauled himself free enough to shout a startled exclamation for a second time at the sight of Edwin – neither wizard paid him any heed. "Bodhi sent you."

"She did," he inclined his head so wearily, his eyelids drooping further as if fighting for consciousness. "And the first message is the one you see before you."

Elatharia swallowed hard, leaning her hands on the table in front of her and gripping the wood. It was hard to believe it, but she knew the truth before her. If what she saw _were_ definitely the truth.

"She has turned you," she posited, "You are a thrall, bound to her will and bound to blood – but not a full vampire."

"Oh that's not good," Jan winced. "Is there a cure, Eddie?"

"No," the Red Wizard said. _Yes_ , his hand signed. _Perhaps._

Elatharia let out a long sigh which she hoped might appear suitably vague to a watching Bodhi.

"And your second message?" she asked, her treacherous voice a little hoarse. Her stomach dropped further when Edwin's eyes flickered.

"Bodhi knows you have been following her. She knows that you seek Imoen's soul and that the Knights of Suldanessellar will have sent you on their mission as well as your own. She knows you seek the Rhynn Lanthorn," he paused to cough, a rattling sound which left him trying not to clutch at his chest. Elatharia's nails scraped against the wood of the table of the table and she pulled them back sharply. "Most importantly she says she knows you are coming for her. The wards on her lair will hold out all spellcasting." _They have been dismantled,_ his hand contradicted. _But she knows nothing._ "And she hopes that you and Imoen can see your friends die before she takes you back to her brother in chains."

The breath which Elatharia sucked in caught painfully. The snarl which escaped her could hardly have been human and Edwin watched her with that same grim expression, something strange in his eyes which made her wonder at what he knew. _Oh gods, had Irenicus told him the truth?_

Edwin opened his mouth to say something more, but with a flash of white light the Illusion of his presence popped out of existence and left Elatharia staring into the void, blood trickling from her clenched fists.

* * *

"You did very well, lackey of mine," Bodhi cooed from the chair to Edwin's right. Her pale eyes were full of mockery when he looked down at her, too weary and dizzy to do anything more than glare. "Now sit."

The words rang in his head with the weight of command. He sat and she pushed the goblet towards him across this small metal table in her personal study, snatching back the magical stone which Valen had activated for her. The Divinations necessary had been impossible for Edwin and had disappointed the vampire mistress greatly; she had hoped quite clearly that he would have more agency in bringing Elatharia such bad news. (A pity for Bodhi that she did not speak the drow sign language without spells. She had no idea that he had contradicted her.)

"Drink," Bodhi insisted, and again the word rang with command. "Whatever spells you think can protect you will not work against my own blood, thrall."

Edwin hesitated, hiding his true reluctance by rubbing at the blood sticking to his enchanted torc. The golden band was hot to his touch as he readjusted it…and reached for the goblet. The blood tasted unnervingly sweet as he swallowed and wished that his 'thraldom' had not made this so _easy_.


	56. An Alliance of Guilty Enemies

**As ever, thank you to all those reading and to those reviewing. Your comments are hugely appreciated. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 55: An Alliance of Guilty Enemies**

* * *

"You said your family had dealings with the Harpers."

Jaheira's words were more hesitant than she had intended, for Valygar looked to her with patient expectation which made her feel oddly nervous. In spite of this, she folded her arms and kept her eyes on the ranger, who stood leaning against the smooth stone wall beside her in this alley of the Slums.

"But you did not say that you in fact _are_ a Harper. Rylock knew you by sight."

"I did not," Valygar agreed with a hint of laughter. "I was…embarrassed. And it is not entirely a fair description – as you can see for yourself, I do not wear the harping pin. But my family have sworn their allegiance to your society, and I did too once I came of age." A faint smile showed on the ranger's face at that. It looked a little bashful, even – for he was quick to look away, over to where Imoen was picking her way up the steps to the Planar Sphere. As he spoke again, his voice caught a little. "I could not turn my back on a tradition like that when I had newly come to understand the importance of groups like the Harpers. It was not long after Lavok had begun to destroy my family."

The smile died as his eyes focused on the smooth metal of the Planar Sphere, lingering on the remnants of the houses it had shattered upon its impact those months before. Jaheira could sympathise with his unease, for she felt it also – albeit from a rather different source. He stared upon the Planar Sphere and thought of his dead ancestor. She watched the pink haired aasimar now pulling on the doorbell and wished that she did not have to let Imoen go in there where her sister waited, in a building which had held so many plots – including the scheme to kill in exchange for passage to Spellhold. But it was too late; the door was already sliding inwards and when Imoen turned and waved, showing a smile that never reached her eyes, all Jaheira could do was wave back stiffly and witness her stepping inside.

"At least you saw the sense of our institution, unlike some," the druid managed, preferring to turn for the street ahead rather than watch the door close on Imoen.

She heard Valygar standing straight behind her, happy to follow. The sun was shining from an only intermittently cloudy sky, though it was colder than it had been when last they were in Amn, but it felt like a relief after so long underground – even now, days after they had returned to the surface and even here, in the dirty and cluttered Slums. This side alley was almost entirely deserted by virtue of the Planar Sphere's ominous presence, though a few children were watching from a rickety balcony scant hand spans beyond the curve of the structure, swinging bare feet into the open air.

"And there are those who do not see the sense in the Harpers? Surely it does not interest you if Elatharia…" Valygar began when Jaheira failed to elaborate. By this time they were coming to the end of the short alley, where the tops of the houses to either side sagged together. One of the Jansen turnip carts was just rumbling past on the street ahead, its white-haired driver tossing a few unidentifiable vegetables to the beggars who dotted the pavements.

"Not Elatharia," Jaheira waved the idea away perhaps more quickly than she ought. She winced when she looked up into Valygar's face and saw his frown. "I meant Imoen. Although there was once a time when both of them held a more reasonable view of the Harpers." She gritted her teeth at the memory of Meronia's questions, scanning the street and struggling to think over the loud clatter and chatter of the city. "Though Athkatla's haven is not the best example of the important work we do."

"Imoen does not understand the good the Harpers do?" Valygar sounded rather taken aback. Jaheira spread her hands and shrugged, turning left and heading for the Copper Coronet. It was only a street away – and perhaps it would be sensible to eat something before what was to come.

"She preferred Khalid's notion of it to mine," Jaheira amended. "Though his view of it is rather more fantasy than truth. The Harpers are not the do-gooders that he would paint them as." Her heart lurched into her throat as she spoke of him in the present tense but she forged on past a stall of Ilmater's charms and pretended that she could not speak while the street was so busy.

"Perhaps your view of them is too jaded?" Valygar offered once they had turned the corner onto Copper Street. The Coronet dominated this stretch of road, its doors open but unpopulated at this time of day.

"You know as well as I that the Harpers seek balance, not to sway events too far in either direction. Elsewise we might be termed by all as the tyrants which fools like Edwin prefer to label us."

"But it bothers you that Imoen does not wish to follow your path," Valygar prompted. Jaheira nodded grimly as they walked toward the Coronet's doors, wincing when she realised that Korgan's crude laughter was audible even from out on the street.

"It was Gorion's path also," she reminded. "He was not her foster father like he was Elatharia's but she loved him all the same."

They stepped through into the gloom of the tavern. The central hearth was already lit and the smell of cooking pork filled the smoky air. The Coronet patrons believed that if one cooked one's meat out in the open, one's clientele were less likely to complain about the state of its rawness. In truth, Jaheira suspected a lack of complaints was more connected to the patrons' tendency for intoxication. As if to make this point, Korgan was sitting at the bar, still chortling to himself as the barman backed away from him for the kitchens. There were few others within, beyond the serving staff who were attempting to tidy and clean the surfaces as little as possible.

"She and Elatharia refer to each other as sisters, though," Valygar noted as they slid onto one of the benches by the nearest window. The table in front of them was laden with the stub of a candle and so many beer stains that it was hard to tell the original shade of the wood.

"And it turns out that they are," Jaheira sighed. "But before they knew of their heritage, they had grown up together. They did not share a foster father but they shared a childhood, and they grew up in a library fortress not well populated with children. From what I have learned, they often only had each other. Though I must say I find it hard to imagine Elatharia as a child." _And Imoen as anything else._

"Then Imoen is truly blind to her sister's faults and failures," Valygar nodded. His dark eyes searched Jaheira's face thoughtfully. "She will not part with Elatharia willingly when the time comes."

"No," Jaheira agreed. "And it will be hard to convince her of our rightness. She learned of the Harpers from Gorion and Khalid but ultimately told me that she would hate to be constrained by the society."

"Perhaps it is best to focus on the task before us then," Valygar offered, and Jaheira was quick to nod. "The priests amongst our group seem certain that Bodhi's death will free Imoen's soul. Anyone would be more reasonable with their soul returned to them, surely?"

A smile found Jaheira's face at that, a laugh bubbling up and surprising her. Valygar watched her with confusion, though his eyes had softened.

"That would be true yes. If it were anyone but Imoen."

* * *

"Never thought you'd have a real spelljammer ship," Imoen said the moment that Elatharia opened the round door which separated the empty sphere of the Viewing Room from the bland white smoothness of the small rounded atrium. "I always figured you for a tower and allotment kinda wizard."

Elatharia remembered to fake a smile at that, though it looked as though her sister was far too distracted by her alien surroundings to notice. The Transmuter's heart was still pounding and her limbs felt oddly shaky – she could not ignore the echo of Edwin's voice in her thoughts, nor banish the memory of his bloodied throat and glassy eyes. She barely noticed Imoen's new clothes until the aasimar was squeezing past her in the doorway; she wore her silver bow between her shoulder blades as before, but now a black leather jerkin was laced over an equally dark hooded tunic of thin Amnish cloth. Her leggings were tucked into boots made of alternating leather and cloth to minimise the creak of the material as she moved, though Elatharia could sense the enchantment on them as well.

"What's this room do?" Imoen asked, flicking back her pink hair to peer about at the Viewing Room. She jumped a little when Elatharia pulled the door closed behind them, although the aasimar tried to hide it. The walkway may have been made of glass but it was still narrow. Elatharia understood.

"Jan says that when it's functioning properly it'll be able to show us any place that we wish, within the bounds of anti-Divination magic." Her throat caught against the words she knew she should be speaking.

"S'called Abjuration," Imoen teased, her eyes searching the intricate cogs which lined the rounded walls beyond the glass. "But that does sound pretty useful." She nodded thoughtfully, as if impressed. But Elatharia could not believe that she meant it, not without a soul.

Eyeing the room with growing tension, the Transmuter preferred to head past her sister and through the next door – which she had purposefully left open. Every moment in that Viewing Room left her heart pounding harder, her skin crawling with the memory of the barbed devil she had seen in the view of Minauros as if it were lurking at her back.

Imoen followed readily, jumping again when Elatharia closed this door, now turning the wheel beside it which would shift this sphere out of alignment with the front section. The wards of the place flared up, effectively locking them inside. The Cowled Wizards seemed to have realised the Sphere was impenetrable but it could not hurt to ensure that was true.

Elatharia all but ignored her sister's questions and commentary on the grandeur of the mosaic ceiling, or the workings of the – currently broken – mechanism beyond the round table in this meeting room. Lost in her own thoughts, she led Imoen through the next round doorway and down the short white corridor beyond it until they reached the internal garden. Her sister stared in unabashed bemusement and dawning wonder at the bright light and the greenery, a look which could not have been false – and one which had Elatharia frowning down at her feet and fidgeting. It took a moment, but eventually Imoen turned to her with wary eyes.

"You've been awful quiet since I got here. What is it that's so hard to say?" She gave Elatharia a little push when she cringed but failed to speak. "Hey, what is it?"

"It's…Edwin. He's a thrall of Bodhi's," the Transmuter all but blurted.

" _What_?" Imoen hissed, her eyes widening further as she took a startled step towards her sister, the garden forgotten. Her hand gripped Elatharia's arm mercilessly. "Is it…is it permanent? How do you know?"

She listened in silence while the Transmuter explained her recent encounter with Edwin, and continued to blink at her expectantly even once the details had been imparted. Frowning even more, Elatharia just stared back at her, feeling strangely sick.

"Well? D'you think I believe you aren't done _horrified_ by that?" Imoen asked into the quiet, which had thus far only been punctuated by the soft trickle of water into and out of the pond amongst the trees ahead.

"I…I don't know…" Elatharia winced, looking away under her sister's scrutiny. "I don't understand how you can feel anything…"

"Hey, don't you start like that, you big liar," Imoen snapped as sternly as only a sister could. The Transmuter met her glare with a look of disbelief and the aasimar only raised her eyebrows, setting her feet. "Yep. You're doin' that think you always do, hiding in your own head like nothing hurts. But don't you remember what Viconia told you? We've not got our whole souls, but we can't done have none of them left inside us elsewise we'd be dead. So I know it's harder to feel and all that but…speaking as someone who's as well qualified as you in all of this…you can feel some things. Big things," she gestured about at the garden, and Elatharia's shoulders sagged. She squeezed shut burning eyes when Imoen's hands came to rest against her arms.

"You're probably right," the Transmuter agreed hoarsely, "But feeling isn't going to help us right now. We need to organise the others and get to Bodhi and fix the Planar Sphere and find Irenicus and…" she coughed to hide the catch in her voice. "Somehow fix Edwin too."

Imoen's face was as sad as she had ever seen it when Elatharia raised her eyes from the grass between their feet. It was as if the aasimar knew what she was about to say.

"But if I try to feel now, when there's only so much soul left…then I don't know if I can think at all. It's either the Beast or the darkness that I don't want to remember."

"There's more to feeling than just those two things, big sister," Imoen denied, though from the way her chin wobbled it looked like there _was not_. "But alright. We'll talk about this more when we've not got some big fight ahead." A laugh escaped her, hollow again. "Not sure when that'll be, mind you."

Again Elatharia managed that smile, gesturing to the doorway all but concealed between two drooping ferns across the pond. It stood beside Viconia's room, which the Transmuter knew to be empty at that time.

"We thought you might like that room," she said, "The one to the left is Viconia's but the one to the right is free too. Choose one, if you want. There's a little time but I think we'll be heading out to the Coronet soon."

"Alright," Imoen nodded, eyeing the two doorways to the right which Elatharia had not indicated before squeezing her arm and moving off to inspect the first of her options.

The moment her sister had stepped through the doorway, the Transmuter found herself looking towards the door to Edwin's room. It stood directly across from Imoen's objective and only once the aasimar had closed the door behind her did the Transmuter fairly tiptoe over the long grass of the garden around the twinkling pond, passing the closed entrance to Haer'Dalis's chamber. She did not even think before her hand reached out for the handle of Edwin's room. It turned readily, for these doors could only be locked from within, and a command word saw the diffuse conjured light of the Planar Sphere illuminate the chamber for her. She slid inside like a thief fearing capture.

The bed was neatly made, the whole room meticulously tidy as she would have expected. It was oblong in shape, its walls and floor as uniformly pale as the other sleeping chambers of the Planar Sphere. Afraid that her boots might mark her passing, Elatharia pulled them free and left them by the door, treading the soft white carpet barefoot. The chest at the foot of the bed opened easily and proved to be empty – just as were the bookcases in the far wall. The fireplace was understandably cold. A few waistcoats hung in the wardrobe – one red, one black and one of crimson velvet embroidered in gold. She had never seen him wear that.

Disquieted by her own trespass and the ache in her chest, Elatharia drew back and let the wardrobe close softly. Her hands itched to reach out for the more familiar cloth but she resisted. A glance through the open archway in the corner of the room showed a spotless circular bathroom – and her own wide-eyed face staring back at her in the wall-height mirror. She startled all the same.

It had been a long time since she last truly looked at herself and the strip of enchanted cloth she wore across her markings seemed unfamiliar, though she had bought it many days before. Her hair was darkened by dampness but the gold which ran through the dark brown was increasingly unmistakable, even twisted behind her head as it was. Her skin was paler than she remembered it, her frame thinner too though the pastel cloth of the Robe of Vecna had moulded to the change. In the bright light the scars on her wrists and one visible ankle glared out at her – as did the fading pink line at her neck where Lord Roaringhorn had tried to slit her throat almost a month earlier.

Not liking the blankness on her own face, Elatharia soon retreated. She looked about herself awkwardly, half-believing that Edwin might return at any moment. She had never been in here without him, and it still smelled faintly of his herbal tea and Conjurers' incense.

The Transmuter deflated onto the closest armchair, drawing her legs up under her and staring at the empty fire. Edwin had only permitted her entry once before, and he had sat in this exact chair as they watched the Nether Scroll burn. And with any luck perhaps he would sit here again and reprimand her for coming in here without his permission. That brought a smile to her face which sent a tear trickling under her mask which she had barely noticed shedding.

In the end she left him a note by the fresh candle at his bedside table.

* * *

The others were already waiting at the Copper Coronet by the time Elatharia and Imoen arrived with Viconia and Haer'Dalis in tow. The streets outside were eerily quiet, doors and shutters slamming shut as the sun sank, the whole Slums district humming with expectant stillness. Notices had been pinned to the boards at each street corner by the Radiant Heart, telling of the vampire threat and the need to keep well clear of the night's events. Holy water had been sold to those who could afford it and instructions to engrave holy symbols across window frames and lintels to those without the funds. The temple of Ilmater was taking in the homeless of those districts around the Graveyard – the Docks, the Slums and the Bridge District.

Even the Copper Coronet was empty of its usual customers, its long tables now taken by some forty armoured men of the Radiant Heart, all of them sipping their herbal water with winces better saved for whisky. The Harpers were here too, men and women dressed in leathers and lighter mail clustered together by the walls and looking decidedly out of place in such a setting. The women employed in the upper floor were watching proceedings in the tavern hall with wary eyes until one of the knights shooed them away with threats of arrest and flogging.

All eyes turned to the Transmuter and her companions as the doors swung closed behind them and she noted with growing concern that few of those eyes were friendly. So: they knew of her past employment under Bodhi, or perhaps her Bhaalspawn heritage. Probably both. Under such scrutiny it was hard to keep her expression level but she forced an even calm into her steps as she approached Jaheira and the others who waited at the bar. Aerie offered a tense smile, but most of the rest showed poorly veiled hostility in their hard eyes. Elatharia took in Anomen's hateful glare wearily. Bhaal's golden light sparked in indignation behind her eyes.

"Honestly, I'm sure I told you to leave our band once we were out of the Underdark, Anomen," she reminded. She had not expected the dark rage that boiled from him in response.

Snarling something almost incoherent, the young knight reached for the sword at his hip – the sword he had sworn never to use – and had it unsheathed in one lightning fast motion. Elatharia backed up sharply, hands raising for a spell as he made to charge at her. Chairs screeched and voices called out for him to stop; Viconia and Haer'Dalis both leapt into the space between knight and Transmuter with their weapons drawn. But Jaheira and Valygar got there first, each catching one of the knight's arms and wrenching him back before he could attempt to barrel through the drow and tiefling. Snarling, red-faced and almost too strong to hold, Anomen appeared only to notice the blade at his throat at about the time that Elatharia did.

"That's my sister you're tryin' to run at, mister," Imoen warned from behind him, just the golden flash of her pupils visible to Elatharia over his shoulder. "Better drop that sword, huh?"

Silence rang in the hall. The knights and the Harpers were far too busy watching to go back to their earlier business, hands on weapons everywhere. The barman was staring nervously from the backroom door, no doubt fearing for his tavern, and even Korgan had turned from his seat at the bar and stopped drinking. Aerie was looking between Anomen and Elatharia with an expression more akin to anger than fear or horror and beside her Mazzy had a hand on her shortsword, watchful and still.

At last Anomen dropped his sword with a growl of anger, the blade clattering noisily in the quiet and skittering across the stained floorboards between Haer'Dalis and Viconia. Elatharia stopped it with her boot and he did not stoop to take it back once he shrugged out of Jaheira and Valygar's hold and stomped past the Transmuter out of the tavern. Only once the doors slammed behind him did movement resume in the Coronet, the swell of speech rising immediately.

"A priest who so readily reaches for the sword he vowed never to use hardly seems like a reliable ally in battle," Jaheira noted, frowning more at Elatharia than she had at the departing man's back. "Though you were foolish to rile him."

"That's not a good excuse for reachin' for his sword," Imoen said as the group gathered at the bar. Her eyes slid over Elatharia warily, as if she could sense the Transmuter's anger. Had she been in possession of her soul, Elatharia did not doubt that her temper would have been far more difficult to control but as it was she rather awkwardly waved the warning look away. Imoen's hand still closed around her elbow in a gesture of restraint.

"We should set out as soon as possible," Jaheira said, "The Shadow Thieves sent word just moments before you arrived. If someone could round up Anomen and remind him of his duty, now would be the time."

"Alright, I'll…I'll do my best!" Aerie offered, though from the way she scurried out after the knight it looked more like she wanted to escape the eyes of the others.

"What of Jan?" Valygar asked, leaning back against the bar now that things had settled down.

"Far too distracted with the Planar Sphere," Viconia laughed with some evident derision. Now without her moon elf disguise, her true drow form was drawing quite a few stares – most of which she challenged openly with narrowed eyes.

"He will be most useful to us at whatever work best holds his interest," Elatharia pointed out with a shrug. Jaheira rolled her eyes but nodded.

"Very well, we should settle our plan and head out," the druid gave a quick gesture to one of the more central tables, and the Harpers rather hesitantly moved to join the Radiant Heart after her and Valygar.

Mazzy spared a glance to Anomen's discarded sword before pushing herself off her chair with a shake of her head. She avoided Elatharia's eyes and instead looked up at Korgan – who was downing his last flagon of ale.

"Perhaps you should not drink so much, Korgan?" she snapped, to which the dwarf responded only once his flagon was empty, climbing off his seat beside her and baring his blackened teeth.

"Ye forget I'm no weak human, Mazzy. Ever heard o' dwarves sufferin' like humans after ale, eh?" he patted his stomach quite happily and she turned away from him with poorly withheld disgust, calling for the Radiant Heart to follow her out. Korgan went too, his axe settled proudly against one shoulder.

And so while the others took their seats around their chosen table, which stood at the far end of the expansive central hearth, Elatharia remained at the bar of the Copper Coronet with only Imoen, Viconia and Haer'Dalis. All three wore concerned expressions, and the tiefling hefted Anomen's sword from the ground, swinging it experimentally and eyeing the edge though his actions drew some uneasy frowns from those who saw through the smoke of the tavern hall. It looked as though Jaheira had started without them.

"What avowed priest _sharpens_ the blade he has sworn never to use?" the tiefling asked darkly, sliding it onto the nearest table.

"Too many rules and far too little sense," Viconia agreed, her expression tense as she turned to Elatharia. "His anger is only a manifestation of the others' dislike of your past involvement with Bodhi. The best thing we can do is make sure it is one of us – and most preferably _you_ who kills her tonight." She pulled free one of the many stakes pushed through the loops in her belt and pressed it into Elatharia's hand, holding her eyes. "Her death will not harm the soul she has stolen."

"And hey, sounds like you need to be reminded it's me _and Edwin_ who she's done wronged the most," Imoen said, folding her arms.

"As true as that may be – and trust me, it is rather contentious given Bodhi's systematic deceit of Elatharia – the event of your returned soul could be a…dramatic one," Viconia explained, "Not harmful to you, or us – but to the undead in Bodhi's lair. And quite possibly to the Red Wizard also. Do not doubt that she will be keeping her captured trophy close to her side."

"You've got some kinda plan you've not told us, haven't you?" Imoen realised, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. It seemed as strange to see the aasimar in fitted black as it had to see her dressed in Jaheira's spares but that look was all too familiar.

"For that…I believe you should ask your sister," Haer'Dalis said, bowing low before turning to leave. Viconia followed after a moment, nodding to the Transmuter almost reassuringly.

With Imoen's weighty attention settling fully on her, Elatharia could not avoid a wince as she hooked the stake into her belt. She only looked to her sister once Viconia and Haer'Dalis had headed across the hall to the others. There was something innately difficult about the information she had yet to give out. It was not something her sister was going to like.

"Imoen, do you remember what I told you back at The Flying Banner? About controlling the undead?"

* * *

Anomen had not gone far. Aerie found him leaning his shoulder against the wall of the Coronet, just around the corner from the front doors. She hesitated when she saw him, kicking at the rudimentary drain before him and rubbing at his face with his hands, cursing to himself. In truth, she was far past her patience with him – and so she did not approach him. Instead she clasped her hands behind her back and glared at his armoured frame.

"Anomen, we…we need to get back to the others," Aerie called as firmly as she could. The knight stilled, turning only enough to watch her over his shoulder with a look of pure self-loathing. Though she could not ignore the tug such a look had at her heart, she held her glare firmly in place. "Anomen!"

"You must think me an unspeakable brute after this last tenday," he sighed. "The things I have said to Mazzy…" his fists clenched and he shook his head. When he turned to look at her fully, Aerie saw that his anger remained, boiling in his brown eyes. The sun was sinking fast, the only light coming from the windows of the Coronet, and the whole street was otherwise empty. Eyeing the dark shadows, the avariel shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"I…I know that you're unhappy, Anomen. And I know that it…it's not fair that you've been…b-been banished from this city too…" she held up a hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt and his expression slackened to see her genuine frustration. "No! I…I know what it feels like to be forced from your home. B-but you…you need to remember that none of us wanted this to happen, and that you've not…not been banned for good." She fairly stamped her foot when he made to speak again, her arms shaking as she stretched them out to stop him. "No wait! And…and don't say you're sorry for unsheathing that sword if you're not sorry for…for what you wanted to do with it. It's n-never right to kill someone, Anomen. B-but in my…my mind it is _evil_ to try t-to kill someone who doesn't attack you first. No matter who…who they are. Or what they m-might have done."

Her stomach dropped as she spoke, for Anomen blanched and backed up to hear the words.

"My lady I…"

He tensed when she approached him, the platemail now strapped to his arms smooth and cold under her touch. His eyes were pained as he looked down into her face and her voice shook a little when next she spoke.

"Let's just g-go back to the others. We d-don't have time to…to argue about this."

Anomen looked as though he wanted to say more but in the end he hung his head and followed after her, that same guilty look in his eyes. Something about it made Aerie uncomfortable – though it was hard to tell over the fearful drumming of her heart as they returned to the warm and golden glow of the Copper Coronet's tavern hall.

By this time the dark clad figures of the Shadow Thieves had crept into the room, lurking around the tables just within earshot of whatever was being discussed. Their faces were all but impossible to see, just twinkling eyes visible above black cloth. With Anomen's return, his boots thumping loudly on the hollow floorboards, again came that awkward stillness, eyes turning the knight's way while she and he squeezed their way past the gathered knights to their seated companions at the centre of the huddle. Looking around, Aerie could quite safely say that she would never have expected to fight in a force consisting of the Shadow Thieves, the Harpers and the Radiant Heart. From the wary looks on many faces, it seemed that most of those present agreed with her sentiment.

Mazzy stood to offer Anomen a handshake at least but the others were less welcoming – Viconia and Haer'Dalis were rather studiously ignoring the knight's return, while Korgan just gave a disdainful bark of laughter to see Anomen and Aerie. There was a hint of irritation in Valygar's stony expression and by his side Imoen's brow was furrowed slightly, her hand settling warily at the dagger on her belt.

"Good of you to join us," Jaheira snipped as she stood, though it was hard to tell how much her sneer came from her proximity to Elatharia – with whom she had just been discussing whatever plan it was they had. Her expression was a little softer as it settled on Aerie, but not by much. "We have no more time. We should head out. You each have the holy water and stakes upon your person? Priests, we will need your best spells at the ready."

A glance was shared between Imoen and Elatharia, and a gesture or two of sign language which only worsened Jaheira's sneer. The druid turned away to the gathered Harpers when Elatharia took a breath to speak, looking around with a decidedly stern expression at all of those gathered.

"Bodhi's lair is warded against arcane magic, but the presence of her undead guards means that those Abjurations must not extend to the use of divine magic. Your spells will be essential, because she and her fellow vampires keep many ghouls and ghasts and zombies on patrol in the cavern around their lair. Undoubtedly this will be the space in which we meet with battle." She paused, as if expecting some disagreements, but silence followed. "Mazzy will be leading the Radiant Heart," her eyes skipped past Anomen entirely, "Jaheira the Harpers and Imoen will take charge of the Shadow Thieves." Her lips quirked when the dark cloaked thieves took to muttering together doubtfully. "She most likely has far more experience than you do, and it will make our mission better organised if those who know each other lead our groups. She has special orders – follow her closely. Oh," she held up a hand before any of them could move off. "One more thing. Three of our number practice arcane magic…for this night, not one of you will turn against us with your Amnish prejudice, nor inform the Cowls."

The Radiant Heart members shifted uncomfortably at this, even once Mazzy admitted that these orders were permitted by Sir Ryan Trawl. Aerie sighed shakily, at once afraid of her own allies and what they would think of her spells. It was a relief when the group began to head out from the inn into the cool quiet of the grey dusk; the avariel let herself be carried along with the tide of movement, though she soon lost sight of Anomen.

The graveyard gates stood only a short distance away down a squat side alley, and it was here that the mass of combatants began to form up into their groups. It was hard to determine who was the more uncomfortable in this tense organisation; the Harpers or the Shadow Thieves. Distracted, Aerie only distantly remembered thanking Mazzy for the bag of holy water which the halfling pressed into her hand before heading past to join the others.

With barely any words spared, Jaheira and Mazzy departed ahead of the others, Valygar and Anomen following as some fifty men and women filed through the gate to the graveyard and into the foggy gloom ahead. Aerie watched, offering tight smiles to those who passed her, and instantly regretted avoiding Anomen's eyes as he stepped through. This left her with the smaller force of about a score of Shadow Thieves, all of them hunched and anonymous beneath low black hoods. Elatharia looked faintly surprised to see the avariel had lingered. Korgan offered an entirely unfriendly smile as Aerie stepped up to join those of her companions who remained with this entirely untrustworthy force.

"We have a separate plan," Elatharia admitted above the suspicious murmuring of the Shadow Thieves. She put a hand on Imoen's shoulder and the two sisters shared a look. Behind them, Viconia and Haer'Dalis were smirking with alarming confidence…as if this coming battle meant nothing to them. "Bodhi's wards are down, though not even she knows this – and even if she did, she does not have the power to fix them. Not in the time left to her. While the others enter her lair through the main passage, we will…use another way. I have added some more…dramatic enchantments to the holy water which we all carry. I would advise you to throw it from a fair distance. Vampires are very combustible, I hear."

That drew a few grim smiles from the gathered thieves and Aerie eyed the bag of clinking glass jars now affixed to her belt with new curiosity…and perhaps a little more caution. They followed after Imoen on silent feet, Viconia and Haer'Dalis in tow. Aerie wavered a little when Elatharia turned to her, Korgan fairly gnashing his teeth at her side.

"I would have expected you to go with Jaheira…or Anomen," the Transmuter noted, her tone so flat that Aerie wondered at how much the loss of her soul was beginning to affect her. "But it doesn't matter. You know now that you can cast your arcane spells below ground as well as above it…I hope you're ready for what comes next."

"I…I will always help how…however I can," Aerie reminded the Transmuter, though her heart was pounding as she followed Elatharia and Korgan into the graveyard and off the track onto the slippery, uneven mossy hillocks. She could still hear the marching of the Radiant Heart down the path beyond, their torches flaring up as they went and dotting the darkness with brilliant orange. If the vampires had not been expecting an attack at night, now they would be.


	57. The Battle in the Graveyard

**Apologies for the slow update, I've been (and kind of still am) ill so I'm a bit behind where I would like to be.  
A heartfelt thank you to everyone following and reviewing, as ever it means a lot. ^^ (And a particular mention to Ng who reviewed as a guest so I can't PM you - thank you so much for so many lovely reviews in a row!)**  
 **Now, onwards to...**

* * *

 **Chapter 56: The Battle in the Graveyard**

* * *

Bodhi never explicitly stated that a battle was coming, but Edwin had seen and heard enough to know all the same. What little sleep he had achieved, an hour or two in the middle of the day, had barely been enough to give him his spells…but it _had_ been enough. And before his 'mistress' emerged from her room dressed veritably for war, he had been careful to don his own battle gear; every finger glimmered with enchanted gold, his archmagi jacket buttoned to the neck (and beneath black cloth, his torc _burned._ )

The broad smile Bodhi offered Edwin was bad enough, the snap of her tone and flick of her hand as bad as a lash it was so insulting. Still he followed (at her heels like a good dog), out of her chambers and past the nervous bustle of vampires preparing for battle. There was much blood drunk, many thralls slain…and Edwin caught a glimpse of Valen, pale and gangly as ever, exercising the right which she believed was hers alone to cast protective arcane magic. It was all he could do not to smile.

Bodhi led Edwin past a pair of burly, black-eyed men whose pallid skin and growling breath proved that they were indeed freshly turned vampires of her clan, humming with newly given power…and corrupting the air with the stink and crawl of souls recently bargained away. Just as Bodhi, they had dressed in armour – theirs of overlapping plate which made giants of them – and their meaty hands grasped equally massive weapons. One a hammer; one a halberd. Edwin tried not to roll his eyes.

The stairs ahead looked oddly smooth, as if newly hewn from the stone of the crypt-complex's outer wall, and Bodhi slinked up them with the confidence of one whose pride in their coming plan is undeniable. She even held the grate open for Edwin at the top – his heart lurched against the hesitation he could not show, and he stepped inside. It was a strange relief when she followed, plucking the torch from the wall outside and carrying it with her for his benefit. At least this was not to be _his_ prison.

"Do you like what you see?" Bodhi smirked, brandishing the illusory fire of her torch across the dark expanse and offering a spellword into the gloom. Several more false fires sprung up in sconces across chipped grey walls no doubt newly scrubbed clean of cobwebs and dust. The ancient tiles clicked beneath Edwin's boots as he turned about, gritting his teeth against demands he could not make.

The use of this place was quite clear. A few cabinets lined the far wall, all of them full with sharpened steel of various shapes and sizes, gleaming painfully in the light with a stone slab between them arrayed with a wash basin and rag for the drying of one's hands. There were a few herbs as well in pots and jars; at a glance he recognised them. The Red Wizards used them to keep their prisoners at just the right amount of consciousness, or to revive them when they lost it.

And by the right wall there stood two narrow cages. Of course, within each cage two sets of manacles hung from the wall, spiked in a manner which would surely scar the wrists and ankles they were meant to hold. The cuboid bars were engraved with white-painted warding runes which reached all the way to the ceiling, the perimeter above and below each wrapped around and around by more wards – far simpler than those which had crept around the lair itself. These were newer, and written in a different hand. A metal table stood between those cages, the serrated restraints of a type Edwin had never seen.

The Conjurer straightened until he was rigid, every part of him longing to empty his memory of spells upon the vampire mistress who stood there in her enchanted mithral and boiled black leather, grinning at him with such proud malevolence. But the circlet across her brow was no trinket, and she had taken great pleasure in telling him of its purpose several days before. It would not repel all magic, but it would give her lackeys plenty of time to come for him if he did somehow manage to cast.

"I take it your brother helped you," Edwin drawled, holding her pale eyes as if untouched by disgust. The quirk of her eyebrow told him that his attempts to hold back his emotions (whatever in Hells they were) were not working well enough.

"He offered me a plan when I suggested the idea, yes."

Bodhi dropped her torch and the illusory flame sputtered out, her soft black shoes silent upon the hard polished floor. Unconcerned, she drifted past Edwin to the double doors opposite the cage, turning the handles and letting them creak open. The dark void of the outside cavern yawned ahead of an ancient white rock balcony. Edwin could not hold back a flinch when the distant sounds of battle reached his ears, though all seemed still as death in the darkness beyond. Bodhi's smile was more mischievous when she turned back to him, pointing at the cages.

"Elatharia and Imoen have returned to Athkatla and obviously come to attempt some revenge; they know we are here and not with Irenicus," her eyes took him in from head to foot and back again, "And perhaps to take back their tattooed toy. A spy of mine saw them speaking with the Shadow Thieves quite openly in the day – no doubt they have gone to gather support from the pious wretches at the Radiant Heart as well. They are not just passing through their precious Planar Sphere. I would not send your image to taunt them for no reason."

"And this is your prison for Elatharia and Imoen," Edwin nodded stiffly. Bodhi inclined her head in agreement. "For when they come for you."

"Perhaps they will fight their way to this cavern – perhaps they will kill every one of my mindless undead minions," she gestured past the balcony expansively, "Not knowing that those beasts are out there purely to wear out the priests' spells. The wards on this complex will hold off any enemy magic within these walls, they will strip every ally of theirs of their protections before they even make it to the gates below. And at last, I will pluck those Bhaalspawn girls from their dead friends and place them here, in these cages. For safekeeping. Until it is finally time to let them die. No doubt Elhan and Sovalidas sent them – if I could get a hold of those two bastards I would gladly subject them to similar treatment." And her teeth flashed white in a broad smile.

"Elhan and Sovalidas?" Edwin asked, trying not to sound too interested. But Bodhi continued as if he had not spoken. Her laugh was bitter and short as she spoke with such venom.

"And oh how those Knights of Suldanessellar would deserve those torments! Only Ellesime herself is more to blame." Her eyes curdled Edwin's blood as they settled on him and her sneer grew. "I grow tired of the judgements of those who are inferior. As if all of Suldanessellar had not been enough to begin with! They will have spat their lies to your Bhaalspawn girl, of the theft I performed in Rillifane's temple. Of the plot my brother and I had for the Tree. Of the bark we took before they reached us," she tapped the circlet at her head. "And now as my brother reaches the City, they will deserve everything they receive and more. For what cowards are they, who will not even approach us while we destroy them – such arrogance! Let them shiver in fear, let them die between me and Irenicus!"

Bodhi whirled away from Edwin, throwing her hands up. Her voice lowered to a hoarse growl as she continued.

"They would not even acknowledge us as their own, and now we _will_ destroy them all. They would have the world believe that we are some foreign intruders, attacking their city for no reason! Their shame is that Irenicus and I are very familiar indeed," she hands ran over her ears, pushing away her black hair to reveal their uneven upper curves. For the first time, Edwin saw those scars – and realised what they were. "No _elf_ would dare turn against their kin, no _elf_ would endanger the very fabric of their society, no _elf_ would do as Irenicus and I have done. And for it all, Ellesime called on her grandfather-who-is-her-god to take from us our souls. _And he answered._ "

A loud crash sounded from across the cavern, accompanied by a faint flaring of real flame. Something inhuman gave an ear-splitting shriek, and then male voices could be heard calling out fervently for Tyr, for Helm, for Torm. Bodhi stopped her tirade abruptly and rushed to the balcony edge to look, clicking her fingers for Edwin to follow her. She grinned up at him when he reached her side, just as white light was blossoming outwards from the tunnel mouth which led back up to the graveyard surface. The clatter of mail and the thud of priests' weapons accompanied the uneven rush and hiss of the ghouls and ghasts Bodhi kept to protect her territory, and Edwin saw their bloated, rotting bodies pressing towards the knights now only just arriving. The stench ought to have made him gag.

"She should see that you are irrecoverably my underling now," Bodhi reminded, "When she deigns to show herself in this battle, she will see you at my side. And when she wakes in her cage, it will be your hand she sees holding the scalpel." Her eyes slid over him. "Not for the first time, I hear."

Grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw felt set to split, Edwin refused quite flatly to meet Bodhi's gloating eyes though he dearly wished to rip the truth from her. Instead, he trained his vision on the unfolding battle and thought of all the indignities Bodhi had forced upon him. So weak from the blood she had drained, he would need the strength such hatred brought for what was to come.

* * *

Unlike her sister and Aerie, Imoen did not need to take advantage of the graveyard's invisibility to the sensors of the Cowled Wizards to keep up with the Shadow Thieves. A quick perusal of a map, and the Amnish sneaks had readily set off – quickly enough that she suspected they had already known the intended location. They would need little leading, and that was fine by her – Imoen was under no illusions about this 'control' her sister had leant her over these Shadow Thieves. It was simply a redirection away from the Transmuter, who had clearly earned their hatred and needed no more of their attention than necessary.

The darkness was thick with fog, no sound but the rustle of the drooping trees and overgrown hedges in the salty sea breeze. This end of the graveyard was long neglected, wild grasses whispering against Imoen's knees as the group passed over a cluster of uneven hillocks. There was no moon in the sky, but there were faint lights filtering over the district walls which narrowed ahead of their path. Here the oldest crypts stood together, so decrepit and neglected that vines and tree roots burst through their cracked stone. By Elatharia's account, Bodhi's lair sprawled through the earth beneath these constructions – though the expected entrance was some distance back the way they had come, out of sight amongst a tangle of ferns and swaying willow trees. That was the way Jaheira and the others had taken…Imoen's path would require some greater daring to reach.

The fog thinned once Imoen followed the Shadow Thieves up onto the rooves of the old crypts, a matter of a few carefully chosen hand- and footholds thanks to the crumbling stone. It surprised her how readily her limbs remembered the motions of climbing, though surely her arms shook a little more than they once would have.

It took a moment more before Aerie managed to haul herself up after Imoen, Elatharia a more practiced climber by her side. The avariel was wide-eyed and blinking in the darkness, a graze on each elbow and dust in her hair by the time she regained her feet.

"Bet you're glad I made you do all that clambering about when we were little, eh?" Imoen told her sister, who did not appear able to even manage half a smile in response. The Transmuter's eyes were trained on the path they must now pick across the uneven rooves of these crypts, to the very edge of the graveyard – where a small stretch of the cliff remained in this district, plunging down into thundering waves below.

They were peering down over the edge from a grassy verge by the time Korgan came crashing down after them in his heavy armour, grumbling about the effort required just to reach a dead end. But by then also Elatharia was well into a spell, the hum of power in the air around her drawing some nervous glances from the Shadow Thieves crouching at the edge.

It was possible to see the ledge which Elatharia and Viconia had described from here, although the way looked treacherous and possibly unattainable – there was no way of knowing how stable the overhanging roots were, or if any other handholds waited in the rock below. Just as well that Elatharia's spell was coming to its conclusion, sparks of light flashing across the surface of the cliff and a low grinding sounding in their wake, pushing a set of narrow steps out from the stone down to the ledge.

"After you," Haer'Dalis offered of the frowning Shadow Thieves, flashing them a grin when they looked between each other and hesitated. The tiefling and Viconia had reached this point well ahead of the others, but it seemed they did not trust their tenuous allies to avoid pushing them into a fall.

The wind was more brutal out here, where the choppy sea stretched out into the night, thundering against the rocks below. If there was any audible fighting occurring within Bodhi's lair by this point it was impossible to make it out above the crashing of the sea – and it was certainly this state of the weather which had the Shadow Thieves hesitating further before clambering one by one down onto the first transmuted step of stone gingerly.

Korgan followed, though he spared a glare Elatharia's way, clearly eager to get such a treacherous climb behind him. Haer'Dalis went next, far more readily, and Viconia after him. Aerie visibly swallowed back her fear and lowered herself down onto the first step, crouching down quickly as if afraid that her shaking knees might topple her into the sea.

"I done hope you're right," Imoen told her sister before following, and Elatharia's grim nod only reassured her of the Transmuter's determination.

As the group gathered in silence before the gates of Bodhi's lair, Imoen could feel the distant tug of her soul, a hum of painful expectation focusing her thoughts – and with it came something else, a surge of energy which was not her own, a sense of many things moving down there beneath the earth; the mindless undead. _Puppets on strings. Murder and death._ A shiver ran up her spine, her skin prickling uneasily with the stirring of something sharp and feral inside her. It was all she could do to stand still.

It was unspoken between them, but she and her sister were painfully conscious of just how much this plan relied on Edwin's information. If the wards were not down, then this would be a definite trap. Elatharia tested the truth with a simple spell – the lock flared white-hot and for a moment all was still…until the metal began to shake violently, rusted iron shattering rather than sliding open readily as the spell had intended. Still, the doors swung wide and Imoen called up her first protective spell as planned. The corridor ahead was lit with flickering torchlight, showing air thick with dust. And somewhere in the distance, high voices were calling out in alarm.

* * *

Through the settling dust raised by the broken doors, Elatharia could make out a number of tense forms just turning in alarm to see the approaching surge of the Shadow Thieves. Seeing the threat, their enemies spat warning shouts and commands to each other, their forms blurring with motion. She heard Korgan's joyous roar as the battle was joined.

But just moments later Elatharia finished her first spell, sending a burst of speed fizzing through her allies. Standing well back from the melee, she witnessed the snarling vampires relinquish a step of ground almost as one in response to this augmentation. A pale arm arced over their heads, accompanied by an agonised howl but very little blood. Korgan's laughter proved the source of such butchery.

"We need to get through!" the Transmuter called over the din of battle just as Aerie and Viconia finished their spells. By her side, the drow nodded grimly as she spread her hands and sent a slithering mass of darkness towards their enemies. But it was Aerie whose incantation proved the most important.

With a final shout to her god, the avariel raised her arms and brilliant white light bloomed above the vampires, all of whom recoiled with shrieks of pain. It was just as well, for the Shadow Thieves appeared just as blinded – but soon the undead were aflame, the smell of burning flesh filling the air along with billowing smoke as they screamed and flailed, jostling each other to escape. It gave the Shadow Thieves a moment to recover, and while the vampires attempted to flee they hurled their first bottles of explosive holy water. The corridor shook with the fiery explosion.

Protected by her _Fireshield_ , the Transmuter dodged the proceeding fight with relative ease, calling for Aerie and Imoen to follow and noting the growing commotion in the adjacent corridor – many vampires, faster and stronger than the mindless undead in the cavern beyond, were running to help their kin…and to reach the main passageway which would offer them at least some hope of escape should they need it.

As they went, the aasimar let fly a few arrows to slow the closest vampires still flailing and screaming in the flames. Viconia leapt beyond them to meet the approaching undead, her skin crawling with the dark blessing of Shar, and Haer'Dalis was close by their side. They threw their holy water, and sent the rushing foes skittering back with shouts of alarm – it would delay them for a time, at least.

But Elatharia's goal was Bodhi, and she knew where she would find the vampire mistress. There stood an old balcony overlooking the cavern beyond the vampire lair…of course Bodhi would be watching from up there, though perhaps her confidence would be waning soon.

The passage to the main gates was a short and straight one from their unorthodox entrance at the cliff ledge, and Elatharia began casting even while she ran ahead of her sister and Aerie, battle still sounding behind them – and increasingly loudly beyond the barred gates before them. The Transmuter's _Wall of Force_ was a gamble, her words a shout as she let the energy fly from her splayed fingertips. It rippled through the air with a loud bang, crashing into the gates and blasting them from their decrepit and newly unwarded hinges. It sent splinters flying haphazardly outwards, the broken doors thumping hard against ghouls and zombies as they landed. And maybe one or two unwitting Harpers as well.

The familiar dark cavern stretched ahead of them, full of the stink of undead who patrolled it for Bodhi just as it had been when last Elatharia had passed this way, then as an ally of Bodhi on the ill-fated quest for Edwin's 'Nether' scroll. But now to the far right shone a dome of light around the Radiant Heart knights and priests who fought there, the snarls of the undead an ominous bass accompaniment to the crash of battle. Aided by her enchanted mask, Elatharia could make out most of the Harpers, including Jaheira and Valygar, attempting to creep around the bloated and twisted forms of the undead ambling towards the battle, though they were beginning to lunge into brief and necessary skirmishes when accosted.

A glance to the right showed Aerie, wide eyed and wary; to Elatharia's left Imoen was gaping blank-faced at the shapes of the undead passing them just feet away…and her eyes were shining gold. The Transmuter knew what her sister was feeling – it was the creep and tug of the undead. It was their father's power.

"Now," Elatharia stated, and Imoen gave a distracted but determined nod. There were undead starting to turn towards them; there was little time left.

With the power ebbing around them, it was easy to focus on the golden power of Bhaal and with this focus came the knowledge of the strands of magic interlinking each undead monster, sending them on their fearless and relentless course into battle. Muttering a few instinctive spellwords, she knew she could have broken those bonds and left them aimless – but it would have been brief. Instead, she and Imoen had decided on a more efficient course of action.

"STOP!"

The sisters called the command but the voice which emerged was not their own, and though it left their mouths separately it swelled as one. It boomed through the cavern like a thunderclap and instantly every ghoul, ghast and zombie froze – some in the strangest of positions, some overbalancing and toppling over like rows of dominoes. But for the thuds of those who fell, silence rang for a matter of seconds; knights, priests and Harpers blinked in shock and horror as Bhaal's seething power settled across the cavern. All sentient eyes had turned to the sisters standing silhouetted against the flames which flickered in the tunnel behind them, and the sight of so many disgusted faces brought an automatic smirk to Elatharia's lips. The irony of the sworn knights' complicity was satisfying.

"Wow," Imoen breathed in disbelief just a moment before their shocked allies remembered their part of the plan, reaching for the holy water at their belts and flinging them into the gathered and frozen masses of undead.

* * *

 _Moments earlier_

Edwin had not realised the full extent of the cavern, nor the true numbers of the undead who patrolled it, until the divine lights of Torm, Tyr and Helm had swelled to fill the space – revealing it as an ancient hallway now half fallen down to bare the rough stone beneath. The rest of the cavern was covered with cracked plaster, faded artwork depicting scenes which no longer bore any relevance to the modern Amnish culture. And now the place swarmed with scores of undead, the stink of their combined rot rising readily up to the balcony in spite of the structure's wards.

The Radiant Heart were easily visible across the large hallway thanks to their bulky armour and the shimmer of various divine auras. Shining metal plate was soon covered in the gore of rotten bodies, however – and they were outnumbered by Bodhi's creatures. Amongst their number Edwin noted more lightly armoured men and women; his _Farsight_ tattoo revealed to him the Harper pins at their shoulders and the bottles of holy water stored at each combatant's belt. At first there was no sign of Elatharia, nor indeed of Imoen.

Mazzy headed the charge of the Radiant Heart, and a wedge of holy righteousness forced into the press of mindless undead. Her helmet covered her head completely, the visor stamped with Arvoreen's holy symbol, and it was impossible to make out her face through the grill – her stature was enough to prove her identity, though it had surely made her harder to spot. The ghouls grasping for her fellows seemed almost oblivious to her small height, and her magically imbued blade sliced efficiently through their unsteady legs. The crack and squelch of every blow was audible from the balcony – so far it seemed that Bodhi''s minions were taking the worst of the battle.

Anomen was not far away, ducking beneath the reach of one particularly gangly beast and charging into it though its gnarled hands grasped and tugged visibly at his blood-matted hair. He had various armoured men at his back but he fought with a blind rage which made Edwin's lip curl; now as he managed to overbalance his foe (perhaps the only enemy less brainless than he) the priest reared back only far enough to swing his mace into its head. A ripple of holy fire shot across its gruesome, discoloured form and the thing toppled with its mouth gaping to reveal teeth only slightly more blackened than Korgan's.

Once this was done, the men behind him called for Anomen to rejoin them, their voices raised above the groans and screeches of the undead and the clatter and crash of the armoured humans. But the priest did not so much as look over his shoulder; he charged on into the next press of ghouls and though his allies ran after him he was quickly swamped with grasping arms and gaping, drooling mouths.

Meanwhile, the Harpers had spread out along the periphery of the cavern and from the way they were ducking and diving away from the more inhumanly shaped ghasts who chased them with such alarmingly fast feet, it seemed to Edwin that they had a better plan. Where the paladins and priests of the Radiant Heart had wedged themselves against their enemies, and would surely soon creep into the centre of the only gradually dwindling numbers of slow-moving zombies and ghouls, the Harpers seemed to have a goal in mind. Edwin hesitated to believe that these two factions had bothered to set aside their righteous differences for this battle, but the events he observed were gradually suggesting to him that it was indeed the truth.

Of course Jaheira led the Harper run, her hard face grimmer than ever with her concentration. Valygar was not far behind, the pommel of his blade connecting firmly with one ghast and knocking it back; its stumble felled several of its kindred monsters, but truly only slowed the scramble of the rest. Meanwhile Jaheira just managed to throw herself beneath the flailing arm of one foe, twisting about and calling to the Harpers strung out behind her.

It was then that a mighty voice boomed through the cavern, and with it came a wave of power which had the hairs on the back of Edwin's neck standing on end. The ground rumbled and shook, sending the Red Wizard staggering back and cracks running up the walls behind him. Even so, he fought off a knowing smirk, for he knew the source of that power. _Elatharia._

Meanwhile beside him Bodhi hissed in confusion – and then frowned in disbelief when it became apparent that her undead minions were frozen like statues, a golden haze dissipating through the air. Her hands were leaving imprints on the stone railing of the balustrade, dust drifting to the ground. Edwin fought off another smile…and failed, for as one (or as together as such a disparate group could be) the Harpers pulled free the bottles of holy water at their belts and flung them over the heads of their closest attackers. And as they did so, the Radiant Heart combatants did the same.

The bottles shattered; in the faces or bodies of some monsters, or simply on the floor beneath their feet, but the result was the same. This was no normal holy water – and indeed the enchantments upon it ought not to have worked, had Bodhi's wards truly held. For not only did the holy water fizzle and burn at the skin of the undead monsters…it rose up in a wall of flame around them, a combination of divine and arcane magic. (Just like the red-haired woman who had created and torn down the wards which ought to have stopped it.) Edwin's hands gripped the barrier before him tighter, his mind whirling…though Bodhi's hateful shriek of anger soon distracted him.

"Bhaalite _bitch_!" the vampire mistress snarled, fairly throwing herself against the balcony balustrade, eyes wild and teeth bared in wild rage. "I told her I know her _name_ and she answers with this!"

The whole cavern blazed with fire, and the undead screamed and flailed and ran in every direction. The Radiant Heart brought up their holy shields to protect themselves, crouching down and holding formation against the battering of damaged monsters. Edwin, to his disappointment, caught a glimpse of Anomen's bloodied form scrambling back amongst his fellows before the flames could reach him.

The Harpers were out of sight for now, just a few running figures flitting beyond the fires as they no doubt attempted to evade the destruction they had wrought. The flames rose up high enough to send Bodhi darting back from the edge, snarling her wrath. A moment later Edwin flinched away as well – surely before this wretched thraldom such heat would have been bearable? His tattoo should have been protection enough, not to mention the ring at his finger! (Unless it were the _holy water_ rising in the flames…).

Bodhi's grip was fast and painful when it came, hauling Edwin back against the wall of the balcony, sharp nails digging into the bite wound at his neck and squeezing until he gasped and groaned in pain. Her breath was icy and smelt faintly of blood as she hissed up at him.

"You knew. Of course you _knew_ ," her nails dugs deeper, and Edwin's knees started to buckle automatically. "Did you think that you were going to get out of this, if I fail?" her white eyes were wild as they now met his levelly. "Have you forgotten the curse in your blood, the bargain I have made with _your_ soul? You are my thrall, my _slave_ and when it comes to it, you will be the one who kills your precious Bhaalspawn. I command it of you, as your mistress."

The words settled with magical weight against his thoughts and the burning at his throat only worsened. He slumped to the ground when she released him and ran back to the balcony edge as a massive crash resounded from within her complex; the screams of her vampire kin filled the air.

* * *

Still protected by her _Fireshield,_ Elatharia stood amidst a chaos of burning undead, appraising the scene. Past the flames she saw Jaheira lunging at one foe with her spear, a long cut down her face, and nearby Valygar dragging back one fallen ally. Mazzy was not visible, too small to see above the crackle of bright flames and the rising smoke around the ghouls and zombies which struggled to battle against her men. There was perhaps a brief view of Anomen, his face swollen and bloodied, but it looked as though he was not in the front line any longer.

The equally warded Aerie and Imoen at her sides, Elatharia stepped over the burning chunks of the broken doorway and turned about, eyes fixing quickly on the balcony. Bodhi's hateful cursing was only just audible above the crackle of the flames and the din of battle, but the explosion of Bhaal's command and now the parting of the fire around the two Bhaalspawn and Aerie must surely have drawn her eye. Elatharia certainly saw the vampire mistress, prowling across that balcony dressed in chainmail and black leather, the light of the flames dancing strangely over her pale skin. And there was Edwin – struggling to stand from the looks of things. Their eyes met, and he gave the faintest of nods. They had planned for something like this when last they met in the Underdark.

"Elatharia!" Imoen's warning was an anxious one and had the Transmuter looking back to the blasted entrance in time to see a number of Bodhi's vampires, these braving the flames in heavy armour. They were running to join the battle, though the fear in their eyes suggested it was more out of necessity than rage. A small contingent of Shadow Thieves was close behind them, though most of their fellows along with Korgan, Viconia and Haer'Dalis were surely making their way further into Bodhi's complex by this time and were well out of sight.

"Get back to Jaheira. Tell her the vampires are coming out," Elatharia snapped.

"What about…" Imoen whirled to the Transmuter as Aerie nodded and ran, calling for the power of her god and flinging some divine spell in the face of a ghoul who lunged for her.

"The job you have to do is just as important as mine, remember?" Elatharia might have smiled once, but instead she just reached for the teleportation stone hidden within a pouch at her belt and called up its power. Its other half waited with its owner, who had given this to her in the Underdark only grudgingly. She dared not close her eyes when the silver power of the spell engulfed her, raising her into the Weave and dropping her with a flash of light just by Edwin's side on the balcony.

* * *

The moment Elatharia's feet touched the balcony, she called up her _Spell Sequencer_. _Stoneskin_ spread immediately across her skin, _Haste_ -heightened movements now augmented by _Strength._ It was just as well, for although Bodhi scrambled back with a shout of alarm when the Transmuter appeared on her balcony, the vampire's shock soon turned into a look of disbelieving satisfaction. Still, she prowled forward warily – ignoring Edwin as he inched to the side looking pale and unsteady on his feet. There was blood pooling at his collar.

"I suspected it would be you they sent against me," Bodhi snarled, the façade which held back the truth of her vampiric curse thinning to reveal eyes white as milk and long, sharp teeth which barely fit within her broad mouth. Her hands were curved into claws, nails no doubt as lethal as any knife. Her eyes flickered to the stake tucked in Elatharia's belt. "Though if you thought your spells would work against me now that your Bhaalite fanatic has dispelled the wards on this place, then you were very wrong." Ah, of course. The simple brown circlet at her brow was certainly not for show.

Even hasted, Elatharia barely dodged Bodhi's first lunge. There was a predictable but frighteningly feral madness in the vampire's eyes, and the grey dust of _Stoneskin_ drifted from beneath her nails as Elatharia darted around her. The _Fireshield_ had reddened the vampire's skin, but her movement had been too fast to cause any real damage.

"I am supposed to stow you away for safekeeping, but it will be difficult to avoid ripping out your throat," Bodhi admitted, grinning when Elatharia's back hit the balustrade. The Transmuter flung a host of magic missiles at the vampire mistress, and though they did no damage they did at least stagger her. Perhaps the impacts even bruised her, with any luck. Her snarl only worsened.

Bodhi caught her on the second circle around each other, when Elatharia's back was to the flaming cavern and the vampire's was to the open doorway leading into the room of cages which the Transmuter had barely registered. Bodhi's grip on her neck was powerful, enough to raise her onto her tiptoes, though her _Stoneskin_ protected her from the worst of the pressure. The vampire's eyes were intent and barely sane as they held Elatharia's, Bodhi's arm shaking with the flames of the _Fireshield._ When Elatharia started to cast, she took one of those arms in her free hand and started to pull.

"Dispel her magic, thrall," the vampire mistress snapped over her shoulder.

Fear; _panic_. Elatharia's eyes widened, her heart thundering in her chest. She struggled, though it was a token resistance, and found Edwin's focus already intent upon her. She swallowed, and prepared for the worst. It had to be this way.

Even so, Elatharia saw Edwin's tiny hesitation, the anger in his eyes as they focused on the back of Bodhi's head. But he spoke the command words before the Transmuter could beg him not to, banishing the _Fireshield_ and the _Stoneskin_ , and allowed Bodhi's superior vampire strength to bend Elatharia's arm beyond its normal shape. Hearing her own bone creak and snap…she screamed, blind with pain. She almost forgot the reason for this chase – for letting Bodhi win. Almost. And in the distance someone shouted her name – it might have been her sister.

The whistle in the air was unexpected. It came punctuated with a thud, and Bodhi jolted on cue. Her eyes widened even as her grip tightened on Elatharia and the Transmuter saw through her pain that a silver arrow protruded from the vampire's armour, twanging faintly but apparently doing no damage.

"Pathetic little girl," the vampire sneered over Elatharia's shoulder, dodging this time as another arrow came arcing artfully around the Transmuter. It missed Edwin by an inch.

"You can't win this fight!" Imoen shouted back, somewhere on the floor of the cavern behind Elatharia. It was hard to hear her over the crackle of fire and the continuing battle below. "But I've come for my soul, and I _will_ have it."

Bodhi's sneer only worsened at that and she shook Elatharia to make her point, sending pain shooting through her arm. The Transmuter could see her own splintered bone jutting from her arm and her thoughts reeled, black spots swirling in the corners of her vision. Faintly she was aware of her own mindless moaning, of the tears streaking her cheeks. She found Edwin's eyes, something tugging at her heart even through the pain to see him staring at her like this. There was a shine in his eyes she had never seen before.

Another arrow thumped into the wall behind Bodhi's head, the vampire whirling out of Imoen's shot once more.

"Do that again, little girl, and I will throw your sister onto the ground beside you," Bodhi warned, the shudder in her voice a hopeful one. But no more arrows came. It took a moment more for her pale eyes to focus on Elatharia, her breath wafting across the Transmuter's face with the faint hint of blood. "And your Red Wizard…he is my slave now," Bodhi spat, letting the broken arm drop to Elatharia's side and drawing another agonised shout from the Transmuter. "And he will kill you at my command once I am finished with your torments." The vampire's freed hand reached for a knife at her belt and plunged it into Elatharia's stomach. She doubled over, falling against Bodhi and gasping, her thoughts blurring. There was no time for hesitation. _No time_. "Whatever spells kept Edwin from our control have been pushed aside by the thraldom."

Coughing and gasping and _dying,_ Elatharia could hardly think – but she remembered. And she did not hesitate. There was no time for doubt, no time to believe Bodhi's words. Instead, she pulled free the stake at her belt and flung it behind the vampire. There was no clatter, for it never reached the ground.

"It was no spell which kept me from your thraldom," Edwin sneered, one hand tangling in Bodhi's hair as he pulled her head back, the circlet tugging free. Perhaps more out of surprise and unexpected pain, she dropped Elatharia, and thus gave the Transmuter a chance to see the disbelief and dawning horror in her eyes. "But a Thayvian heirloom far stronger than your brother."

The stake pushed through Bodhi's layers of armour and into her back, propelled by Edwin's own magical augmentations and aided by the vampiric curse which rendered leather and chainmail useless against sanctified wood. The silver-pointed tip burst through her chest, mithral and leather peeling away. Her mouth gaped wide, her eyes bulging, and blood vessels burst across her skin. She staggered back, howling, and Edwin stepped aside with eyes that boiled with hateful fire, his smirk a harsh thing. But his hands were shaking.

Elatharia watched it all through a haze of pain, one arm limp by her side and her other hand already slippery with the blood oozing past the knife in her stomach. Even slumped on the floor and barely conscious, she saw Bodhi's struggle – the vampire even clawed at her own back to tug the stake free. But it was too late, and under Edwin's watchful gaze Bodhi screamed her agony, falling to her knees as her body began to wither, her skin to shrink against her bones, her limbs to weaken and grow still.

At the last, golden light swelled from Bodhi's eyes and mouth, pouring out into the air as she fell back. Elatharia felt its warmth as it passed her by, brushing against her cheek on its path to its true host. It smelt of flowers, and carried with it the ringing of tiny bells…but it also called to the darkness in her own frayed soul and left her skin crawling.

* * *

Imoen had seen her sister fall, her bow held useless in her hands. Her stomach had dropped in fear, in horror and she had been halfway through a levitation spell when she heard Bodhi's scream. But she did not see Bodhi's death past the flames of the fallen ghouls and the choking smoke now filling the cavern – she had no warning before Bhaal's golden light rushed into all of her senses, jolting her forward. Warmth rushed beneath her skin and her thoughts tangled. She heard a thunderous boom, and the shouts of those around her. She felt the hard ground as she landed on her hands and knees and knew that the time had come for her to play her part, just as Elatharia had explained earlier.

Imoen felt the thump of power wash through her…and swell outwards in a rush. Distantly she heard agonised screams and when she looked up she saw the whole cavern was ablaze with golden light, the mindless undead dissolving in holy fire and every other figure flattened to the ground. Save for the vampires. They were howling, buffeted by Bhaal's power, flames flickering in their eye sockets and from their open mouths. The aasimar cringed in expectation as a great rush of sound filled her ears and one by one, from furthest to nearest, the vampires fell and Imoen's allies started to pick themselves up. But the rebound of such power was not one of force as she had feared. It simply settled through her, comfortably. As if it was meant to be there.

Silence filled the cavern, but for the clatter of dazed knights and paladins helping each other back to their feet. The flames had gone out, though the air remained thick with smoke, and Imoen was dragging herself to her knees by the time that Jaheira, Aerie and Valygar approached with the wary steps of ones who did not know what to think. For a moment she choked on _feeling_ , a sickness churning in her stomach, and then she saw them, took in their faces and the _reality_ of what was happening. The laughter which bubbled up was more of a sob, and when Jaheira knelt before her with haunted eyes, grasping her arms awkwardly, Imoen could barely get the words out.

"E-Elatharia. She's injured. Someone…"

"I'll go," Aerie gasped, whirling about and looking up at the balcony automatically before running that way, wobbling on the bodies of ghouls and vampires as she went. She paused beneath the balcony to cast a spell, and once the glow of magic surrounded her she began to rise slowly into the air. Edwin turned to look from where he had crouched by Elatharia, blood glistening at his neck from some earlier wound. He moved back wordlessly when Aerie drifted over the balustrade and knelt by the Transmuter's unmoving side, already calling up the blue light of healing.

Only then did Imoen look away, gripping Jaheira's sleeves and staring down at the ground as she _wept_ for the first time.


	58. One Final Day in Athkatla

**As always, thank you to those reading and to those reviewing, and to everyone who has favourited and followed this story.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 57: One Final Day in Athkatla**

* * *

Focused on her healing prayers, Aerie was barely aware of the passage of time, or the movements of her allies. It seemed that the situation was under control; the sounds of running feet and shouts of battle dwindled increasingly until only a small cluster of Radiant Heart priests remained in the cavern below this balcony, the voices of Jaheira and Valygar not far away.

The gentle blue glow of Baervan Windwanderer's healing boons was famed for its soothing, painless warmth – but Elatharia tensed and groaned in delirious pain throughout. Aerie had never known this to happen before and her hands were shaking anxiously by the time she rested back on her heels, taking in the work she had done. The Transmuter only then began to breathe easier, her face pale and clammy, and she flexed her hand and arm gingerly as the blue glow faded. The gruesome break was healed, though a good deal of bruising remained. Similarly, the wound in her stomach, now knitted closed, remained an angry red. As if sensing Aerie's confusion, Elatharia spat out a few spellwords and the tear in her robe closed altogether thanks to some enchantment on the fabric.

"Is she alright?" Imoen asked, and Aerie turned to see the aasimar watching from the doorway. She was covered in streaks of ash, her pink hair almost grey with it, and there was a brightness in her look, a genuine _concern_ which made Aerie's heart swell.

"Yes," the avariel nodded, though her word faltered as her eyes settled on the fallen form of Bodhi. The vampire was lying still, the stake jutting from her back, but how did one know precisely when a vampire was truly dead?

"We...should find the others," Elatharia grunted, struggling to her knees, then to her feet – and ignoring Aerie's protests. She was looking past the avariel and over Imoen's shoulder to where Edwin was lingering in the horribly decorated chamber, the Red Wizard eerily pale and bleary-eyed. "Do you know where she keeps the Rhynn Lanthorn?"

"Yes," the Conjurer said, his voice hoarse. "It should be in her chambers," He gestured to the gate across the room and the stairs that led down beyond it, a brown circlet grasped thoughtlessly in his hand.

There was an awkwardness in the air, and from the way that Elatharia and Edwin were looking at each other Aerie was beginning to wonder if it was because of her presence. Eventually, Elatharia turned to Imoen, squeezing her shoulder.

"Did it work?"

"Sure did," Imoen nodded, though her smile was still tremulous. She looked a little…dizzy. "But I think I scared away all the Radiant Heart. They done gone off after the last few vampires now."

"I…I think they don't know what to think b-but they're glad you…you did it," Aerie offered. The aasimar's smile was a little more genuine, her eyebrow quirking is if the attempted reassurance was amusing. But there was still redness around her eyes, even if she had tried to wipe away the tracks of tears before she reached her sister.

"Well, we need to find the others and decide when to leave," Elatharia sighed, the catch in her voice suggesting that she really should not have stood up so quickly. "I imagine we'll meet most of the others back at the Radiant Heart. Imoen, you and Aerie go ahead – find the Rhynn Lanthorn. And Viconia, if you can."

"Right you are," Imoen nodded, turning to go but pausing to pat Edwin's elbow. "You hang on in there. Two or three wizards are better than one now, right?" She glanced over at Aerie with a faintly apologetic grimace. "Make that four or five."

Bemused by the hidden information, Aerie just followed the aasimar out of the room, hanging her head until she heard Elatharia's voice calling after her – strained as it was.

"Thank you, Aerie."

The avariel turned to offer a smile but the Transmuter had already turned to Edwin, her hands gripping his jacket as if she could barely stand. Her breath left her in a long, weary sigh when his hands settled at her waist, her forehead pressing to his chest – though his stare was fixed on the fallen form of Bodhi.

Only blushing further, Aerie turned and hurried after Imoen, the gate clanging shut behind her and obscuring the muffled words shared between the two wizards. At the bottom of the stairs a group of knights clattered past, running as fast as their armoured limbs would carry them after some shrieking vampire. From the whiff of smoke, it smelled as though they had already set the monster ablaze – and Aerie cringed at the thought. At least Imoen's soul-blast had given a quicker death.

Imoen paused on the top step, bringing her hand to her forehead and letting out a shuddering sigh. She jumped a little when Aerie put a concerned hand on her shoulder from the step up, but glanced over with a stiff smile.

"It's nothing, promise," Imoen said, "Just a headache. It's kinda weird having all these…real feelings."

"You…you should get some rest," Aerie nodded, "The sleep should…should help your body adjust."

Imoen just shrugged, stepping away and into the corridor ahead – a quick look one way and then the next seemed to remind her of something and she turned back to Aerie, her brow starting to furrow. For a moment the avariel did not notice – her eyes had been drawn to the mess of ash covering the intersection to the right.

"Hey, you do know that Anomen was hurt, don't you?" Imoen asked, and a bloom of fear opened in Aerie's heart. Her paling cheeks no doubt gave the aasimar her answer. Imoen held out her hands in a placatory gesture. "It didn't look too bad, nothing the priests can't heal. Some cuts and things…Jaheira and Valygar said they were going with him to the Radiant Heart headquarters in the Temple District. If you're quick you'll catch them before they leave, I reckon."

A lump in her throat, Aerie just nodded and let out a strangled thank you. In spite of Imoen's reassurance, she could not quell the anxious feeling trembling through her limbs and had no recollection of excusing herself from the aasimar. Fortunately a Radiant Heart paladin was just heading out when she turned the first corner, otherwise the avariel would surely have become embarrassingly lost in the vampire complex. It was a relief to leave, though she did not catch up with the others as Imoen had suggested.

In the world above, the dark graveyard was lit now with many ghostlights, Mazzy standing at the entrance to direct any departing co-fighters. Covered in the stinking gore of ghouls, the paladin visibly thought better of reaching out to Aerie and just directed her on like the rest – with an extra smile. The avariel was glad for the lack of interaction; she felt as though her guilt would come pouring out with her words. Perhaps it was the fear of the undead, or of the fighting in general, or the madness of noise and fire, but Aerie had not thought of Anomen once since fighting began.

* * *

"It does say here that 'the heart of the thrall's owner will be needed in the ceremony'," Elatharia read carefully from where she had slumped into the only chair in the room, the cages meant for herself and Imoen firmly at her back. The book was dusty and ancient, heavy on her tired legs and painful against her tender stomach. She glanced up to where Edwin was kneeling inelegantly on the ground by Bodhi's body, his back obscuring the gruesome work of his hands – though the crunch of bone had been rather visceral moments before. "Perhaps it would have been wiser to have me check that before you started digging your hands into her dead body?"

"I would like to check that she is thoroughly dead," Edwin grunted.

Elatharia had warned him away from the dagger Bodhi had used against her and now took a moment to examine it in her own conjured light. Cleaned of her blood – any lingering amount of which she had feared might restart the dead vampire's cursed heart – the Transmuter felt her skin prickle at the sight of it. From pommel to tip, the weapon was white and hard, not entirely smooth and rather thicker than a sharpened edge had any right to be. It reminded her of the orc-ivory necklace Minsc had worn before Irenicus caught them.

"Of course she would use this against me," Elatharia mused, slipping the blade into one of the loops lining the inside of her bag of holding. She looked up in time to see Edwin turning around unsteadily on his knees, a shrivelled black lump cradled in his hands. Dark blood covered his forearms almost to the elbow.

"A bone dagger," Edwin nodded, grimacing at the mess in his hands and just about getting to his feet. He was worryingly pale, his eyes glassy and the high neck of his jacket was wet with blood. "Surely not a coincidence, after her other uses of such a weapon."

"I should read more about it, when I have the chance," Elatharia agreed.

Distracted now by the poorly hidden wound at his neck her eyes narrowed, and she ignored his complaints when she was slow to hold out the component pouch. The heart dropped inside with a wet thump, though the enchantments on the cloth holding it would stop its fluids leaking out. Edwin sagged once his cleaning spell was – rather hesitantly – completed and he shook off the residue dust from his arms. When his hand settled on the back of Elatharia's chair she eyed him even more closely. He was leaning forward, down at the book between them, but it seemed more that he was holding himself up.

"Curious that Bodhi wrote her notes in elvish," Elatharia said, watching Edwin's face as she closed the book carefully; when the Conjurer made no move to take it from her she placed it in her bag of holding. His breathing was shallow and raspy, his eyelids low. He just cringed and then hissed in pain when she stood quickly and pulled aside the collar of his jacket. The wound in his neck was deep and jagged, trickling endlessly with blood which had spread over his shoulder. _And somewhere at the back of her mind the golden light flared back into life._ "You should have had Aerie look at that," the Transmuter admonished. "How are we meant to get anything done if you're barely conscious?"

"She would know of the curse on me that way," Edwin snarled, drawing back at last and nearly tripping in the process. Elatharia glared at him.

"Everyone will have to know about it. If we are going to Irenicus _with_ you, then we will need to explain to the others why we will be potentially further delayed in setting out."

"Not everyone needs to know (nor of my servitude, indeed)."

"Well then we should find Viconia. She and Haer'Dalis already know – and I'm afraid Jan does, too."

"(And of course your sister,)" Edwin muttered.

"Imoen would never do anything to harm you, Edwin," Elatharia sighed, "You're one of her 'friends' in case you'd forgotten."

Edwin scoffed at this, though the movement obviously brought him pain. He hesitated, opening his mouth without a sound for a brief moment and watching her until she started to shift awkwardly under his scrutiny. It was bad enough standing in this room of cages and knives, and then to be _stared at_ like that…

"I had not intended for her to so barbarically assault you (and for all to see)," the Conjurer offered with a grimace. His eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind her head and as he continued Elatharia felt heat rising to her face. Her arm was still aching, her stomach rebelling with every shift of her feet. "You should have thrown the stake before she had me dispel your protections." But his voice was gruff, his eyes a little wild as they settled on her. And in them, beyond them…Elatharia felt the death seething inside him. She saw it in the pallor of his skin, the weakness of his movements, the dark circles under his eyes – but she also felt it in the air between them. Her thoughts frayed, her hands clenching against the golden power stirring under her skin, her heart taking up a gallop and her throat dry. _You have to warn him, or the Beast will have him first._ Her breath escaped in a shudder.

Edwin was still speaking, though the thundering in her ears was all but deafening. His frown deepened when he saw her fidgeting like that…and then he stepped back, his eyes falling from her face and immediately the hum of power dissipated, the desperate aching need of the Beast dissolving with it. It left her wide eyed and shaking, afraid to look up at him again. But now he was reaching into one of his pockets and handing over the brown circlet which Bodhi had worn. Elatharia took it in confusion – a Divination had proven that it did indeed confer magical protection and heightened arcane awareness upon its wearer. When her eyes met his again there was no stirring of Bhaal's power. Only cool air between them and the brush of his hot fingertips against hers. She blinked down at the circlet, just beginning to realise what he was saying to her.

"Transmutation is a foolish field for those who would dare to wade into battle," Edwin reminded, even as he looked at her so intently.

"Thank you," Elatharia breathed, curling her fingers against his. The significance of this could not be lost on her. Here was a wizard – a _Red Wizard of Thay_ – handing over a safeguard against all magic. Including his own.

"I already have the protection I need." But the affectation of such haughty words rang hollow. She smiled up at him but he was already turning away, tugging at her hand before letting go.

"And I suppose the circlet is decidedly too small for your head," Elatharia suggested, settling the circlet across her brow. Instinctive amusement brought a slight smirk to her face and Edwin gave a derisive snort as he head for the door but did not look back. Other than a brief hum of magic, she felt no different. But she watched his back warily, and feared what had passed between them in that moment, oblivious as he had been. And such a parallel to her own past left a sick feeling in her stomach which was impossible to ignore.

* * *

The few remaining cornered vampires were initiating a last stand in the room at the end of the corridor by the time that Edwin brought Elatharia to the broken doorway of Bodhi's chambers. The sounds from within were loud and brutal – the screech of weapons and screams of pain were interspersed by the thuds of footsteps and the snapped commands of the knights who fought them. Neither Elatharia nor Edwin considered rushing to their aid; the Transmuter paused only briefly to watch a tongue of flame coil through the doorway followed by a flailing, blazing vampire who soon collapsed not two paces beyond.

Fire had been the bane of this lair, as no doubt Bodhi had feared. Illusory torches still burned in the walls, but now the ground was littered by trampled piles of ash, by the charred remains of fallen vampires, and the air was thick with smoke. Ancient frescoes were blackened in places and a few wall hangings were still smouldering. Fortunately the library into which Elatharia now stepped in Edwin's wake was untouched – and indeed Viconia, Haer'Dalis and Imoen had already made their way inside. The aasimar was kneeling at the door in the left wall, her enchanted lockpick in hand as she set to work on breaking through. Behind her lay the staked but stone cold remains of Valen and not far away Viconia was sitting against a stone plinth, attempting to brush ash from her hair.

"Ah, the Sparrowhawk returns," Haer'Dalis greeted from the bookshelves. "Our Wildflower was just telling of Bodhi's fall before she set to her artful task." He gestured at Imoen, and Viconia seemed unable to hold back another muttered complaint at the nickname.

"Edwin needs healing," Elatharia stated first, before turning back to the tiefling tolerantly. "Did you find anything useful?"

"You mean you intend to leave any of these books in here?" Imoen asked disbelievingly over her shoulder, the lock giving a satisfying click to punctuate her words. She turned the handle, and the door swung wide. "If you're leavin' any here, you're not Elatharia. If you need me, I'll be the one shouting 'doppelganger'!"

"That is painfully true," Elatharia sighed, shrugging in defeat when Haer'Dalis laughed. She tossed him the bag of holding and tried to contain her wince when the movement sent pain shooting through her newly healed stomach. "Here. Fill it to your heart's content."

"Aye, my Raven," Haer'Dalis agreed, turning to his task.

By this time, Imoen was tiptoeing into Bodhi's room and casting as she went, wards flaring up and dissipating across the floor of the gloomy bedchamber. Meanwhile, now that she had relinquished her seat to him, Viconia was reprimanding Edwin for attempting to pull away and was peering at the wound in his neck with a critical eye.

"The spells of the more righteous priests amongst our…allies…would have done you no good," Viconia said at last, pulling free a bottle of some clear liquid from her belt and releasing the cork with a pop.

"Ah, beware of that concoction, my Sparrowhawk. It does…" Haer'Dalis started to say, but Viconia was quick to pour the stuff into the wizard's wound quite liberally before the tiefling could finish his warning. Edwin cursed, thumping his clenched fist against the plinth behind him, his eyes screwed shut with pain. "…sting," Haer'Dalis finished.

"Bodhi's unholy curse is coiled around your soul," Viconia went on remorselessly, replacing the bottle in her belt and pausing to call up the power of her goddess. Blackness coiled over her dark skin and leaked from her fingertips when she brushed at the air close to the Red Wizard's neck. He seemed to relax as the magic poured into him, though his expression was perhaps more worried than he would have liked to admit. "Though you are no vampire. I take it you can walk in the sun?"

"With the restraints on my wandering now broken by her death – I believe so, although it is an untried hypothesis," Edwin admitted, letting out a shaky breath. The jagged edges of the wound visibly closed up, leaving a puckered red line across his skin. Elatharia watched in fascination as one of the black tattoos broken by the wound now wiggled its way back into place, part of a narrow pattern of knots which ran up into his hairline.

"It is a hypothesis you are going to have to test," Viconia told him, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "We have been told to leave this city by nightfall."

"Then we'll need to leave one of the teleportation stones with Jan," Elatharia realised, nodding forcefully when Edwin looked as though he might disagree. "We'll need the Planar Sphere to get to the Knights of Suldanessellar in time."

"(Such a barbarian, offering possessions which are not her own for the use of others,)" Edwin complained, though he did not demand the stone's return. And, looking between them, a moment of realisation visibly washed over Viconia.

"Ah! When Imoen told me the tale I wondered how it was that you reached Bodhi so quickly, _khal'abbil_ ," she almost looked as though she might smile, though her eyes narrowed thoughtfully instead and she turned to face Edwin again. "Though…you should not have been able to overcome Bodhi's commands to stake her as you did. And I am guessing that any vampire mistress would be careful about commanding their thralls to defend them _and_ not to kill them."

"She did command it," Edwin agreed, "And I did feel the weight of that command. But I have in my possession a great heirloom of my house," he pushed aside the neck of his jacket further, revealing the golden torc with its red jewel across his collarbone. "This has protected me from the more…dangerous efforts against my mind of late." He paused, watching the drow, the child of Bhaal and the tiefling. "And before any of you consider stealing it, know that it does not bear to be worn by any who do not have the Odesseiron blood."

"A shame," Viconia smirked.

Perhaps fortuitously, Imoen interrupted any continued conversation, emerging out into the room with a small horn in one hand and a thin, dog-eared book under her arm. She stepped over Valen's body gingerly to reach Elatharia's side, holding both items out to her sister.

"That is the Rhynn Lanthorn," Edwin promised from his seat. He still looked pale, and he was leaning against the plinth as if to hide his weakness, but at least Viconia's healing seemed to have made him a little more comfortable.

Relieved, Elatharia offered her sister a smile that she did not feel.

"Good. And the book?"

"Looks like some kind of journal. S'all written in elvish and the handwriting's terrible – but…I think they were elves, Elatharia." There was a tightness in Imoen's voice as she said it and the Transmuter opened the book to reveal the scrawled writing. "Her and Irenicus. They done know Ellesime, Suldanessellar's queen. She's the one who stole their souls."

"And you got all that in the time it took you to take this book and bring it out here," Elatharia stated flatly. Imoen swallowed, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes were carefully blank.

"No," she admitted. "But I didn't know everything before, either."

The silence rang in Elatharia's ears, as if her body's learned reactions were trying to tell her something that was oblivious to her soulless mind. So she just nodded and shifted on her feet awkwardly as she read through the angry mess of Bodhi's first journal entry. There was no date, but the wording was clear. Ellesime had invoked the wrath of Rillifane to tear free the souls of Bodhi and Irenicus for some unnamed crimes and sent them forth into the world as punishment, mortal in the human sense of just a few score years. Bodhi had sought vampirism to avoid this…and it had not worked. She and her brother had begun to age, though it seemed some eighty years had been bestowed upon them from the beginning of their curse rather than backdated.

"I…I think I'll go for a walk," Imoen said into the quiet, and something about her tone had Elatharia looking up into her eyes sharply. Yes, there were tears there. "I'll…meet you at the Radiant Heart, with the others?"

"Alright," Elatharia agreed after a pause. She wanted to reach out to her sister, but did not know what to say. Only once Imoen had gone did the Transmuter look at the others. "Someone should follow her. She…doesn't know Athkatla like we do."

"This Sparrow is ready to fly," Haer'Dalis offered, striding across the room from the emptied bookcases and handing over the bag of holding. Full of books, it felt just a little heavier than it did before. The enchantment upon it meant that none of its contents were visible when the bag opened, save for the potions and dagger held in the side pouches at the rim. But it took some effort to force the Rhynn Lanthorn inside, and then Bodhi's book.

"We'll be at the Planar Sphere for a little while," Elatharia told the tiefling, "If Imoen does go to the Radiant Heart looking for us and we aren't there."

Haer'Dalis just offered a smirk and a bow before flitting away after the aasimar. The others remained only long enough to check the room thoroughly for more items of significance or value but it seemed that Imoen had emptied Bodhi's bedroom. Tired and sore, they left for the Planar Sphere without further delay.

* * *

Mazzy hesitated on the stairs of the Five Flagons Inn when she heard the unmistakable growl of Korgan's voice coming from the bar below. She had returned to her rented room here with the intention of escaping her gore-spattered armour and cleaning up before heading back out to the Radiant Heart, where so many of her comrades were receiving healing aid. Sir Ryan Trawl would be waiting for a report on the situation, although the inn was only a little out of her way, and for a while the healers would need the space and time to organise the wounded in the main hall of the headquarters. Even so, there were reports that some of the vampires had escaped in the melee and attempted to find shelter in nearby buildings; with the hunt for these fugitives continuing, there would be yet more to manage and more soldiers to heal throughout the day.

It was important to show strength – both physical and emotional – in times like these. No other female halfling had ever held a position at the Radiant Heart in the history of the organisation – and only one male halfling before Patrick. The thought of her fallen husband only strengthened her resolve…and only made her inevitable interaction with Korgan more distasteful. The dwarf's advances had been less determined of late, but the very sight of him still filled her with an irrational disgust, along with the more logical truth that he was a bloodthirsty sellsword with no honour.

The cosy communal area of the Five Flagons had been dark and still when Mazzy arrived, the dawn only just starting to spread over a damp, sleepy Athkatla. Since the entrance was warded against all those with a proper key, she could only imagine that Korgan had roused the innkeepers by some relentless hammering on the door. Samuel and Thalia Thunderburp were fellow halflings from the small community in Trademeet just like Mazzy and had founded their inn when she was still a child. They had been quite legendary amongst her kin for their success with this, the finest inn in Athkatla, and Thalia had been a good friend of Patrick's father. Mazzy could not conscience leaving them under Korgan's power though it galled her to descend the steps and endure his hearty greeting.

"Hail, great warrior!" Korgan roared at the first sight of her, raising his tankard and drinking deeply. The slurping was easily audible from across the room.

"It's alright, Samuel," Mazzy said, seeing the bleary but worried expression on the co-innkeeper's face. He was still dressed in his nightshirt beneath a dressing gown and Thalia was peering around the corner from the kitchen with eyes that squinted in the candlelight. "You can go back to bed. I will see him out."

Both halflings, who had relaxed visibly at the sight of the paladin, now shared a concerned look – for Korgan's laughter at Mazzy's implied warning was more appreciative than wary. Steeling herself, Mazzy strode to the bar, making use of the step which stood there for the small folk and nodding firmly to Samuel.

"Really, I have…some dealings with this dwarf. I will see that he drinks his ales and departs," she eyed the froth-topped flagons lined up in front of Korgan. "It should not take him long."

"Hehe, sounds like a challenge," the dwarf leered at her, his grin only widening when she stood her ground and glared, hand on the hilt of her shortsword. "Ye've just yer cloth on and ye think ye can take a Bloodaxe in heavy plate, lass? Ha! Ye're crazy." It did not sound like an insult, and Mazzy felt strangely flattered…especially once the dwarf had turned away from her and back to his first flagon.

"Well…if you're sure, Mazzy," Samuel dithered even after she sent him a firm nod. Eventually he clambered down off his stool behind the bar and heading after his wife to their rooms beyond the kitchen.

"Could've at least started the fire, ye bastard!" Korgan thundered through a chortle, spilling a great deal of ale down his beard before sucking at it quite happily. Mazzy could have sworn she saw him chewing on something he found in there.

"Just keep your voice down," the paladin sighed, leaning her elbow on the counter and rubbing at her face wearily, covering her mouth to avoid gagging at the quite spectacular stench of rotten ghoul gore.

"Eh, not me main strength that, Mazzy," Korgan grunted, eyes on his flagon.

"Nor is any form of subtlety, I gather," she agreed through gritted teeth, continuing when he pointedly did not fill the silence. "You came to this inn because you knew I was here. I had been beginning to think that you had learned some sense regarding your…attentions."

"Was on me way to the Radiant Heart, after the others." Korgan snorted a laugh through the words. They both knew that was a lie.

"Your room at the Copper Coronet would have been less of a detour, had you truly been heading that way."

"I'm banished from this city like the others, unlike yer highness," Korgan shrugged, slurping some more, "Maybe I thought I'd come here fer the better ale. Coronet doesn't sell real dwarven ale."

"Just drink it up then," Mazzy hissed, "I have places to be, duties to uphold. First amongst them is making sure that you leave this inn shortly without a single scratch to the place."

Korgan responded with a long belch, patting his stomach happily and grinning at her sidelong when she only grimaced further.

"Honestly, I thought that perhaps even the writing of a poem on a privy wall had proven you had some character beyond this…grotesquery," Mazzy gestured to his current state, where he was spreading the gore of the undead across his seat and the counter. "But evidently I was being too kind. I can scarce imagine how you have dragged yourself through this life in such a state, nor would I wish to think on it."

"Aye, I've heard this before," Korgan grunted, blowing out a long and gravelly sigh as he set down his finished tankard. He did not raise the next to his mouth, preferring to stare down into its murky depths. The dwarven ale which he favoured was stronger than some tall folk spirits, and she could feel the sting of it in her eyes even from the two feet which separate their seats. "I'm nay blind to it entirely. Treachery, theft, plunder; hatred here, killing there. No respect fer heritage or the Way."

"What are you talking about, Korgan?" Mazzy pressed her palm to her forehead, her thoughts increasingly turning to her comrades at the Radiant Heart. Anomen had been wounded, and she had feared for his state of mind. He had thrown himself headlong into battle with little regard for his own life. But there was something about the way Korgan kept his eyes on his drink, the way that his grin had fallen into a frown and his eyes had focused far off that had her looking at him more closely.

"What do I talk of?" the dwarf asked. "Clan against clan, oceans o' bloodshed, rivers o' tears. And fer what? A tunnel or two. A vein of gold or silver." There was sadness in his tone, buried deep behind the gruffness, and it had Mazzy's stomach sinking guiltily.

"I'm…I'm listening," she admitted.

"Me mam were murdered," Korgan explained, his shrug perhaps a little too fast. Gory metal plates screeched together unflatteringly. "Nay by troll or giant, but by kindred – by one o' me own. Pa had to cut me sister from her while our ma heaved her death rattle and, barely a walker meself, I watched it all from death to birth. Five harvests on and he were killed too, right in front o' me – by the same brother that did in me ma. I built me pa's pyre, and the black smoke showed me I were alone. So ye'll forgive me bad manner where the true nature o' beasts is reckoned."

The silence rang awkwardly between them for Mazzy, and Korgan was reaching for his tankard again when at last she spoke.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Korgan," she nodded, "Really, I am. But as pained as the past may be, that does not give you the right to be vile in human civilisation. They didn't make your past."

"With due respect, Mazzy, 'tis not civil," Korgan snorted, "Longlimbs be victims o' passion far more than me. The brief lifetimes I reckon be the core o' their rage."

"We are all responsible for ourselves," Mazzy disagreed, her tone bordering onto frustration. It felt strange to pity such a beast as this. "I sorrow at the pain of your youth, but you could defeat your anguish. You've no claim to self-pity. None of us do." But speaking to him, she knew it was a lost cause. The look in his eyes when they met hers was a foreign thing, coming from him. Was that…sadness? Perhaps even…respect?"

"Lady Mazzy, sorry for any offense," and by Arvoreen he said it like he meant it! "Truly. But nay amount o' resolve can keep the darkness at bay once ye've seen it. Just ask the Bhaal kids. Ye must roar into the blackness, wage war with fear and battle yer pain. 'Tis the only way when carnage be yer last defence."

Such bitter words did well to remind her to whom it was she spoke. She pointed at his tankard.

"I see the poet in you now, at least. Now finish your drink."

* * *

When Aerie had arrived at the Radiant Heart headquarters she had been greeted with warmth by Sir Ryan Trawl himself, for the leader of the Order had been pacing by the entrance whilst he oversaw the distribution of the wounded throughout their expansive holy grounds. The avariel had spotted Jaheira patching up a wound on Valygar's arm, both her friends covered in gore and clearly sagging from the long and arduous night. Indeed the whole hall, so airy and colourful with its pink marble and stained glass, had been re-appropriated as a makeshift infirmary. There had been no sign of Anomen, but Sir Trawl was quick to reassure her that the worst of his wounds would soon be healed and he would most likely be resting comfortably in his quarters before too long.

Her insistence to see Anomen had been affectionately refused in a manner which left her perhaps a little less happy amongst the knights of the Order. To be spoken to like a clueless child! If only they had seen the might of her wings, they would never have mistreated her so. But in spite of her frustration, Aerie had found herself smiling weakly and was permitted a room beside Anomen's. It was just off the first courtyard which she had seen less than a day earlier, the tinkling of the fountain audible even with the door closed. And everything was so still, so peaceful that it set her nerves jangling all the more.

She would have preferred to help the wounded with the other priests but in truth the healing she had performed on Elatharia had taken most of her spellcasting strength. The wounds had been bad but surely not _that_ bad. It had expended more effort to heal them than it ought – and she could only imagine that the explanation lay with the Bhaalspawn. Such a thought only added to Aerie's unease.

The harried servant fairly slammed the door behind her as she stepped inside her room. The thud of the door made her jump, looking around in bemusement. A steaming bath waited for her behind a partition – evidently drawn while she was shown here, and it made her marvel at the organisation of the Order. The bed was wide enough for four of her, the pillows invitingly fluffy, and a covered platter of food waited for her breakfast upon the small table set beneath the angularly arched window. There were no curtains and the gloomy morning light was already filtering through into the spacious stone chamber. And indeed, but for the sleeping gown, towel and bedsheets the whole room was hard and cold. She found herself hopping from foot to foot while she undressed for the bath – and once beneath the water her frozen toes burned from the comparative heat.

It felt so…silent. So studious. Everything was in its place, everything thought out in advance and ready for her convenience. No need to speak to anyone – and indeed there was a pervasive hope that she would stay here to bathe, sleep and eat. It was impossible to imagine living in such a place with just prayers, practice and communal meals to bring one any hint of interaction. Anomen had told her of the hours of personal study one was expected to spend in one's chamber and a glance at the bookshelf by the door showed that all but one of the volumes in this room were religious texts. And that anomalous volume was entitled 'On the Malpractices, Dangers and Illegality of Arcane Magic: A Study and Textbook of the Insidious Evil of Our Times'. It made her shudder even with her warm bath water. Perhaps it would not be so bad to leave Athkatla.

Of course that turned her thoughts to Anomen, there in the next room. She heard no sound from within; the walls looked thick and solid, bare bricks of smooth sandy stone walling her away, and him as well. She felt so guilty for her oversight of his welfare and…so sad at the thought of his lonely years as a student here at the Order. Feeling rather lonely herself, she had a lump in her throat and a heaviness in her limbs from more than weariness by the time she had scrubbed herself enough with that odourless soap, dried herself with that scratchy towel and clambered into bed.

She slept poorly, the light bright enough to read by before her eyes really closed. And then she dreamed of battle and woke with a start several times. Left alone, she found herself crying quite inexplicably. Perhaps it was the battle? Perhaps it was all of the battles of her past? Her thoughts turned to her fallen avariel love, and to the memories of her withered wings trapped in the cage wall. The memory of their removal was black as darkest night. She did not remember anything, not the pain or the look of the man who took the saw to them. All she remembered was her own screaming. And alone, more alone than a circus attraction in a tiny cage, she wandered in that blackness until a sharp knock on her door sent her jolting up to a sitting position on her bed.

"Wh-what….who is it?" she called, smoothing back her tangled hair and blinking into bright daylight. She scrambled for the bedsheets which had gathered at her waist when the door opened sharply and Anomen stepped inside, not looking forward and thus not noticing the scene until he had closed it behind himself. He was carrying a platter of food.

"I was thinking we could breakfast togeth…oh my lady, forgive me!" he stumbled back into the closed door, red faced in the blink of an eye, and the sight of his human bashfulness brought a laugh from the avariel which she had thought the grim night would never give back.

"You…you humans are so strange about these things," she giggled, sitting back against the headboard and pointedly holding the bedsheet tight to herself when he continued to look around the room for something else to catch his eye. "Look, nothing to see." His eyes found hers before fixing on the one bare leg peeking out from beneath the sheet. She wiggled her toes at him and he found her eyes again, something like a disbelieving smile starting to show. "Here, you should sit down."

She patted the edge of the bed and he approached cautiously, setting his platter beside hers on his way. He was dressed in just a thin shirt and dark trousers, his feet bare, his copper hair dishevelled and the shadow of a beard starting to show around his chin and across the lower half of his cheeks, rather softening the fussiness of his favoured facial hair. Aerie could see a large red bruise beginning at the edge of his shirt's unlaced neckline, breaking up the well-muscled expanse of naturally bronze skin. There was some hair across his chest too, a phenomenon which she had not been prepared for when first she entered the human world. And human men did seem rather unbothered about showing it off. This was perhaps the only time her elvish sensibilities had _not_ found it off-putting.

"Are you alright?" Aerie asked when at last Anomen lowered himself rather gingerly upon the edge of the bed. He had trouble meeting her eyes, but she could not work out a way of putting on any clothes without further embarrassing him. The bedsheet would have to do until he recovered from the shock.

"Ah, yes," Anomen coughed awkwardly. There was a cut under one eye, and bruising which healing spells had no doubt reduced from swelling around his temple and jaw. His eyelids fluttered but he did not flinch away when she ghosted the fingertips of her free hand against the undamaged skin around these bruises. "More my pride wounded now, my lady. I fear I was an awful brute at the Coronet and I had wanted to atone for it in battle. I heard one of the knights collected the sword I left behind once the fighting was done but I do not feel fit to look upon it now." He said it with some considerable stoicism, but Aerie still heard his pain.

"Oh, Anomen. You could have…have got yourself killed," she admonished, much more softly than she knew she should have. Having him so close like this, so vulnerable, made her want to pull him closer still. He leaned against her when she moved toward him, pressing a kiss to his hairline. His arm slid across her waist, the backs of his fingers briefly brushing against her bare back. She swallowed, feeling the stirrings of that same thoughtless fever that had taken hold of her when they had kissed in the Underdark.

"I did not intend to, truly," he promised gently, finding her eyes more confidently now. There was a hint of something knowing in them when his hand spread across her back more boldly. Pulled against him with so little cloth between them, she fancied he must have been able to feel her heart pounding. "I…I am in truth amazed that you wish to know me any longer. I do not know what I would have done to Elatharia had not the others restrained me."

"I d-don't reckon she's that defenceless herself, Anomen," Aerie reminded. "You would have had the…the chance to think better of it before things g-got too out of hand."

Anomen smiled a little more at that, nodding in the manner of one who wants to believe. His free hand smoothed up her arm and over her bare shoulder, drifting against her neck before pressing against her chin, drawing her lips to his. He kissed her so softly that she was too dazed to speak when he parted from her enough to search her expression.

"You are quite wonderful for your mercy and goodness, my lady," he murmured. "And sometimes it does frighten me that you travel with such a brutal crowd. We are banished from Athkatla but my family have an old estate some miles away. I'm sure they would…"

"Anomen," the frustrated tone of her voice made his expression fall quite visibly. "I'm n-not leaving now. I m-might not like fighting b-but I can do it when I have to. And I won't…won't back down from someone like Irenicus. Not with…with Suldanessellar at stake."

"Forgive me," he offered it immediately, in a slightly strained tone all the same, "I simply do not like the idea of you being harmed in all of this mess. It is only because I do…I mean…because I love you, Aerie."

The words made her blush with such ferocity that she felt she might melt where she sat. And Anomen said it with such bashfulness that he seemed unable to let the words settle. When she started to smile, her mind wheeling without order, he took her face in his hands and kissed her again, more deeply this time. It took her breath, what little was left, and the sheet fell away when she coiled her arms around his neck, clambering around him and leaning into him until he let himself fall back against the bed. When his lips wandered, her grip on him loosened enough that he rolled them over. She managed to claw his shirt from him before they came together again, her thoughts all forgotten in the heat of the moment.

* * *

The sun was rising over Athkatla by the time that Elatharia, Edwin and Viconia left Bodhi's lair and headed through the damp morning to the Planar Sphere. The city was just starting to awaken, a faint fog in the air, and Edwin's evident ill health went mostly unnoticed. He refused to lean on either of his companions though his skin was ashen and clammy, his breath rough and shallow. His feet dragged and twice he stumbled into a wall.

At last they reached the Planar Sphere and Elatharia pulled on the chain which Jan had set up to allow the wards to be released from inside. Otherwise, the Cowled Wizards would have been swarming around them where they stood at the top of the wooden stairs; two tired wizards and one drow whose true nature was hidden only by the low hood of her cloak.

Once inside they shared few words – if any that Elatharia could recall – before departing to the bedchambers long ago allotted as theirs. No doubt Jan was still at work in the lower section of the Sphere but the Transmuter was too tired to think about it. She simply stumbled up to her room in the library, dropping her possessions at the foot of her bed, and climbed on top of the covers to sleep. Perhaps once, with her soul, she might have sought rest in vain – her mind ought to have been buzzing with ideas and plans, and perhaps the aftermath of battle. Instead, sleep took her blank mind quickly. Her dreams were filled with golden light and an unfamiliar, pervasive restlessness.

She was awoken by niggling pain; in her stomach and her arm. Both were badly bruised, and it looked like they would scar. She was no stranger to physical pain – beyond even what one was meant to endure and live – but the sight of her own bone jutting from her skin never got any easier. At least Aerie had fixed that.

Sitting gingerly, Elatharia observed the mess of her room without much interest. She had little recollection of stumbling within and closing the warded curtain behind her, nor of leaving her belt and its contents strewn about the floor along with Robe of Vecna. Wincing against the pain she set things straight, though the blood-stained robe refused to clean fully with her cantrip like it ought to have done. She ended up taking it into the pale, circular bathroom with her and the redness only washed off after some ardent scrubbing.

The rattle of cups and the rustle of parchment interrupted her bath. This washroom adjoined directly to her bedroom, beyond the curtain of which lay the library; the sound carried readily. Sighing, Elatharia pulled herself from her blank, cold reverie and sat up against the curved stone. Lavok, or whoever had truly made the Sphere, had made certain that this room was large and quiet, the bath a perfect circle and really quite deep in the middle with a step around the edge. It looked large enough for perhaps six people to use at once, but wizards enjoyed their solitary luxuries and their personal grandeur. Though the bedrooms of the Planar Sphere were white-walled and white-floored without decoration, such grandiosity was more typical of a wizard's home.

Once dressed in her spare green robe, Elatharia ventured out into the library with her bag of holding in hand. Against her comprehension she felt the pounding of her heart quite clearly, her limbs awkward as she descended the steps to see Edwin sitting with his back to her at the long table with a multitude of books strewn before him, his teacup rattling when he tried to bring it to his lips.

The glass dome of the library showed that the sun was still fairly high in the sky; at least it was light, for the clouds obscured any further guesses as to the time. At least it was not the hour of their banishment.

"Does the experience of slavery bring you any new insights?" Elatharia asked – and though her bare feet had been silent upon the cool black marble floor, Edwin did not so much as flinch at the sudden sound of her voice. The Beast was silent within her. It felt safe to approach.

"New insights on killing my enemies more efficiently, perhaps," he dismissed, setting down his teacup and leaning more pointedly over his book. "(Honestly, this elvish is impenetrable!)"

He did not look up at her when she began to empty her bag of holding of the books taken from Bodhi's lair. The enchantment on the container brought them to her hand as she thought of them and soon she was arranging them into neat piles at the end of the table, watching Edwin from the corner of her eye. He was squinting down at his own tome as if he could barely read, and though several times he brought his teacup to his lips he never drank once. He was shivering, his lips almost blue.

"You need blood, don't you?" Elatharia asked when at least the Red Wizard visibly gave up, pushing the book away from him with a curse.

She had all of Bodhi's books piled before her now, some fifty volumes in Elvish and Netherese. Bodhi's journal cold in her hands, she at last forced herself to approach the Red Wizard. He did flinch when she pressed her palm to his heated forehead, his eyes bright in the manner of fever when he looked up at her with a pained expression.

"I am quite certain giving into such a debasing curse would only worsen this state," Edwin sighed, slumping in his chair when she pushed aside the collar of his jacket to inspect the red line of the healed bite wound.

"We'll both have scars thanks to Bodhi," Elatharia told him softly, his skin startlingly hot against her fingertips. She touched the tattoo just above the bite mark. "This came together again with Viconia's healing. Are all Red Wizards' tattoos this way?"

"Of course," Edwin grunted, eyeing her from beneath heavy lids when she stepped back to draw up a chair. There was a plate of Amnish pastries untouched a little way off, and Edwin nodded when she gestured at it. "This curse will not permit me human food any longer. Take it all. The drow brought it for you anyway, I suspect." He even let her pour herself a cup of tea from the pot without any comment.

"Alright," Elatharia said once she was settled in the chair beside him, sipping on her tea. "Show me what it is that you don't understand about this Elvish and once we know what we're doing we'll find the others at the Radiant Heart."

"Here," he moved the Netherese book before her, its original text and complex diagrams apparently mostly pertaining to the theory of vampirism and the details of the curse. His shoulder pressed against hers, one faintly unsteady hand pointing out the scrawled notes Bodhi had written in faded ink down the margins of this ancient parchment. The script was small and poorly formed – it took a few tries before she could start to understand it.

"Alright. So: _The Codices of Amaunator have been quite clear – the heart of the afflicted's master is to be taken to an altar of Amaunator, though such are hard to find after the god's redistribution into the personality of Lathander,_ " Elatharia shrugged as she read, and Edwin nodded beside her.

"The old temple in the Umar Hills," he said. "It must have been under the curse of the shadows when Bodhi learned of this."

" _One must enlist the aid of a…,_ " Elatharia hesitated, her stomach sinking. " _A priest of any god who works in the light without shame or fear of punishment from the masses. Any god who reviles the undead._ " She shared Edwin's grimace. "Anomen almost tried to kill me last night. I doubt he will be in any mood to help."

"Then it is the avariel whom we must seek. No doubt she can be persuaded more easily than any of those employed by the Radiant Heart," Edwin nodded. "(Though she is barely less self-righteous.)"

"Aerie's our best chance," Elatharia agreed, reading through the details of the rite that was to be performed – as explained in the Netherese manuscript itself. "Though helping you isn't going to be something she will have ever expected to do."

Edwin looked like he wanted to complain, but he just watched the Transmuter as she stood, stretched wearily and winced at the pain that shot through her stomach. His hand caught her waist when she staggered a little but she waved him away, refusing to meet his dark eyes. They were full of questions.

"We should make our plans to leave," Elatharia reminded, "We can't stay in this city much longer. But on the way you can explain to me just how it was that Bodhi's wards were brought down in the first place, and who made them..."

"Elatharia."

Her name from his lips halted her. Her throat constricted and her eyes skimmed over his briefly, enough to see the determination there. His hands settled on her waist again, guiding her forwards as he all but slumped into his chair once more. He looked up at her, expectant, and just waited.

"Now isn't the time for…for anything but getting this done," she attempted, cringing when his breath left him in an irritated sigh. Her body was responding with _fear_ (and something else) though she was not sure why precisely. Her hand was shaking as she ran it through her hair, her voice catching. "It's just that…the Beast. It can feel the undead in you. I mean…I felt it in the crypts. It's like it wants…"

There was no Beast in her when she saw his eyes find their way back to hers. Only heat and embarrassment, even with these last fragments of her soul jagged in her thoughts. She swallowed hard. Her legs nudged against his knees, his hands hot at her waist. She could feel the curve of his fingers above the fabric, but she could also see the unnatural pallor of his skin in the daylight. His tattoos stood out along his arms, his black archmagi jacket dusty from the earlier fight and stained with blood at the collar. It was so _unlike him_ not to fix such disarray.

"Elatharia. You _are_ the Beast. (As a Transmuter surely she should understand this). Whatever it wants, you want." Her hands gripped his wrists reflexively when his lips curled into a faint smile, pained and weary though it was. His eyelids flickered at her touch. "But perhaps you are right. There are many things which we must discuss, and I can find little focus with this wretched thraldom eating at my senses."

He relinquished his hold on her and her hands slid from his wrists a moment later. Although Elatharia nodded, her body rebelled a moment longer before permitting her to head back to her room to gather her things. If he did not know then he suspected – he had just told her that much, after all.

* * *

"I am sure there are far easier places to rest, my Wildflower."

Haer'Dalis's voice sounded from the balcony just beneath this uneven section of roof, followed by the click of the door behind him. Imoen had not felt the prickle of his demonic taint; evidently the distance was just enough between them to avoid it. Roused from the most peaceful sleep she could recall in...a long time, she rolled over onto her side, twisting around on this sloped section of the roof of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and peering between the graven heads of two rain-weathered gargoyles to see Haer'Dalis looking up at her from perhaps seven feet below. He was holding a basket of food; some bread and fruit with a cup of water nestled at the centre to keep it upright.

"I was tasked with ensuring that you did not lose your way, I shall confess it," the tiefling admitted, "But when I saw you headed for this building I lost sight of you. The Ptarmigan within ensured me that you must surely be upon the roof."

"Hey, I'm not a child, mister," Imoen admonished, though it was hard to affect a glare when she felt so _light_.

When she had climbed up here in the early morning the sun had been obscured by clouds, the city far below veiled in wispy fog. Now a broad swathe of blue sky had opened up above the building, the sun starting to sparkle off the circle of pink stained glass not far above her place. The roof of the Radiant Heart was domed and steepled at almost untidy intervals around a tall central spire decorated with coloured glass. The Temple District was built upon a series of marble bridges and platforms which stretched out into a small rocky bay and the waves crashed endlessly against the high stone wall on the platform far below. It was all dizzying and dazzling and _beautiful_.

"Even by human reckoning I hear you are rather young," Haer'Dalis disagreed with his customary smile. Imoen continued to watch him from the edge of the roof as he swung the basket casually over his shoulder and clambered up to join her. There were so many ledges and decorations across the walls of this building that scaling it had been startlingly easy.

"And my sister isn't so much older, you know," Imoen pointed out, rolling over and sitting up. Only once he had pushed himself onto the roof edge, placing the basket by her ankles, did she feel the prickle of his aura across her skin – far less pronounced now than it had been before.

"Yet in the short lifespan of a human a few years can make a lot of difference."

Imoen stuck her tongue out at him, which drew a faintly incredulous laugh from Haer'Dalis. But she was already pulling the basket towards her, eyeing its contents curiously. Amnish food seemed to involve a lot of pastry.

"What time is it?" she asked around a mouthful.

Haer'Dalis eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, one eyebrow raised. He remained crouched on the edge of the roof as though he expected to make a quick exit.

"Well past midday, my Wildflower. Some four hours indeed. I suspect your sister will be arriving soon with Edwin and Viconia…and that we will have more news on our Red Wizard's plight."

"So that's why you came up here? To round me up?" she eyed him pointedly while she chewed her next bite. "You don't seem like the type."

"Rarely," Haer'Dalis agreed with a chuckle. His hair was clearly a deep blue in this bright light, though it was tied back behind his head and still wet from a recent bath. The irises of his eyes were as black as his pupils – and still reflected no light. Perhaps it was the conflicting aura, but something about the strangeness of him made her stomach drop a little. "But I am rather disinterested by the idea of being stolen away from this adventurous life by vengeful Shadow Thieves. Though I suppose the ban cannot extend to you, since you were not involved in the death of Aran Linvail."

"Well I can't very well leave my sister," Imoen shrugged. "And what would I do in Athkatla all by myself? Probably get in trouble with the Shadow Thieves, that's what."

When Haer'Dalis acceded this with an amused nod but made no move to leave, Imoen's eyebrows rose expectantly.

"Well, you did your job. I'm all set just as soon as I've finished all this," she gestured at her basket. "And thanks for bringin' it, by the way. But go on, shoo – shoo." She said it with a smile, but in truth she was starting to feel a lot more tired than she had realised upon her recent awakening. Her head was starting to spin again. Her arms and legs were aching from the climb up, so much weaker than they had been when she had climbed the walls of Candlekeep just a year before.

"You seem brighter," Haer'Dalis offered as he stood, and now she squinted up at him.

"Well, wizarding spells are pretty good for cleaning off the ash o' war," she flicked her hair dramatically. Haer'Dalis laughed.

"And with that you make my point. Until later, my Wildflower." He offered a bow before nimbly climbing back down to the balcony.

Imoen turned fully to her food when he had gone – and only once the crumbs and some of the sweeter fruits remained did she realise just how _hungry_ she had been. The taste of food had all but eluded her and, now looking across the colourful glass dotting the rooves of the Radiant Heart and at the bright blue of the sky, she saw the brilliance of those colours with such warmth in her chest. Her throat tightened, and she wiped a stray tear from her cheek; turning back to face the sea with a sniffle, she felt like the ocean might just well out of her. But Haer'Dalis had been right in a way. The world was brighter now and her heart swelled with beauty which her eyes had been denied. And still darkness lingered behind every good thought, a shame that curdled most every honest laugh – but things were brighter, and that was hopeful.

Standing, Imoen glanced down at her dark leathers as she dusted off a few crumbs. At some point she was going to have to find some better clothes.

* * *

The uneasy feeling of holy ground had been rising from the moment that they stepped into the Temple District. Elatharia was struggling not to grind her teeth by the time that they arrived at the open gates of the massive Radiant Heart headquarters. The sun was finally out of the clouds and it shone down blindingly upon this whole district, where the bridges were of white marble and the glittering, sloshing river water was fairly splashing over the sides. There were so many temples, tall and magnificent each in their own way, but Elatharia kept her head down as they walked. Beside her, it seemed as though Edwin was struggling also. Perhaps it had been unwise for both of them to come.

By the time the Transmuter arrived through the open and unnecessarily lofty gates of the Radiant Heart, the colourful main chamber had been successfully organised; beds had been set up at the far end of the hall – closest to the holy symbols of Tyr, Torm and Helm which made her skin crawl and the Beast stir. Priests moved through these rows, administering healing and reassurance to those convalescing. Meanwhile, closer to the entrance there stood a long table arrayed with fruit, bread and jugs of water. Jaheira and Valygar were sitting there with Aerie and Anomen, along with several of those Harpers and knights who had fought against Bodhi's forces. Mazzy was nearby, discussing something with one of the priests. She looked as though she had not yet slept.

As they stepped through the gates Edwin faltered, so pale and bent now that he looked fit to fall straight down, but he visibly dragged himself on. Sharing a concerned look with Viconia, Elatharia forged past him – in spite of her own discomfort – and only stopped her advance toward the table when Jaheira looked up.

"We have been waiting for you for several hours," the druid greeted, beginning to stand. The others followed suit, though Aerie had a particularly anxious look about her. She visibly cringed when the knights eating with them paused to take stock. "We should leave immediately. Even the tiefling came here at midday." She blanched when she noted Edwin, now lingering at the gates as if he could not enter. "I cannot believe that you have permitted his return."

Elatharia levelled her with a stare that she hoped was truly withering. She pointed at the open gates, noting that Haer'Dalis was just arriving from somewhere outside, greeting Viconia and Edwin with the cheer of one who clearly needed little sleep.

"The plan has changed," the Transmuter told her companions, "We need to discuss things outside."

Jaheira's eyes narrowed suspiciously at that, her lip curling further, but she and the others all filed out after a few disbelieving looks. Mazzy joined them just as they were forming up in a circle on the corner of the Radiant Heart's white marble platform. Edwin was trying to subtly lean against one of the wall posts, flanked by Viconia and Haer'Dalis. Elatharia found herself between Aerie and Mazzy, and it took a scant moment to recognise the true extent of the avariel's disquiet. She was so tense beside the Transmuter that she was fairly buzzing – and from the way that Mazzy looked around Elatharia with concerned eyes, it must have been a recent problem.

"Heya, you weren't goin' to start without me I hope?" Imoen's voice made Elatharia jump so much that her response drew an incredulous laugh from both Haer'Dalis and Viconia. The Transmuter turned to see the aasimar when she placed a hand on her shoulder, a strange alarm sinking through her. Imoen was smiling just like she used to – but her eyes were full of a soft kind of sadness that was entirely unfamiliar.

With Imoen stepped up to join the ring of adventurers, only Korgan and Jan were absent. And it looked as though most of those present were anxious to be on the move – most were fidgeting or shifting from foot to foot. Elatharia watched them with peculiar detachment. Her own heart was pounding…but she found that she could ignore it. It was as though her thoughts drifted separately from her body, and now she clasped her hands behind her back and spoke with determined force.

"The Planar Sphere will not be completed for at least three days, Jan tells me. It would take five to ride hard for the Wealdath. But we will of course need to be seen to leave Athkatla." So far the others were nodding impatiently. Across from her, Viconia folded her arms and attempted to hide a smirk at the Transmuter's expense – and Edwin glowered at her, as if still begging her to keep his plight secret. "I have given to Jan one of Edwin's teleportation stones so that we can get back to the Planar Sphere for travel to the Wealdath without having to pass through Athkatla again. But…there is a problem." Her eyes settled on Edwin's. Somehow it was easier to say this without looking at the others – no matter how much he wanted her to keep it secret. "Bodhi has placed a…curse upon Edwin. We know how to remove it, but it will require travel to the Umar Hills."

"Bah! There is no time for such," Jaheira snapped, "Leave him to remove his own curse. We have more important things to do than coddle a selfish Red Wizard."

"It is almost as though you had forgotten that it is only through my teleportation stone that you would ever have returned to the Planar Sphere at all," Edwin sneered, though his words were noticeably breathy. "And indeed that it was I, and not one of you, who drove a stake through Bodhi's heart."

"If it had not been you, it would have been one of us," Jaheira dismissed.

"And then Elatharia might've been dead too!" Imoen exclaimed. The look shared between Jaheira, Valygar and Anomen was telling and the aasimar gaped at them as if they had gone mad. Elatharia felt her cheeks warming.

"The Umar Hills are two days' travel away, more if the whole group comes along – Korgan and I would inevitably slow the ride," Mazzy pointed out. "And I must admit that I have no wish to return to the temple of Amaunator, though it is now cleansed of the shadows which slew my husband."

Elatharia nodded. Her eyes strayed only briefly to Jaheira and Valygar; they had turned away from the group and were discussing something in hushed tones, their heads bowed together.

"We thought it would be better for the group to split. But if those of you who do not accompany us were to wait outside Athkatla then the journey would end up taking even longer than a hard ride to the Wealdath without the Planar Sphere…"

"I believe Jaheira and I know a faster path back to the elves," Valygar offered, "A four day journey."

"So…we have a choice between waiting four days for you to come back for us, or four days travel to the elves. Elsewise if we were to all travel together, it would take at least five days," Mazzy stated. She looked around the group thoughtfully. "I suspect those who do not go to the Umar Hills will prefer to travel ahead."

"Then it is settled," Jaheira nodded, already turning to go. She gestured to Imoen as if she expected the girl to go with her but the aasimar shook her head firmly and pointedly planted her feet. "Valygar, Mazzy, Anomen, Aerie – I expect you will all be taking this journey south…"

"And Haer'Dalis and I will be accompanying you," Viconia put in with evident pleasure at the druid's momentarily horrified expression. Korgan would most likely refuse to travel by any means other than the Planar Sphere, and even if he did agree to go with them there was no way that Elatharia was going to have him as her only ally amongst the group heading for the elves.

"I take it that a priest is required for the removal of the curse?" Mazzy inquired, perhaps attempting to be a little more polite about her disquiet.

"We need someone else to come with us," Elatharia admitted. "Viconia's faith does not permit that she aid us."

"More correctly, the spell to remove the curse does not permit me," the drow informed. That gained a suspicious look from Anomen.

"You can rest assured that I will not be giving any help to the Thayvian," the knight dismissed. The look Edwin gave him was one of warning.

"I hear that you are making a habit of mistreating wizards, failed paladin," the Red Wizard fairly purred. Imoen elbowed Elatharia so hard in the ribs that she had to take a step forward to avoid colliding with Aerie. The healed wound at her stomach flared with pain, though her sister could not have known that.

"You bufflehead!" her sister admonished under her breath, raising her elbow for a second jab. "You told him about the Anomen thing!"

"I'll do it!" Aerie said, patting at the air between the two sisters. There was a shrill tone in her voice, a wild look on her face. She held Elatharia's eyes a moment too long, as if silently begging for something.

"Aerie, how can you…" Anomen began to exclaim, but she stamped her foot so loudly that she hopped back with a wince.

"No! I want to…to help," she insisted, screwing her face up as if she did not entirely know how to hide her true feelings.

"Good," Elatharia offered a smile that she had forgotten how to feel. "Those of us who are going to the Umar Hills, we'll convene back at the Planar Sphere and leave once we have all of the things we will need for the journey. The rest of you…good luck finding Korgan, if he'll even go with you. We'll see you outside Athkatla before we part," she could not help looking over Aerie and Anomen, who were eyeing each other rather combatively. "For your goodbyes."

With a few hesitations the groups headed out. Edwin was the slowest to move, dragging his feet and eventually giving in to Imoen's offer of aid. He placed a hand on her shoulder so gingerly that he seemed to believe he might catch some terrible disease.

Elatharia had not yet followed because Aerie had a vice-like grip on her arm. Only once the others were out of earshot did she turn to look down into the avariel's now undoubtedly wild eyes.

"You…you know how to make p-potions, don't you?" Aerie blurted. Her hands tightened on Elatharia's arm when the Transmuter attempted to pull free.

"I worked in Candlekeep's alchemy shop," Elatharia offered, "Though obviously I can't make healing spells and the like without…"

"No no no," Aerie's lip was trembling. "I…I need a potion to avoid c-conceiving."

The avariel's face dropped when Elatharia's did.

"Oh no! You don't know!" Aerie finally let go, burying her hands in her mass of blonde hair in a blatant panic. "I didn't want to…to tell Jaheira but…"

"I do know," Elatharia disagreed, hesitantly pulling Aerie around to face her. "I just can't believe you did that with _Anomen_."

"Oh!" The panic left the avariel in a great sigh. She visibly deflated, though her voice remained high and tremulous. It appeared that she was far too concerned to even begin to consider feeling embarrassed. "Well. It just…happened."

She waited in silence while Elatharia opened her bag of holding and reached inside. It took a moment, and then she held the small corked bottle that she needed. Aerie stared at it for a long moment when the Transmuter held it out to her.

"I have more back at the Planar Sphere," Elatharia prompted, shaking the bottle until the avariel took it from her.

"You just carry these with you all the time?" Aerie asked in bemusement, pulling the cork free and sniffing at the contents warily.

"One a week stops the monthly bleeding altogether," Elatharia shrugged.

"It seems like a lot of planning," the avariel noted, her eyes searching the Transmuter's face as if looking for some deeper truth.

"It's not what you're thinking, Aerie," Elatharia sighed, succumbing to her body's insistence that she turn to face the path ahead. Edwin and Imoen were still in sight, the others just disappearing around the high grey block of the Temple of Helm. "It's just an easy way of avoiding bad memories." But for a moment they slashed through her mind and left her feeling colder even than she had before.


	59. Into the Dark of It

**A big thank you to everyone, as always. And an extra big thank you to those of you who have reviewed! :)  
Now, with warnings for mention of horrible things:**

 ** _Into the dark of it -_ Sigil slang, 'To get to the truth of something'.**

* * *

 **Chapter 58: Into the Dark of It**

* * *

Ellesime felt it long before she saw the red lights of flames rising into the darkness and long before she saw the sky turning inky with the smoke whose choking smell came carried on the gentle breeze. She felt the jagged rend which was his presence. It was the absence of his true soul against her own.

Even without any premonition, Suldanessellar had been prepared for days. When the Knights had failed to return, the queen had understood her mistake – by sending the Rhynn Lanthorns out and strengthening the city's wards against even those of sun elf blood, she had given Irenicus what he needed. Sun elf he may have been but he now bore the horn which led him to this place and left those who would protect it lost and blind across the Wealdath. The business with the drow had been a deception; had she known it was Irenicus behind the attacks she would never have sent Elhan away with the Rhynn Lanthorns. She would have called him back and brought up the wards.

The inhabitants of the small settlements within Suldanessellar's sphere of protections had been evacuated into the city days earlier along with all of their militia. The buildings which Irenicus burned were, for now, abandoned. He was simply making himself known, filling those cowering within Suldanessellar's walls with fear, for most within still remembered the shambolic banishment Ellesime had enacted upon him and his sister.

All lights were out across the city, which now lay in pure darkness with not even the obscured moon to illuminate its winding paths and living houses. No one would be able to see their queen standing at the highest balcony of her palace, whose flowers chimed quite merrily in spite of the hellish fire limning the darkness.

There was some comfort to be had in the rhythmic thump and rumble of the city's golems patrolling below. Or there should have been. But as time passed their steps came more irregularly, scuffed and grinding. Eventually, they stopped altogether. Then came the rattle and creak of the ancient city gates and in poured the fiery shapes of demons and devils, far faster than ought to have been possible.

Ellesime watched with spreading leaden horror as the city lit up along every pathway with fire. Soon screams of terror – and then of pain – rang out. She gripped the vine railing before her with shaking hands, ignoring the guard who came running in behind her to stammer of a truth she had already witnessed. Those families who had refused to leave their homes would be slaughtered long before the militia or the army or the priests or the wizards could get to them.

"My queen, we should depart to the temples like the rest of the city," her servant insisted, though he jumped back with a start when she whirled around to face him. Dressed in shining golden armour with sight enchanted for the darkness he was playing the part of a seasoned warrior. Though she had never noticed him before nor even knew his name, he had been amongst those who now stood stubbornly guarding the doors to Ellesime's chambers. They had refused her command that they leave her here, for they could not understand the inevitability of what was to come.

"My presence would only endanger our people," Ellesime said. Looking at this nervous guard's young face she was overcome with such great, crippling weariness and grief. He was too young to die, with not a century to his unknown name.

A deafening boom interrupted any further words, sending a wave of heated air arcing over the balcony and knocking Ellesime and her guard both from their feet with cries of fear and alarm. She had no recollection of landing, nor even of dragging herself to aching hands and knees. Her ears were ringing and she could taste blood; the blast had knocked her down and sent her skidding across the smooth floor of this cold, austere meeting room. She noted numbly that the utter lack of furniture or adornment in this shell of a room had spared them both anything more than a heavy landing. And meanwhile, the guard beside her was already scrambling to his feet and reaching down to help her up – but she just stared up at his wide eyes for a long moment.

Shouts rose up outside the golden doors ahead, followed by the audible ring of steel. The guard reached down and tugged urgently at her arm without ceremony; Ellesime found herself hauled onto her feet and dragged forward several steps before she managed to wrench herself free. Now there was something more like frustration in her loyal guard's desperate face.

"My _lady_ , they have breached the palace! We must get you out of here immediately before our enemies find you…"

His face went blank when the screams of his fellows sounded beyond the doors, and his head whipped around to look just as the golden gates crashed open. He stepped up between his queen and this new threat, blocking her view, and only managed to draw his sword halfway before his life left him in a drawn out sigh, some awful spell shrivelling his whole body almost immediately and dropping him to the floor.

Ellesime stumbled back automatically though her legs were shaking more than she had thought they could without toppling her. She could hear her own whimpering, though she no longer could control her own breaths. She simply watched as the conjured light bobbed through that doorway, revealing the glistening red mess which had been her guards and filling this white marble room, now punctuated only with the withered body in golden armour which lay sprawled uselessly before her.

Irenicus followed.

He was alone, though the rampage of his innumerable minions still rumbled outside. Dressed in black cloth and leather he was splattered with blood, his hands red with it. But there was no flamboyance in it, nor did any wicked glee or rage show on the pallid mask of his face. With his hood low over his brow, she could still see the golden shine of his eyes, full of some bitter and violent power which was not his own. She trembled, paralysed with fear, as he trod a bloody path towards her. She felt tears drip off her chin as he reached out with one bloodied hand and touched her cheek.

"My love," he greeted with no warmth at all.

* * *

"Anomen didn't want you to come with us at all, huh?" Imoen asked.

Aerie looked up from the flames with a start. Since they had parted from the others at the worn crossroads outside a sunset-washed Athkatla there had been little conversation. They had ridden northwest until their horses could no longer be coaxed to follow a conjured light.

The wind was whistling but between them Imoen and Elatharia had found a sheltered spot between an old crumbling wall and a small wooded patch amongst these low hills. They had one tent between four, carried in daunting pieces in saddle bags and raised with admirable speed and skill by Imoen; Aerie had handed out the pegs while Elatharia and Edwin managed to assemble enough branches to sustain a fire cantrip. The Red Wizard had come alive a little more with the darkness, though Aerie was not sure whether that was more of a good or a bad thing.

"Is it just Edwin he doesn't want you near or Elatharia too?" Imoen paused, leaning back onto her elbows. The grass was damp but she did not seem to mind, kicking her bare feet out to warm them by the fire. One of the horses huffed and shifted nearby and Aerie pretended to look around at it, intending to hide her guilty expression. "Or is it Red Wizards and Bhaalspawn in general that he don't like?" Imoen said it breezily, but her expression was wary. Aerie sagged.

"It's Edwin," Aerie admitted, wishing she could mean _just_ Edwin. Anomen had argued with her along the entire short ride to the crossroads and even for a little while after the others had parted.

"I'm fillin' in those silent bits you didn't say," Imoen sniggered, her grin a brilliant flash which made Aerie blush guiltily. "Sounds like he wants to tell you what to do a lot."

"He wants to…to protect me," Aerie nodded. A glance across the fire showed the more distant forms of Elatharia and Edwin huddled together out of hearing range and almost invisible against the darkness. The Conjurer was watching the stars and offering occasional comments to whatever it was Elatharia was saying. Her head was bowed towards her spellbook.

"That's telling you what to do," Imoen insisted. Her eyes strayed across the camp for a moment. "But he seemed even more worked up than usual tonight."

"He is unhappy about leaving his home," Aerie flinched at how defensive she sounded. Imoen raised her eyebrows briefly, pretending to nod.

"Oh sure. And it didn't have anything to do with why you two couldn't look each other in the eye this afternoon?" Imoen asked. One glance at Aerie's face and the aasimar turned back to the fire, victorious. "Thought so. No one tugs on El's arm like that if they don't done need some potions."

Aerie was blushing fiercely now.

"You d-don't think anyone else noticed, do you?" she asked. Imoen shrugged.

"I wouldn't put it past Haer'Dalis and Viconia. Those two don't miss much, do they?" Imoen rolled her eyes when Aerie gave a squeak of horror. "And they wouldn't judge. What do you think those two do when no one's around, anyway? But eh, don't worry 'bout it. I reckon the one who'd judge you most is the one who got you needing potions in the first place. And he's not that much of a hypocrite."

Aerie opened her mouth to defend Anomen but the words caught. She felt such sorrow for his banishment from his home…and such relief to ride away from him. It had not been her intention to flee from him before they could talk again (beyond their argument) but the awkwardness she felt seemed as though it had been inevitable from the moment he had walked into that room in the Radiant Heart and chosen to stay. Neither of them had really known what they were doing. And the event had not made her any clearer on what she _was_ doing, either.

A wary glance Imoen's way showed the aasimar's attention had shifted to her sister. Aerie blew a silent sigh of relief – Imoen had sounded at first as though she might be quite happy to ask for further details, but now it looked as though she were actively forcing a change of subject.

"You…you and your sister seem very close," the avariel offered. That drew a faint smile to Imoen's face. "Although you d-don't sound much alike."

"Well I was raised by an innkeeper who grew up in the orphanages of Baldur's Gate," Imoen explained, "And she had a da who spoke like a real gentlemen, even if he was fakin' it. All the monks and priests and most of the visitors at Candlekeep just had to sound so clever all the time – and I can do it too, when the mood strikes. Just rather not forget me own da, is all." Her words faded at that, her eyes glazed as though watching something far away. But she shook herself from it faster than Aerie could find more words. "Get Elatharia drunk enough and she might just start to sound like me." Imoen winked.

"I find that hard t-to believe," Aerie giggled. "She…she isn't the type to get drunk, is she?"

Imoen just shrugged again, nodding to the tent which the avariel had been eyeing furtively throughout their conversation.

"Don't stay up on my account," she placed a hand over her heart. "I hereby swear to sleep between you and El. Edwin'll be up all night from the sounds of this curse but if he does come in, won't be you he sticks by."

Aerie had been scrambling gratefully to her feet, but now paused mid-crouch to hear Imoen commenting on the two wizards so cheerfully. Even if she did speak with those sad eyes.

"You…you d-don't disapprove at all?" the avariel cringed at her own disbelieving tone. Imoen looked amused by it.

"Why would I? You see him telling her what to do and her doing it much? Or vice versa?"

Aerie winced.

"Well…he's a R-Red Wizard and…"

"And she's a Bhaalspawn. Not many going to let that one slide, right?" Imoen coughed to hide the catch in her throat. "So no, I'm not going to judge. He coulda sided with Bodhi and Irenicus and done everything they wanted – he didn't. And she coulda just left him and gone off to Suldanessellar. She didn't. I don't know what it is they feel but I don't much mind. It's hard enough for someone like her to let herself feel anything at all after all this," Imoen waved her hands northwards vaguely and Aerie gathered that this referred to _everything_ that had happened since they stumbled out of Candlekeep a year and a half earlier. "I won't begrudge her what little bits she gets."

It still felt wrong to Aerie, thinking of all the bad Edwin's arrival had brought, but she was too tired to argue and it felt wrong trying to tell Imoen how to think of her own sister. So the avariel offered her best smile and bid Imoen goodnight. The tent was big enough for four but only just, so she made a point of unfurling her bedroll by one canvas wall.

* * *

Edwin did not seem to want to go anywhere near the fire, though he had been the one to conjure it. While Imoen and Aerie talked by the flames he watched the stars at Elatharia's side. She did not mind overmuch – with her father's cold-resistant cloak wrapped about her and her enchanted mask across her markings she was neither bothered by the night-time chill nor by the darkness which otherwise would have obscured the scroll stretched open across her spellbook. And besides, Edwin was burning up beside her though he did not seem to know it. His elbow had come to rest against her hip and she fought off the absurd urge to curl herself against him.

Too tired to concentrate on this most infuriating spell any longer, Elatharia let the scroll curl back upon itself and leaned more fully against the rock supporting them, blowing out a long sigh. Edwin glanced at her with his usual brand of dismissive scrutiny, though the knot of his frown was deeper than it ought to have been. With nightfall he had lost his wheeze and his unsteadiness, but that only made this curse all the more eerie. He did not even bother flinching now when Elatharia peeled back the high collar of his shirt to reveal the pink scar of Bodhi's bite. It looked no better – in fact, it was probably a little worse. More inflamed.

"Should I add rabies to my list of woes?" Edwin asked more softly than she would have expected.

"Not sure," Elatharia pretended to admit. She swallowed as his arm straightened along her leg, one hand curling gently against her calf and blazing hot through her leggings. There was too much unsaid in the silence that followed. It was a relief when Edwin spoke again, his eyes on the twinkling sky once more.

"The woman who dismissed Bodhi's wards admitted to her worship of Bhaal (– as if the seven feathers upon her person were not proof enough). And I would suggest that her aid is as dangerous as her previous involvement with Bodhi. I met her once before, when Bodhi first blackmailed me. The vampire said something about a temple in Scornubel. Which you have mentioned in the past, of course."

Elatharia was gripping Edwin's arm before she had thought not to. _A temple in Scornubel_. Her thoughts raced, her stomach lurched. Thoughts of her father; of Gorion _and_ of Bhaal. And one single long lost memory brought back to her in the dream-visions when her soul was torn away. Of a sacrificial altar and a woman whom she had called 'mama'.

"What are you thinking?" Edwin asked, eyes narrowing.

"What did she look like?" Elatharia countered. The Red Wizard's lip curled.

"Taller than she should," he tutted. "A half foot higher than me. (Ridiculous.) Long red hair and…" he paused, looking back to Elatharia sharply. In a swift movement he had conjured a bright light above their heads and caught her chin in his hand, staring into her eyes so searchingly that she felt them widening in something close to fear. "And eyes a lot like yours," he said at length. "In fact, I would wager most of your gold on the truth that she is some relative of yours. Another Bhaalspawn, presumably? Albeit one who takes their heritage a little more…seriously."

"Did she…did she have markings like mine?" Elatharia asked, watching the shift of his expression from intense to thoughtful. Though she banished his light with a countering Transmutation he still held her chin and she still gripped his arm. His fingers remained coiled against her leg. She was at once painfully tense and strangely relaxed.

"She did not have markings like yours," Edwin admitted at length. "But she did look old enough to have been your mother, Elatharia." His thumb still lingered against her jaw even after she shook her head, though he relinquished his hold of her chin.

"The woman I remember calling mother had markings like mine. The woman who saved me from her and gave me to Gorion looked as alike as a sister to her, but she did not have the markings. Nor was she a follower of Bhaal. This former ally of Bodhi's sounds like both of them…and neither."

"There are many lies hereabouts, then," Edwin agreed.

"She has Bhaal's power in abundance, whoever she is. I felt it like a great golden ocean trying to drown me," Elatharia blinked at her own phrasing, momentarily distracted by the way Edwin's lips quirked at the words. "And even if she decided to turn on Bodhi eventually, she must have been the one to suggest the use of bone daggers. Whatever it is that they do."

Edwin nodded, though his expression was clouding with distraction. Her stomach lurched in uncomfortable understanding.

"Are you sure you'll manage without anything even to…to drink on this journey?" Elatharia asked. He had refused food and water both.

"Perhaps it truly is rabies," Edwin sighed, twisting back around to stare into the darkness. He grunted when she nudged him.

"I'm serious. Can't you even think about having some of the water?" But the very idea made him grimace. Elatharia tugged on his arm. "What about blood?"

"I do not want it," he denied sharply, letting go of her leg and pulling from her hold as well. He did not meet her eyes as she stood abruptly, feeling cold and awkward.

"That's not the same thing as needing it, Edwin," Elatharia reminded. She glared down at him when he met her eyes at last.

"I neither want nor need it. For all we know, it could break any chance of ending this curse. I can barely move in the sun as it is."

The frustration in his voice had her backing up, holding out her hands in weary surrender.

"Just as long as it doesn't slow our progress," she told him.

Elatharia started to turn towards the fire – perhaps a little faster than she needed to – only to double up from the pain which bloomed in her stomach. Her spellbook thumped to the ground and she cursed, gasping and grimacing as she bent to retrieve it from the grass. She was halfway to standing again when she felt Edwin's hands bracing her waist. And in spite of the blank hole in her mind, she found herself leaning sideways into him. He grunted but bore her weight and for a moment they simple stood there and she bit her cheek to hold back the stinging in her eyes.

"Perhaps I am not the only one travelling beyond the means of their current power," Edwin told her wryly, something almost rueful in the set of his expression.

He raised her limp arm up before him, until the light of the fire flickered across her skin dimly from this distance, his thumb tracing the angry red line still marring her forearm and elbow where Bodhi had snapped the bone through her skin. He relinquished his hold on her when she pulled back enough to look up at him, though there was something behind the thoughtful look he would have her see. Something wary. Something guilty.

"You didn't have a choice," Elatharia reminded, searching his eyes and watching the firelight dance across them. "Bodhi didn't give you a choice. You had to dispel my magic, elsewise she would have discovered your treachery too soon." Edwin's brow furrowed further at that but he nodded, unwillingly. Elatharia attempted a smile, her hand brushing his sleeve. "Would it be better if I told you I would have done the same in your position?"

That drew a disbelieving snort from him.

"Except you cannot, Transmuter that you are," he told her slowly, as if she might have forgotten. His eyes flared with curiosity when she smiled – a true smile, even with so little of her soul left.

"Not yet," she allowed, her grin spreading as his started. He stepped towards her, pressing a fingertip to her chin and tilting her head to meet her eyes. The firelight slipped over the icy pallor of his skin, reminding her that this fierceness was confined to the night. But here, in the darkness, he seemed so _himself_.

"Ah, I see," he hesitated, eyes dark. "I should remind you that there is still unfinished business between us, Elatharia."

"I hadn't forgotten," she said, her voice catching on the memory of how they had parted in the Underdark. _When our enemies are dead I will remind you of this moment. We are not finished._ The memory made her face hot and her heart pound – but not all of their enemies were dead yet. Should it matter?

"When the sun rises I will be useless once more," he fairly spat the words, his eyes wild as he looked out to the dark sky. "But when this curse is removed there is more to say." He turned back to her and she swallowed to see that look. Perhaps something had changed in her expression – or perhaps he simply _suspected_ , but his brow furrowed once more. "There is something you have been hiding from me. Something that has you trembling as I touch you now."

As if to prove the point, he drifted those too-hot fingertips across her jaw and along the skin of her neck. Her breath escaped with a shudder, her lips parting automatically. But with Edwin's words still hanging in the air she found herself gripping her spellbook tightly to her chest. When she blinked there was more than darkness behind her eyes. _The knives. The barbed devil._

Elatharia stumbled back a step, ignoring the pain in her stomach as best she could. When she met Edwin's eyes she saw the victory in them. He could see her lies now. _What had they told him?_ Surely not the whole truth, for that pride was fast fading from his expression. The Transmuter could not bring herself to glare, nor even to witness the intrigue that must have risen to his mind – instead she turned as quickly as she could, muttering something quickly to dismiss herself, and escaped from Edwin's scrutiny into the tent.

* * *

By morning Edwin's condition had deteriorated. He had stayed up all night reading through his notes, and the higher the sun rose the paler and more pained her became. When they saddled the horses to leave he seemed caught in a different consciousness altogether, his eyes glassy and fixed far off. He did not so much as look up when Aerie waved a hand in his face and he simply swayed where he sat, a look of mild irritation passing over him when Elatharia pushed at his shoulder. But he did appear to be amenable to guidance and went quite placidly to his horse. He even climbed on, but after two near-falls Aerie insisted that they fasten him into the saddle as best they could.

The journey was slow that day owed to the Conjurer's state but it seemed that Elatharia and Edwin had planned for this – morbid as their practicality seemed to Imoen. The mood was too tense for any real conversation, and the howling wind too cold and bitter besides until they joined a narrow trail and rode into thick evergreen forest, beyond which the wooded hills rose up and up into the distance all the way to the shadowy Cloudpeaks just barely peering over them.

As night began to fall they emerged from the first stretch of woodland into a broad clearing. Imoen could just make out long stretches of scorched earth and the remnants of an old fire beneath the overhanging cliff face. A log cabin stood on the rocky edge above, and beyond it the trees loomed once more. Imoen caught a few comments shared between Elatharia and Aerie about some battle they had fought there some tendays ago, though there was no sign of the bodies that had been left behind. All the same, Imoen's stomach churned and she eyed the old camp unwillingly until Aerie reached into her bag and showed them the key Valygar had left with her to his cabin.

They led their horses on foot up the steep pathway to the top of the cliff, Edwin's strength returning only marginally with the fall of the sun and mostly bolstered by some combination of a _Strength_ spell and a rather hopeful _Restoration_ from Aerie. The Conjurer was wheezing and swaying by the time they came to the veranda of the cabin and he slumped quite resolutely onto the steps outside the door, letting the others stable the horses. There was fresh hay laid out inside their stalls, suggesting that Valygar's ancient noble status still counted for something.

They entered with all the confidence of trespassers, their boots thumping loudly on the wooden floors. It was musty inside but too cold to open a window; while Aerie went to check that the house was empty beyond its long front room, tiny kitchen, back bedroom and attic, Elatharia lit the fire manually and helped Edwin into the armchair nearby. Imoen pretended to rummage through her things, for it almost hurt to watch them like this. A glance outside, to the stars shining over the cabin, reminded her of the time of year. It would have been Minsc's birthday soon.

With only their travelling rations to eat, they soon retired to bed, Aerie heading up to the attic bedroom while Imoen ventured outside to set up a few wards around the perimeter. Valygar had assured them that with the Imnesvale village so close and so tightknit any attack on his home would be so anomalous as to be absurd – but with two Bhaalspawn in one cabin it seemed the safest thing to do.

When Imoen returned, it was to the dimming embers of the fire in an empty living room. Before heading up the ladder into the attic, a quick glance through the gap into the back bedroom showed Elatharia curled up on her side, wrapped in Gorion's grey cloak upon the bare bed. Edwin sat up against the headboard beside her, reading through one of his books with a furrowed brow. The sight brought a faint smile to Imoen's face, though the look fell when she saw Elatharia twitch in her sleep, muttering something. Edwin glanced down at her, still so grim, and readjusted the fall of her cloak over her shoulder, oblivious to his pink-haired audience. Guiltily the aasimar crept up the ladder to find some sleep of her own, if any would come.

* * *

The following evening, Elatharia felt the thickening of the air long before they picked their way out of the crackling mass of fallen orange leaves and tangled branches which opened out on to the shallow valley below. It had been far harder to get here months before, when the shadows had controlled this land just beyond Imnesvale. Brambles as thick as her arms had woven their way through the trees, and it was a testament to the efforts of the few druids who still remained in the nearby caves that the forest had not been entirely lost by the blight of darkness. In those days the sun had been obscured by thick clouds, the air cloying and strangely hot. Maddened beasts had been brought down from the mountains and overtaken by the cursed land.

How strange then, that it filled her with far greater disquiet to lead her horse through the crackling colourful array of fallen leaves and down the grassy curve into the verdant valley below, all knee-high ferns and maybe a few irritating nettles. There was a stream tinkling cheerfully past, cutting a path straight towards the ancient, half-crumbling monument at the eastern end of the valley.

Cut out of the glittering granite of the cliff face behind it, the centuries' old Temple to Amaunator still dominated the view, though the roof above its smooth pillars had long collapsed and lay in chunks upon a white platform shot through with glittering pink strands. The gold hammered around each pillar remained only in patches, inscriptions in some older and less familiar form of Thorass just visible here and there.

The sun symbol still gleamed as if newly polished in the cliff above this old portico whose steps had been worn by countless feet, of both good and bad intent over the years. Jagged chunks of quartz sparkled around its circumference and beneath this dazzling display loomed the dark pit of the empty gateway, a hollow rectangle framed by chipped marble. The writing graven in bronze across the lintel was easily visible as they reached the steps, Edwin lowering himself to sit while the others tethered the horses to one of the few nearby trees. _Bear the sun of the Lord upon your brow and go with His blessing._ The altar waited somewhere up above, a cracked chunk of marble crowned with a deep bronze dish, all of it angled to catch the setting of the sun.

"Do you have it?" Edwin rasped almost before Elatharia winced her way into a sitting position beside him. A few of Aerie's healing spells had taken the worst of the pain away from the wound in her stomach but it still tugged uncomfortably when she bent. Riding had been no better.

The sun was low on the horizon, settling just above the hill opposite. Soon it would be gleaming against the gold and bronze of the temple behind them, sending rainbows arcing from the prisms of quartz. Squinting into the light, Elatharia wordlessly produced the bag containing Bodhi's heart and dropped it into Edwin's shaking hands. He gripped it tightly, as though squeezing it now might still cause the vampire some pain. His eyes were glassy but grim, the brightness in them born of fever. Elatharia still felt the weight of his look as he took in her face, lingering on her eyes, her mask and her mouth.

"I will be most glad to be free of this state," the Red Wizard said at last. Elatharia felt her lips curve at that tone. She traced the tip of one tattoo at his wrist, half expecting him to complain.

"Worse than being a woman?"

"Much worse," Edwin growled, and she bit her lip to hold back her smile as she looked back to his face.

What a marvel that she could feel anything at all. She felt dizzy. With the temple at her back she could almost ignore the creep of its power thick in the air. Something else bloomed in her chest – perhaps it was the Beast sighting Edwin's curse, though he did not seem alarmed when she leaned closer, tentative. His lips parted as if in anticipation, his breath cool against her cheek. His skin was so hot against hers that she could not forget this curse, but she did not think before she kissed him and as he responded, so softly, so cautiously in turn. The yield and press and heat of it drew a faint sound from her as they parted.

"The sun is setting," she told him, quieter than she had intended. It was not quite true, but it would be soon – and he would need to be at the altar before darkness fell. He nodded carefully, the lingering of his eyes leaving her cheeks pink. _We are not finished_ , that look said.

"W-we should go inside," Aerie all but exclaimed, as if she had been holding in the words for slightly too long. Elatharia turned to see the avariel and Imoen approaching, the former wide-eyed and red faced and the latter trying to hide a snigger behind her hand.

"And we should hurry," Edwin agreed curtly, wheezing like an ancient as he wobbled to his feet. If he was embarrassed to have Aerie and Imoen see what had passed, he did not show it. Except perhaps in the squaring of his shoulders and the confrontational shine in his eyes. "Though I hear the Bhaalspawn will not enter hallowed ground."

The very thought made Elatharia's stomach churn. Imoen winced even before she did, glancing at the dark doorway behind the Transmuter. She did not disagree, though Aerie's brow furrowed in poorly concealed alarm.

"A-alright," the avariel managed, all but running past Edwin and up the steps onto the platform. "I remember the way to the…the altar. And…and I understand what I have to do." She already had the book of instructions cradled in her arms, after all.

Imoen watched Edwin and Aerie disappear into the darkness of the stone entrance before twirling about to sit next to her sister. Elatharia grimaced as she nudged her shoulder, empty anew. Perhaps it was the nature of this shattered soul-state that the Beast would always be there with every emotion she felt. It was safer…simply not to. Thus her face felt heavy and blank as she squinted out to the sinking sun and dared not meet her sister's knowing look.

"Looks funny, doesn't it?"

Since Elatharia had been expecting some sort of teasing or blatant questioning from her sister she could not avoid twisting around in surprise. Imoen was leaning her hands back against the next step up, watching the sun set. Her smile was crooked and faint, more wistful than peaceful.

"What's funny?"

"I used to dream about sitting in the sun back at Candlekeep when I was…was in Spellhold. But now I'm here and the sun's right there and it's real…it doesn't _feel_ any more real. It's like I'll never get used to it. Like I've forgotten how or something."

"In a good way?" Elatharia knew she sounded dubious, squinting out at the hills now washed in orange. It was hard to feel anything but disquiet with that temple slumbering at their backs, wondering if Edwin would return renewed.

"Not everything's good," Imoen sighed, a deflection which Elatharia was too tired to point out. "I…I don't feel like I fit in with the city anymore. It's like everyone can see what I…what happened."

"No one looks past their own selves, Im. Every judgement anyone makes is a judgement based on what they've seen and done. They don't know what we've seen and done."

"Got bitter and twisted while I was away, huh?" Imoen sounded strained, though. Elatharia could not bring herself to turn back to her sister again, instead scrunching her knees to her chest and resting her chin there.

"There was something I was going to ask you," the Transmuter admitted into the quiet. She could hear the tinkle of the stream and the rustle of the wind in the forests flanking this valley; she could feel the sun on her face. But it all felt very far away.

"Yep?"

"The woman who was helping Bodhi, who betrayed her to let us cast in the lair…I haven't only seen her previously in Amn. I saw her when we were children in Bhaal's temple. Or…someone who looked a lot like her." Elatharia hesitated, but when Imoen did not comment she recounted the whole memory of the red-haired woman with her feathered headdress whom she had called 'mama', and the second woman who could have been a sister of the first. The one who had handed her and Imoen over to the Harpers.

"Gorion always said we were brought in separately," Imoen muttered when Elatharia stopped.

"We weren't. Not if what I saw was a real memory. The baby with pink hair – that was you. And the woman who saved us – Gorion said she was called Melissan. If we could find her somehow…maybe we would be able to understand more about why they wanted us to die. And who that woman trying to sacrifice me was."

"Alright…but what's your question?" Imoen's wary tone dragged the answer from Elatharia.

"That's what I saw when we had our souls taken. When we were in that shared dream. I wanted to ask…did you see anything before we spoke to the solar?"

"Ah," Imoen sucked in a breath. "Yeah. Well, I didn't see anything about my ma. Would've sure been interesting." And perhaps painful if the catch in her voice was any measure. "It was back when I was little – y'know, walking but not talking yet. Winthrop and Gorion had been sent in to see Ulraunt in that little office he used to have that looked out on the orchard.

"Well Winthrop'd left me with someone, but I must've wandered back over to the door or maybe no one much cared what I heard because they thought I was too little to hear. But anyway, they were having some fierce argument about…about you and me, must've been. Ulraunt saying all these things about you and your 'tears of the devils' and my pink hair, how we were cursed to bring doom and death and murder wherever we went. I think he said something about throwing us on the cliffs, but might've just been in anger and nothing…y'know… _genuine._ But then he said it clear as anything 'Elatharia and the one you named for yourselves as Imoen – these are Bhaalspawn, you fools. If you die from this, it will be your own faults. And should others die because of you, I should think the gods will blame you also.'"

The imitation of Ulraunt's deep, drawn out boom might have been funny at any other time. Instead Elatharia found her fingers digging into her legs and a lump forming in her throat.

"And maybe he was right," Imoen added, her voice so soft that Elatharia could easily have missed it.

"I don't know. Maybe. But it's not like we had a choice," the Transmuter sighed. The sun was rippling above the hills, just starting to sink out of sight. _Had they reached the altar?_

"I suppose," Imoen paused. "And…well if Bhaalspawn are so dangerous why haven't we been at each other's throats or causing all chaos and destruction because of each other? I think you and me is the least horrible thing in all of this."

Elatharia bit back her answer. _Except I murdered for you, little sister. I murdered to get you free and it robbed us of our souls. Now Suldanessellar is the chaos sown from our passing. What next?_

She stiffened when she felt Imoen's arms wrap round her waist and the press of the aasimar's cheek against the back of her shoulder, but after a moment she sagged in defeat. Imoen did not withhold hugs for those who were baffled by them.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there after Aerie healed you – but you know I love you, right? And I…" Imoen's voice caught, "I didn't thank you for risking everything like that for my soul. I would've gone in your place if I could've."

By now Imoen was squeezing a little tighter, her voice muffled against Elatharia's cloak.

"And when Edwin comes out of there, all shiny and human again, you remember that he's…he's him, right? Remember you done deserve the little things that you want, that make you feel. But just…make sure you remember it's him."

And though neither acknowledged it, they both knew what Imoen meant.

* * *

"I come for your mercy, to be saved in the sun."

Edwin read the words with a shudder, slamming the book shut and all but dropping it back into Aerie's arms the moment that the bronze doors before them flared with light and the bolt slid open across them. At least the avariel had been truthful – she did know her way up to this altar, and the quickest way at that. It had been a trial just to pass through the first archway and into the temple, which was so silent and still and _decrepit_. Tunnels had been slanted through the walls at frequent intervals throughout every dusty stone corridor they passed, tinging the labyrinth of the outer temple passages a hazy orange as the sun began to set.

And of course with every step Edwin's breaths became more laboured, his limbs weaker. He was shivering and burning by turns, his jacket sticking to his back most irritatingly. But the avariel had skipped ahead, eyes big as saucers and blond hair bouncing. It set him ill at ease (even more so than the divinity slowing his steps) to see her so eager to help him. Did she know something he did not? Was this always doomed to failure?

They had ascended a steep flight of steps (practically a ladder without handholds) onto the clifftop beneath which the temple sprawled. There lay the remains of a larger entrance opposite, though no one could have passed through – and by Elatharia's account of her previous destruction of that very construction, it would have taken too long to navigate the grander halls of the temple below.

Only half-aware of Aerie's stuttered insistence, Edwin turned on unsteady feet to see the sinking sun gleaming straight before his eyes, far larger now than sight ought to have rendered it. It blazed red-gold, filling half the sky, and all about it was darkness. There was only this heat-washed clifftop, all smoothed out granite, the sun and the dish shining painfully upon its broken platform. Aerie was pointing down at it, her voice a muffled staccato beneath the thrumming in his ears.

Throwing his arm out to shield his eyes, Edwin attempted to stride towards the bronze dish though it was hard to see in this blinding light (the heat felt set to shrivel his veins!) and his feet slipped. Wheezing, blind, groaning against the pain thundering through his head, he did not realise he had fallen to his knees until he felt a small hand hooking under his arm, tugging. But he could not rise, not even to drag himself away from Aerie's anxious face. He dug Bodhi's heart out of the bag which he had been mindlessly clutching and tossed it feebly forward. It teetered, black and wet, on the rim of the dish before flopping with a clang into the centre. At least that had the avariel scrambling to the book she had left by the altar, folding her legs beneath her and opening it on the marked page, beginning to read the prayer within.

Her words were a jumble of sound, lost against the roar in his ears – and soon the sight of her went as well, his eyes filled with sunlight until it burned, until he gagged on it. Then came the true burning, every vein and artery in his body profoundly coming to his notice where they never could have before. He was shouting now, he knew it – though he could not feel it. And then darkness fell, pure and cold and still.

"Are you…are you alright?"

Aerie's voice and the light touch of her fingertips on his shoulder told him that he was at least not dead (unless this was some kind of punishment…). Edwin blinked, automatically shrugging off her touch but not able to bring himself to move much either. The pain had passed so suddenly, and it was already fading from his memory. It took a few more blinks for him to realise that the sun had set and that his renewed human sight was struggling to adjust to the gloom.

"It worked," Edwin rasped, swallowing and realising just how raw his throat was. How long had it been since he last ate or drank? His stomach rumbled treacherously.

"It did?" her surprise was hardly reassuring. "Oh!" And she clapped her hands together as if the whole reward were his cure.

Edwin frowned at the fuzzy shape of her in the dwindling light, dragging himself into a sitting position and muttering a cleaning cantrip under his breath, hoping that the black ichor which he had just wiped from his chin had gone unnoticed by the avariel.

"I suppose this is when I hand over your reward?" he asked. He stood gingerly, but it appeared this spell had lent him the strength he would need to get to the inn at Imnesvale in search of food. (Gods, any food would do – more indignity brought on by Bodhi's curse!) It took him a moment to realise that Aerie was staring up at him with those saucer eyes again, her low light vision lending them the reflective glassiness of a cat's glare.

"Reward? N-no, Edwin," she sounded offended. "I'm a…a priest. I did this because it wasn't right to…to see anyone suffer."

"Ah," the Conjurer opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again. As disconcerting as such behaviour was, it had saved his life. There were notes further in the book, notes Elatharia had not yet read, which had stated no thrall lived without taking blood for any longer than five days. "Thank you," he offered. He held out a hand, preferring the gloom for such debasement (for how she had sneered at him with all the others). A hesitation, and then Aerie took it, as firmly as her small grip would allow.

"You're…you're welcome," she managed, stepping back and uttering a quick spell phrase. When the light bloomed between them, she grinned sheepishly, something wary in her lingering stare. "Let's get back to the others."

The walk back through the night darkened temple passed Edwin by like a dream. Every step was strangely light compared to the drag of his thraldom. Every breath came easily. He no longer endured the drum of the heartbeats around him or the too-aware prickle of the air on his skin. He had never been so glad to have his senses dulled.

Elatharia and Imoen were standing framed by a conjured light of their own, both facing the temple with frightened faces. It was baffling how alarmed they both seemed, the aasimar rushing towards him and Aerie the moment they emerged onto the platform.

"Did it work? We done heard shouting and…"

"It worked," Aerie promised.

Edwin took one look at Imoen's watery eyes and tensed himself in preparation just before she flung one of her hugs upon him. He caught Elatharia's eye from over Imoen's head and spared a smirk then, though it felt strangely shaky. She gave a faint nod. The deal remained. Tonight would be a night of hard truths.

"Is there anything you need?" Aerie asked through a disbelieving laugh (no doubt to see him endure Imoen's insistence upon this indignity). At last the aasimar pried herself away, with some urging on Edwin's part.

"Water," he choked out.

* * *

The village of Imnesvale stood in the deeper valley just a short walk west from the temple, where the stream trickled down the rocks to join the lake below. By this time of night the livestock had been closed off into their pens and were sleeping soundly; as the group passed between the wooden houses Elatharia heard a few snuffles from the pigs but little else. The whole town was dark by now, except for the sprawling Umar Inn up on its hill across the lake, smoke still drifting from its numerous chimneys and laughter ringing across the valley from its open shutters. From the bustle which became increasingly visible through the doorway as they approached it appeared that they had arrived near the end of some celebration, most likely the last night of feasting after Highharvesttide.

The stable boy was bleary eyed and possibly a little drunk by the time that the travellers dropped from their horses by his stables, but he was at least sober enough to do his job before returning to the pancakes and ale stowed by his stool. He did eye them a little balefully for drawing him from his blanket, fairly shooing them inside, which drew a muttered complaint or two from Edwin.

The shouts and cheers were almost deafening as they stepped inside, Edwin clearly too hungry to care and Imoen more intrigued than alarmed. Elatharia felt a little tension leave her to see her sister's curiosity return at least in some measure, but hesitated before following and noticed Aerie do the same. They shared a glance before both reaching to pull their hoods lower, something which drew a smile from Aerie. The avariel patted her on the arm tentatively before following.

Fortunately it seemed that the townsfolk were too distracted with their songs and drinking to pay their guests much heed; when last Elatharia and Aerie had been here they had newly saved the town from the shadows stalking them from the blighted woods. The Minister and his townsfolk had been loud and effusive in their thanks until the very moment their 'saviours' had ridden out of sight. Elatharia was careful to take a seat with her back to the crowd, trying her best to ignore Edwin's curious eyes. At least once the servants brought his food his poorly disguised hunger took over his attention.

While the others ate, Elatharia found her stomach rebelled at the very idea of joining them, her thoughts catching and freezing on the words she had promised to speak. It was hard enough to think of such things without Aerie sending her such suspicious glances. She escaped to her room and to the bath she had ordered but found no comfort in the solitude, or the warmth of the water.

By the time she was slipping back into the Robe of Vecna the clamour of the party was fading to a few distant shouts and she heard the thump of the inn's front doors as she crept out barefoot into the narrow hallway. There were always a few other visitors at this inn because of the road which ran through the Hills; even in winter the milder climate of Amn gave travellers a quieter shortcut from the Tradeway onto the road to Athkatla. Still, Elatharia's companions had been given rooms directly next to hers and it was a short and uninterrupted walk to the end of the corridor and Edwin's door. Imoen and Aerie had probably gone to bed by now but she crept past their rooms all the same.

She knocked before she could think about it, turning the handle just as quickly when he called for her to enter. Wards fizzed around her as she stepped through into the broad room, dark wooden boards across walls and floor glowing in the hearty firelight. She caught Edwin's smirk, the Red Wizard turning in his chair to watch her enter. His spellbook was open on the long desk behind him, the misty panes of the ancient, bowing window behind him showing a hint of the Umar Hills beyond in the moonlight.

"I suppose you set those wards up with my entry in mind," Elatharia said as she let the door click shut behind her. Edwin's eyes fell to the bundle of thick red cloth she was hugging to her chest when she turned back to face him. "I'm guessing anyone else might have met a more…fiery welcome."

"Perhaps," Edwin acceded, nodding towards the cloak in her hands with an arched brow. She held it out to him as she approached, swallowing against rising nervousness. There was a bath cooling across the room, the wet towel hung over its side attesting to its use, and he was dressed as casually as she ever saw him, in his faded black trousers and loose red shirt. His archmagi jacket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed by his desk.

"Imoen cleaned it…I think," Elatharia offered as he took back his cloak, the gold lining sliding against her fingers. "It's been on a long journey without you."

She lowered herself to perch on the edge of the cushioned seat against the end of the bed, her fingers digging in to the plain blue cloth. It was dark in here, just the flicker of the fire across the room to fight off the darkness of the encroaching night. It was just enough light for Edwin to read his spellbook by, but truly it did not look as though he had been giving it much attention. There was an empty teacup at his elbow and his skin now showed its natural healthy colour, not the sallow grey of the curse. His movements were easy again, his breath even and quiet – it set her more on edge.

"The red of the Red Wizards is hardly a boon in these parts," Edwin noted casually, draping the cloth over the back of his chair before turning to face her properly. "I have hardly missed it, in truth."

Silence stretched between them, filled by the crackle of the fire and low howl of the wind outside, Edwin's chair creaking as he crossed his arms. Elatharia chewed her lip, fidgeting with the cloth of the cushions beneath her.

"There are lies between us," Edwin said at last, the words careful and slow, his eyes painfully perceptive when she raised her own to meet them. "Or at least…half truths. Omissions."

"Then you owe me an explanation," Elatharia told him, tilting her chin when he raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "If I'd known about the truth of what was going on with you and Bodhi I'd have known better not to trust her." She did not expect her voice to catch, and forced herself through it, gesturing to herself perhaps a little wildly. "If I'd known…I might have been able to stop Irenicus stealing my soul and Imoen's. Bodhi blackmailed you, didn't she? Used something I don't know – another thing I don't know – to make you betray me."

For a long moment Edwin watched her, unreadable. At last he gave a resigned sigh and nodded, scrubbing at the black stubble growing across his chin. It appeared he had shaved when in the Underdark, probably in some attempt to fit in a little better with the drow, and the thraldom had stalled the growth thereafter.

"Everything you say is correct," he admitted, his tone more than a little gruff. "Though I can hardly bow at your feet and apologise. I had no choice – less choice than you have had in hiding your truth from me." The slash of his eyes left her heart pounding and she grimaced. "Still, perhaps an explanation is in order," he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "You remember Degardan?"

"Of course," Elatharia nodded. "And the curse he gave you, obviously." Edwin did not so much as spare a flinch for that.

"You recall the burns upon his person? And of course the affinity for Divination magic which permitted him to aid in the creation of that wretched scroll?"

"Yes." His neck had been heavily scarred, certainly. "You said it was your spell that scarred him."

"Indeed. Although not purposefully (though it surely should have been). It was of course meant to kill him, as I have told you before. I have told you also that our superiors chose him over me, and that the course of such a decision could not be righted by our spellbattle. His rich and powerful family, who own our capital Eltabbar and its surrounding province, would have seen me dead but for my father's attempt to save face, sending me out on a mission to the Western Heartlands."

"But it isn't actually as simple as that, is it?" Elatharia asked, leaning forward.

"No," Edwin grimaced. "You must understand that in Thay any battle of wizards in competition for a place chosen for one or the other ends with the victorious mage taking their place. Power is our primary tool to gaining recognition and influence. I _should_ have been granted my rightful place, a higher station amongst the Red Wizards. But his family had predicted this conflict and had set up a spelltrap. It destroyed my casting, and though by all reasonable judgement I had won the battle he escaped only disfigured and not dead.

"My father sent me out on the mission because, as his Tharch is closer to Rashemen than any other part of Thay, he had acquired knowledge that one of Degardan's closest and most powerful allies, Irrazul of the Enchanters, had been colluding with the Rashemi witches to frame me – and thus my father – for some indiscretion or other in exchange for magical and military aid. Irrazul wanted to overthrow the Odesseirons, and his Rashemi allies had sent out a witch to the Western Heartlands under the pretence of a dajemma, a wandering to prove oneself. She was to plant evidence against me amidst the mess of the Iron Throne and the iron crisis. Thay was distantly troubled by the tainted ore, and any Red Wizard found guilty of such monetary losses would have been punished with something nigh on death. I had no choice."

Elatharia sat back slowly, and he just nodded wearily at her expression.

"Dynaheir knew all of this. She knew I was not guilty, and she knew I must be there to kill her. To _stop_ her. Though I now believe she had another agenda as well, one tied in with your Bhaalspawn nature – or perhaps Sarevok's. My only explanations for why she did not kill me are that either she was too torn by her 'morality' after I had saved your group so many times…or simply that you and your sister stood between us."

"You…you think Minsc knew all of this too?" Elatharia asked, already shaking her head at the thought. It drew a sneered laugh from Edwin.

"Of course not. Though I am sure he would have taken Dynaheir's side in the matter if he had."

"And why didn't you kill her?"

"One of the same reasons that she did not kill me," Edwin said, his stare so level that Elatharia struggled to watch him in turn. "You stood between us."

Elatharia swallowed, her eyes darting to the floorboards. She wanted to ask him what he meant, wanted to argue against something so simple. Wanted to remind him that he would have been hopelessly outnumbered. But her voice denied her and she found herself clearing her throat and shifting awkwardly on the seat. She had the strange sense that her behaviour amused him and feared to look back at his face.

"And what does this have to do with Bodhi?"

"I believe that Dynaheir had a contact in the Western Heartlands, someone who had helped her work out the best methods of framing me and getting to the Iron Throne. The information which she had about me and my time in Thay, and whom I was escaping there, ought not to have been attainable by some cursed vampire mistress prowling Amn. My only explanation is that Dynaheir and Bodhi shared a contact, though perhaps they did not know the same side of her."

"The woman who brought down the wards, the one you said Bodhi linked to Scornubel, which is where Sarevok and Rieltar began their Iron Throne plot," Elatharia nodded, almost breathless in realisation. Her blood ran cold, and she saw the realisation on Edwin's face as it came to hers. She found herself gripping his arm across that slight gap between them. "That must be how Irenicus knew where to find Imoen and I, and how he knew we were Bhaalspawn. And if this woman is the Melissan I was forced to remember, or perhaps the woman who tried to sacrifice me in the temple…then she would certainly know that Imoen and I are Bhaalspawn, and thanks to Dynaheir she would know where we were."

"And so Bodhi had the information she needed, to threaten me with informing my powerful enemies in Thay of my whereabouts…unless I did her bidding when the time came. Perhaps it was a bluff, but it was not one I could risk."

It was a brutal truth but Elatharia just nodded. How many of their number would have done differently, save for perhaps Imoen, Aerie, Jaheira and Valygar? And the Transmuter knew that she would have done the same as Edwin. Perhaps worse.

A knock on the door made them both jump, though Edwin tried to hide it by leaping to his feet and cursing as if the interruption were untenable. He strode across the room and only cracked the door open – the voice which came from the hall was nervous and muffled; a pair of servants come to take away the bath. Edwin hesitated for a moment, surreptitiously lowering the wards before stepping aside for them and rolling his eyes Elatharia's way while the two young women passed him, both unable to avoid a startled glance at his guest before hurrying to the heavy metal basin. A tug here and there and the water drained rapidly through some contraption in the floor; they made a fuss of mopping the boards with a dry towel while they waited but still stole a few more looks in the direction of the Transmuter. She felt her cheeks reddening. _Could the whole world see?_

The servants left with careful offers to both guests to have a good night, keeping their eyes on the floor this time. There was no suggestion in the words, though perhaps they had thought it; Elatharia still found her own gaze fixed uncomfortably on her bare feet rather than anywhere near the Red Wizard waiting so still by the door. She only looked up once he had closed it again, though her hands fidgeted in her wet hair…and found no strip of cloth tied behind her head as she had expected. She froze, blushing more, only now realising that she had forgotten to tie on her mask after her bath. It remained, along with her newer circlet, quite carefully stowed away in the bag of holding at her hip. Edwin tutted at her when she cursed.

"It is better not to lie where possible, Elatharia. Especially about the truth of your face," he told her, standing by the table and pouring himself some more tea. She waved her hand in dismissal when he gestured to the spare cup. Her stomach was too full of butterflies for anything. "I think we both know that, or we will after tonight."

"I haven't lied to you about anything," she retorted, quite automatically.

"Have you not?" Edwin quirked an eyebrow at her, taking his cup with him and cradling it in his hands as he took a seat beside her on the cushioned box. His elbow brushed hers, but otherwise the gap between them was resolute. "A white lie then. One with precious little visible scars, save for those of your manacles. I would wager they shackle you still."

Even in the firelight those white marks were visible, longer and more continuous now after her escape from Spellhold; her right arm also bore a mass of lines after she had torn it free in an attempt to escape. She watched her hands clench on her lap, her feet jiggling against the cool wooden floor. How strange, how dizzying to _feel_. It was chaotic, and she knew it would pass. Before long she would be adrift again in the darkness of almost total soullessness.

"I only notice them when I'm with you," she muttered, and Edwin gave a huff of grim amusement.

"Perhaps it is because I alone notice them." He spoke so softly that she had to look at him, knowing that her eyes were wide and wild and scared.

"Tell me what you want to know," she all but begged, cringing when he began to frown. "Someone…someone said something to you. Bodhi, or Irenicus…I have to know what they said…"

"Irenicus told me that he had seen me twice before," Edwin stated it quite calmly, sipping from his tea, but his eyes were as intense as she had ever seen them. Her heart sank. "Bodhi told me that she would have me standing over you with a scalpel in my hand and that it would not be for the first time. And Irenicus showed me a vision in my dreams (though gods know how he bypassed any of the wards on the torc). A vision of my arms covered in _your_ blood, of you torn to shreds." He set his cup down on the footboard of the bed just a moment after it started to quiver. Elatharia gritted her teeth and forced herself to meet his eyes. His voice was less steady now, low and angry. "I watched your heart beating – I _watched it_. And I saw how he knitted you back together. For a moment I saw the scars you could have had. I already know that he took my form to kill Dynaheir, that he used a Divination to take an image of me from her memory in order to torment her ranger," and he dismissed that idea as if it did not matter. "Tell me what _I_ have to do with this."

"Then you must already know," Elatharia choked out, flinching when he waved her words away. It only made him watch her harder.

"I have to hear it from you. This vital truth which you have denied me, this explanation for…for _everything_ ," his gesture encompassed the whole sphere of air around them but it suggested something more literal.

"Alright," she nodded, her eyes squeezing shut as she said it, her hands coming up to scrub at her face. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she felt rocked by every beat. "Alright. I left some of the truth out when I wrote my message to Imoen." She had thought about leaving her journal open on that exact page in Imoen's room. But something told her the aasimar already knew. "I knew you would read it and I…I was embarrassed. And ashamed."

Edwin scoffed, looking away from her so sharply that she felt she had been right.

"Such things seem irrelevant and certainly trivial in the face of what happened. The shame should be Irenicus's for such base and needless tactics."

"He used your image for some of the…the cutting. I mean, he wore it himself sometimes, it's true. But the scene he showed to you, the things that Bodhi said…that's not really what he used your image for."

Edwin looked back to her sharply, his brow furrowing. But Elatharia bit down on her lip, holding in her words, and watched the expressions cross his face. Brief confusion followed quickly by disbelief, horror, outrage…and dawning understanding.

"You asked me once if Irenicus raped me, and I told you no." She took a deep breath, almost coughing against the shakiness of it, and blinked away tears she had barely noticed welling. "Then you asked if he had someone else do it and I never answered. But you know it now. The answer's yes – the barbed devil. But at first it took the form of you."

The air hung thick between them with his silence. More tears clouding her vision, Elatharia focused on his hands, so still and carefully placed upon his legs. She felt every limb of her own as though it weighed twice as much and listened to the thrum of her heart thundering over the gentler crackle of the fire. When she closed her eyes there was only darkness behind them, and somewhere beyond that…the memories.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when Edwin did not break the silence. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head sharply.

"An apology from you is not what I need. What have you to be sorry for?" he managed at last, his voice hoarse. "I would settle simply for the sight of that mage drowning in his own blood. Perhaps."

The golden light bloomed. _Murder,_ it whispered, and Elatharia shuddered at the thought.

"I would not settle with that," she gritted out, and she knew Edwin saw the golden flash in her pupils. His eyes flared in return, though it was only the firelight that danced in them. One hand flexed, but he did not raise it to touch her – when she reached out to him, his fingers were warm and strong. She watched his hand cover hers, felt the press of it to his leg, and bit at her lips to stop them trembling, feeling the warmth that bloomed within her instead of fear or barren pain.


	60. Their Hidden City

**Thank you to everyone who's reading, and to those of you who've favourited, followed and reviewed.  
And an extra big thank you goes to the wonderful Kaispan for your aid, support and advice with a section of this chapter. ;)**

 **Warning for those who need it: sex references/allusions**

* * *

 **Chapter 59: Their Hidden Cit** **y**

* * *

From the looks of things, Valygar was almost certain that he and Jaheira were the only members of their current group to have previously endured such weather. Of course the whole group had not long since passed through these mountains, less than a tenday ago in fact, but that had been along the broad canyon which linked the Amnish and Tethyrian stretches of the Trade Way. That road was well travelled and well kept, but it would have pulled them a day off course.

Raised in the Umar Hills, at the foot of the taller Cloudpeaks of northern Amn, Valygar was used to the changeable weather and wicked winds of high ground. A traveller for many years, a wanderer in truth, he had been south through these Small Teeth Mountains maybe twice before at this time of year. It was infamously unpredictable and far more treacherous than the foothills of home; there was perhaps a month of dangerous travel left in these winding mountain passes before the snow filled them beyond breaching. As it was the gnarled trees were already bare, the rocks already slippery with frost and ice, and for the whole first day of their journey they had been leading their hardy elf-raised horses on foot with the sky a stark and heavy white above their heads. It would have been easier without the mounts at this point in the journey, but they had been loaned by the elves of the Wealdath and it would have been wrong to sell them off in southern Amn.

The first snows came in the night, heralded by a freezing wind which howled through the narrow rocky passageway and filled the darkness with a cold barrier which even Viconia's nightvision could not penetrate. All six of the travellers sat huddled together in the largest cave they could find in these parts; Jaheira's druidic magic had permitted her to calm the horses and tether them against the back wall, well away from the snow and the cold. Valygar had ventured out with Haer'Dalis and Mazzy to collect firewood, the tiefling apparently unbothered by the cold and quite cheerful about his first sighting of snow.

As unpredictable and disturbing as Valygar found the flighty planar traveller, such positivity was anomalous and useful at times like this. It was especially helpful with Viconia and Anomen both sulking beneath their cloaks when they returned, though at least the drow could call up a spark to light the branches they had managed to collect. When she realised that Haer'Dalis was warm even after a trek through the snow she attached herself to his side and he threw an arm around her with an amused smirk. He watched the thick darkness outside quite carefully, as if he could see straight through the eerie quiet of the falling snow.

Jaheira returned shortly after the fire was crackling and popping at the cave mouth, smoke drifting up above them and whipping away in the wind. She emerged without warning, breaking the barrier of darkness and stepping through into the cave bearing a basket of fish without so much as a comment. Settling it by the fire, she simply shook out her cloak and stamped her boots to shed the snow before crossing her legs beneath her and starting to make preparations for what dinner they could muster. Wordlessly, Valygar joined her and they sat in silence while the others muttered and shifted uncomfortably upon the rocky ground, rubbing their hands against the cold.

Apparently well trained by the Order, Mazzy offered to make something of the fish they had prepared and only once this was done did Jaheira sit back against the wall of the cave mouth, eyeing the others grimly for a time before settling a pensive stare upon the flames. Anomen, who had been morose and silent at best during these days of travel, was attempting to ignore Haer'Dalis's request for aid in making something of the coffee beans he had bought in a bag from the stalls somewhere in Athkatla before they left. It appeared that the knight – or former knight – had fully expected some kind of mockery or even an attempt at poison from the tiefling and did not quite know what to do with such mundanity. And, quite unforeseeably, it appeared that the tiefling was managing to persuade Anomen to get up from his blankets by a pile of armour and actually show him how to make his Maztican coffee.

"They squabble like children," Jaheira groused, the roll of her accent quite strong with her disapproval. Valygar turned to look at her, the druid's thin lips downturned and a deep frown knotting her usually arched brows. "How are we to defeat Irenicus or even render aid to Suldanessellar when they bicker and complain at the sight of a little snow?"

"I think they have proven themselves in battle at least," Valygar reminded. He had the urge to grip her arm, to remind her also that she were not truly alone in this. But he held back and watched her whetstone slide slowly over the knife she had been using for the fish. "Even those whom you cannot trust."

Jaheira grunted unwilling agreement and for a breath or two there was only the grind of the whetstone against steel. Eventually she settled both onto her lap and blew out a long, tired sigh. From the corner of his eye, Valygar saw her glance at him with rueful grey eyes.

"Forgive me, Valygar. It has been a long time since I chose to travel to Tethyr. I have passed through it – and out of it – but I have not been home since I was Imoen's age. I fear what Irenicus may have done to my relatives in the Wealdath, indirectly or otherwise. And to go to fight a man like him without trepidation would be foolish."

"Of course," the ranger nodded. He offered no more words, for what could he possibly say? But Jaheira smiled faintly into the lull, eyeing him curiously.

"Do you still have relatives in Tethyr? You said your grandmother was born there, did you not?"

"Yes," Valygar blinked. He had almost forgotten about it; they were so set on their journey to the Wealdath to confront Irenicus and, hopefully, to play some part in helping Suldanessellar. "And…I do. I hear I have cousins in Darromar."

"Indeed?" Again, she smiled – a little brighter this time. It washed away the lines across her brow and finally reached her eyes. "I was born there, as I have said before. Perhaps…perhaps I would like to see it again, free of war for the first time."

Valygar understood this – and it was good to hear, especially from someone so hardened by past struggles and battles and losses. He held out a hand which she took readily.

"Then, should we both survive, let us go to Darromar after Irenicus is defeated," he proposed, and they shook on it.

* * *

"It feels wrong, sitting here while…while the others travel all that way t-to _Mag in Chatha_."

Aerie said it more to break the silence than anything else, though of course she meant it. Her thoughts kept turning to Anomen, fearful that he must feel wronged over her speedy escape. It had been awfully rude, she was sure. But now Aerie felt especially guilty, sitting in this long and almost deserted tavern hall with the innkeeper glaring at them through his hangover and the damp morning mist drifting so serenely over the slumbering town of Imnesvale. Everything was so peaceful and quiet and comfortable. And it was hard not to think of it when her three companions were so silent.

Imoen was far too distracted by a plate full of pancakes for the time being, and it seemed that the girl was also trying, quite unsubtly, to catch her sister's eye. But Elatharia was silent and tense – though now that Aerie thought back to it, the Transmuter had been almost emotionless for most of the time until lately. Now she kept her eyes on her breakfast and ate it with methodical slowness – though it was almost the exact same plateful which had Imoen so transfixed and enamoured, Elatharia chewed and swallowed as though it tasted of nothing. One might have easily mistaken it for blankness, but this time Aerie could see the difference. And by the Transmuter's side, Edwin had long since finished his breakfast and was sipping on his tea, watching the mist outside as though he were reading full sentences in it.

Glancing at the Red Wizard always set Aerie ill at ease; his fiery temper and penchant for hyperbolic complaint made her shaky and – at best – angry. Still, he had thanked her the night before for saving his life. And after a night perusing the book they had used in the ritual, Aerie was decidedly baffled. Having not enjoyed the benefits of an education as varied and intensive as those of her companions in Candlekeep or Thaymount she had resorted to a _Tongues_ spell not long ago learned from Elatharia in order to read this tome of Netherese divine magic theory. But she was in no doubt – and that was what baffled her. Edwin must surely have known that, had he not been renewed, he would have had a matter of a day left to live, but she was quite certain from Elatharia's comments that the Transmuter had not been aware of this. Why would he keep a secret like that from her when it would surely have improved his chances of the swiftest possible cure?

"We'll be back at the Planar Sphere early tomorrow morning. Jan should have completed his last few corrections and calibrations by then." Elatharia finally dismissed the words which Aerie had all but forgotten that she had spoken. "Jaheira and the others will reach _Mag in Chatha_ by midday tomorrow at best. By that time we'll already be there. And if we aren't, I have the Rhynn Lanthorn so no one can leave without us." The look she shared with Imoen was fierce.

"Assuming the gnome's 'corrections' do not send us careering into deepest Chult (or scatter us like dust amongst the stars)," Edwin grumbled. Elatharia nudged his arm lightly with her elbow, the first hint of positivity from her all morning, and though the Red Wizard did not so much as show a flicker of response that point of contact remained.

"Well, that'd be some way to go," Imoen offered through her last bite of pancakes. Edwin glared at her, for speaking with her mouth full from the looks of things. None of this was making Aerie feel any better.

"Oh, I hope it all…all works," she insisted, and Elatharia nodded quite firmly.

"It will. I've checked the calculations."

"As if that is proof enough," Edwin sniffed.

"Never take her on in a contest of geometry and mechanics, bufflehead," Imoen put in, pointing her fork at him. "Shoulda learned that from last time, mister."

Edwin just shook his head, perhaps a little half-heartedly, and went back to perusing the mist. At last Imoen leaned across the table towards her sister and caught her eye, looking at her face so closely that she seemed to be searching for something.

"You seem tense, big sister. Tense…and not so blank, maybe?"

"I think there's some overlap between the soul Irenicus stole from me and what remains," Elatharia said, green eyes wide and haunted as they met her sister's stare. "It's like…something tugs it back and forth between us. He has most of it, but I have a few of the frayed ends. Every now and again something happens, some focus – or maybe lack of focus – and I get a little more back."

"Makes it hard when it goes back to not much at all, huh?" Imoen's brow was already furrowing, full of some question or other. "But what do you reckon happens when one of you tugs _really_ hard? If the laws of magic say no mortal can steal your whole soul then he can't pull it straight out of you with his strength of will, can he?" The way her voice wavered on each mention of Irenicus made Aerie's heart squeeze.

"No," Edwin agreed, not turning to face the conversation. "A substantial chance would no doubt be the result of some exercise of extreme focus, some channelling of powerful magic. It would not necessarily have to be magic aimed at your soul; any act of arcane focus can allow a host to channel the soul they have taken more intensely."

"That…that doesn't sound good for Suldanessellar," Aerie fretted, and the Conjurer simply acceded her point with a nod.

The thump of Elatharia's spellbook landing on the table had the avariel looking back around in time to see the Transmuter opening it onto its most recent page, where some startling and beautiful interweaving loop of symbols and runes stood out in brilliant ink-red from the stiff white pages. It was entirely unfamiliar, and it made Aerie's head hurt a little to look at it too long. She had never much favoured the school of Transmutation – even Transmutations which, like this one, appeared to be attempting to mimic the forms of Abjuration. The very thought of it made her head hurt even more.

"What's…what is that?" Aerie asked.

"It's the spell that's going to change everything," Elatharia promised, her voice already distant and her eyes following the path of the symbol carefully.

"Come on," Imoen tapped Aerie's shoulder, offering a smile that still turned down at the corners, "Better make sure we're ready to leave tomorrow morning. And maybe get to looking at our own best spells, eh? Long few days coming up."

It was painfully true, _fearfully_ true, and with such thoughts in mind Aerie was quick to follow.

* * *

The industrious quiet ought to have been relaxing, or inoffensive at worst. But even before the necessity to keep these spells private had driven them to Edwin's room, Elatharia had been anything but calm. She felt restless, shaky, her thoughts rocketing through the previously strenuous practice of learning the spell and going through the rules and rehearsal of how to cast it when the time came.

The longer this went on, especially once she had moved on to her more familiar spells, the tenser she felt. There was only one chair in the room, and Edwin had let her take it whilst they initially discussed the best method to learning this most important of spells. Several times she had felt his eyes on her, the faintest hint of their gleam catching at the corners of her vision from his seat on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed. But they discussed plans and theory until it was all as settled as it could be before they reached the gates of distant Suldanessellar.

They returned to this room after their evening meal, now with darkness shrouding the hills beyond the window; Elatharia passed through ostensibly only to check she had not left anything, but the brush of his fingertips on her bare skin bloomed through her senses and stopped her. She turned to look at him, just sitting now upon the bench at the end of the bed once more, and the look on his face had her full attention.

"Elatharia." The tone in his voice was cautious. "This…we must address this. For even if you can bear it, I find it quite distracting."

She opened her mouth to question him, but quickly closed it again. His eyes were dark and serious but not mocking. His touch slid down her arm and dropped from her fingertips, leaving her strangely _intent._ He gestured at himself now, continuing when she offered no resistance to his words.

"Transmutations created from Divinations are infamous for their failings. (She of all people ought to realise…). No matter how much I may or may not have lingered in your memory, whatever Irenicus took from either you or Dynaheir – or both, or any combination of your other companions – would not amount to _me_. I presume there were differences which you can readily recall?"

"Yes," Elatharia nodded. Something warm sparked in her chest. Gods, was that _hope_? "Yes, you were different." The act of remembering dragged against her skull like daggers and it set her to pacing before him. "You were paler, and broader…"

"You remembered me as fatter than I am?" Edwin sounded so scandalised that she turned to face him, though she could not quite summon a smile. Looking at him now, sat like that and watching her, he looked so different. She felt her face reddening as he observed her considering him. The false-Edwin's skin had been sallower; Edwin's was several shades darker, and patterned from his neckline to his wrists with the dark curves and twists and knots of tattoos.

"And your tattoos. I'd never…I _have_ never seen all of your tattoos." His eyebrows raised slowly more in understanding than suggestion but she felt her skin blazing all the same. "The version of you which Irenicus called up had none."

"None." Edwin stated it with a faint tone of disbelief. "Then there is much you do not know."

"Yes," Elatharia hardly even managed to whisper the word. "But it…it seemed like you. It looked enough like you…" _Until it didn't._ "That I was afraid. I am afraid that these things that it's done to me, that I'll remember them when you touch me…when I touch you."

"And has this come to pass?" he asked, leaning forward as her pacing stopped for good and she took a step towards the cushioned seat. "When we have kissed, has it crossed your mind?"

"No, but if something more were…"

"Do you want 'something more'?" The question was so blunt, his tone so low, that she paused before stepping around him. The question made her tremble, and she swallowed hard. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his legs, and watching her so closely.

"Yes," she whispered. He smiled, a faint smirk that crossed his features almost imperceptibly as he sat back. He held out a hand to her and she took it, licking her lips nervously as she felt his skin hot against hers.

"Then we will have to correct this fear," he told her. "And I imagine there are a number of ways to start."

His hold on her hand suggested she step closer and she did so readily until her bare leg brushed against the cold leather of his boot.

"Which ways?" she remembered to ask, and again he smiled. It lasted longer this time, only the faint unsteadiness of his breath a suggestion that he were not quite so collected as he would have her believe.

"It is quite simple," he told her. She took another step closer, his knees against her thighs now, and she reached out to touch the dark lines of tattoos at his neckline. The skin was warm and firm, and it moved beneath her touch as he breathed. "You will have to see the differences for yourself. And perhaps learn that what you were shown is not the way of reality."

Elatharia nodded. She touched the cloth of his shirt tentatively, biting her lips as his hands settled on her waist.

"Then…I want to see the reality," she said, attempting in vain to ignore the flip of her stomach. Edwin spread his arms, something almost _mischievous_ in his dark eyes now.

"Do so."

"That sounds like someone a little too used to being waited on hand and foot," Elatharia noted, narrowing her eyes at him. His smirk only deepened.

"In Thay no Red Wizard would permit a servant to undress them. I am merely offering you a choice."

It felt strange, stepping closer and reaching for the hem of his shirt – for all their closeness at times throughout their travels there had always been this distance as well. Whatever she had wondered, she had never expected for this to happen – not until recently, perhaps. And though she felt foolish for it, she did as he had offered and pulled his shirt over his head; he raised his arms obligingly. It caught on his elbows as he lowered them again but the glare he sent her held no weight. He muttered something about Red Wizards while he freed himself but she ignored him.

Edwin was as slender as she had expected, muscles defined more by virtue of his thinness than strength, though certainly months of travel and endurance had a part in this as well. Regardless, she felt heat rising to her face, biting her lip to hide the nervous smile that tried to show as she attempted to take in the differences – the _truth._

His skin was caught somewhere between a warm shade of copper and bronze, what little of it she could see – for quite apart from the lie Irenicus had shown her, he demonstrated the traditions of the Red Wizards as dramatically as she should have expected. Tiny bands of Mulhorandi script, more art than writing, curved their way down his stomach to narrow hips and vanished beyond the cloth of his trousers. Two warding sigils decorated his chest, and from these the spiralling brush strokes spread over his shoulders and down both arms, spiralling around his skin until they tapered at his wrists. More plaited markings travelled up either side of his neck, one cutting through the scar Bodhi had left and both disappearing behind his ears and into his hair.

Fascinated, distracted, _excited_ , she traced a few of these marking with her fingertip and watched his muscles tense beneath her touch. She felt powerful…but not at all afraid. Not even when she looked back to his face and saw him watching her like that with such fire caught behind his eyes. She unbuckled her belt without conscious thought, just aware that it was too close and heavy against her, and dropped it with a thoughtless thud upon the cushions beside him.

He relaxed a little when she guided his hands to her body and leaned closer until she had to all but climb over him, her knees on the box either side of his hips. Her mouth found his as she blindly slipped her fingers through the buttons of her Robe of Vecna, shivering as his warm hands smoothed over the bare skin of her stomach and her waist, urging her closer, deeper against the heat of his mouth and his body.

She did not recognise the high sound she made as he leaned up against her, his tongue finding hers, nor the low groan he made, muffled against her and trembling through her as she settled more closely against his hips. He broke away, gasping in a breath, and she ducked her head against his neck, curiously nervous to see his face. But the skin there was so hot and smooth that she had to taste that too. He hissed, his fingers tangling in her hair, his breath catching altogether when she traced the line of his scar. His grip tightened a little and he pulled her back enough to see her face, licking his lips almost nervously. His eyes were blacker than she had ever seen them.

"Ah…Elatharia." His voice was low and perhaps a little awkward. She wondered what she looked like to him. Dazed? More dazed than him? She fought the wild urge to muffle his words with her mouth and learn how to make him groan and gasp like that again. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, there was a golden hunger flickering and flashing. "How much did they teach you of these things in Candlekeep?"

"Not much." She felt instantly wary. The path of his fingertip along the bare skin of her thigh told her that he was not _judging_ her. "Probably not enough. But…there was a book we stole from the library once. Of the practices of Thay and Calimshan…"

Edwin chuckled, his hands settling against her hips now and his eyes drifting to the dress she still wore, unbuttoned though it was.

"…perhaps books aren't really that much use either," Elatharia admitted, nodding as his eyes questioned her. It seemed only fair that he push the robe from her, his hands smoothing up from her stomach, curving over the undergarments she still wore before reaching her shoulders and pushing the dress from them. It dropped with a flutter of fabric to the floor and her heart took up a nervous gallop.

"Perhaps," he agreed absently, "But…(how best can I say this…) put simply, if you aim to experiment with what you may make me do then by all means, continue as you are; I am your willing volunteer." And here he leaned forward, the shift of balance forcing her to catch at his arms and pressing his bare skin to hers, the tickle of his breath against her ear fluttering her eyes closed, "But if this is going to be equal, or if I am to learn of _you_ , then you may have to give me a chance to touch you."

Somewhere between the heat of his mouth against her skin and the revelations, the gasps and _fire_ that he showed her once the last of her garments were relinquished, they had stumbled to the easier expanse of the dark bed. She dimly recalled the thump of his boots hitting the floor. She vaguely remembered her breathy request that he not cover her with his weight though the memories of whatever darkness prompted those words never surfaced. She saw more than golden lights behind her eyes and when she reached for him, to learn what she could of _him,_ she marvelled at that too. And once the firelight had died down and left them in the heated darkness, moving together now, she clung to him with everything but fear.

* * *

Suldanessellar had not seen sunlight for days. The ash hung so thick and heavy above the city that the trees which had once been sheltered from autumn thanks to the enchantments bestowed by the Great Tree were shedding their leaves. It was impossible to tell if the cold had finally reached them after all of these centuries, the benevolence of the gods retreated in the face of this new defilement, or if it was simply the ash which had settled upon them like a shroud. Ellesime preferred the latter. Surely her grandfather would not forsake her people? Surely…he would not forsake her?

It was hard not to fear it, though. Not when Joneleth held her in this cage of summoned metal, barely wide enough to sleep in – had she been able to, with the screams of her people filling the air. They were holding out, she could see it – the blooms of magic and the groans of falling golems in the distance attested to that. But this horde of demons who prowled the streets away from the holy hill…they killed anything that descended from hallowed ground. They passed by her cage, hissing and gurgling information to their scarred master, and on the wind they brought with them the stench of blood and sulphur, and the air filled with remembered screams as they paused to stare at her with amused reptilian eyes in jagged, canine faces. And all of it half-seen in the gloom with nothing but the distant fires in the main city beyond this ancient garden to illuminate their towering, monstrous visages.

After days of this, caught here with no semblance of dignity and only a jug of water and a slice of bread to sustain her, Ellesime had begun to understand. At first she had wondered if this was some shaming for her, some part of his vengeance against the punishment she had given to him. But no, how could it be? The deaths of her people, the struggles they faced – those brought guilt enough. And he had not even made her watch. He had brought her out here and held her in this pen _away_ from the suffering. The garden and the orchards stood between them and the city, a hellish band of redness in the distance. There were only the monstrous guards and the falling ash out here, sticking to her skin and weighing down her hair. And Joneleth the 'Irenicus', of course.

He barely looked at her; he ignored her begging, her anger and her prayers. He did not meet her eyes. He conferred with his demons and his devils, he sent his mephits out to scout the Great Tree against whose trunk they waited, he scribbled endlessly in his spellbooks and paced the ground before them. He did not seem to sleep nor to need sleep. He remained untouched by the ash and ate as he wrote. He barely ever left her sight. But he did not turn for the natural stairway in the bark which would surely lead him to his goal, to the power he longed to rob at last from the Tree. The golden shine in his eyes had dwindled since he first captured her and dragged her to this cage.

Ellesime understood at last: he was waiting for something. And now she heard the booming in the air, the whip of wind too strong for these parts filling her hair and pushing against her skin. She saw the great dark shadow of it soaring over the horizon and filling the field with pure, impenetrable dark. It blocked out the fires in the distance and landed with a shudder of earth. It waited, seething, while she stood there quaking, blinking wide eyes into the blackness uselessly and gripping the bars before her with fingers that ached with the strain.

"You arrive at last," Irenicus snapped, unseen perhaps a pace or two to Ellesime's left. She could imagine him standing there, arms folded. Imperious as ever. And then the voice that filled the air shook leaves from the Tree above. It knocked her to her knees.

"I would not waste my time on this place, human. I preferred to wait until you had proven yourself an honest…man. But I am here, as agreed, and when I have fulfilled my promise to you I _will_ have the power you promised to _me_."

"Of course," Irenicus sounded dismissive. "Though it is barely a chore that I ask. This spell may take some time – I would have you see to it that no trespassers come to distract me."

The dragon rumbled some agreement, the shaking of the ground suggesting that it had turned about. Irenicus needed no other prompting; a stream of spellwords swelled for just a moment before the power grew in his arms, filling the air and crackling against Ellesime's skin. A bright golden light poured up and around them, limning the previously unseen wards protecting the Tree. Perhaps the gods had not forsaken her, but it would only be a matter of time before Irenicus broke through.

* * *

From a sea of chill darkness and half-muffled screams Elatharia lurched upwards with a great gasp. It took a long moment for her to comprehend that she was already sitting up in bed, her eyes blinking and open. The fire was lit again, its heat stroking at her sweat-chilled face from across the room, and the furs and sheets covering the bed were bunched around her and tangled in her legs. It was daylight, though soft and grey in the manner of very early morning. And Edwin was writing at the desk, dressed in trousers, shirt and doublet.

"You still have bad dreams," he stated, the scratch of his quill on the parchment of his spellbook barely hesitating as he spoke. He did not turn around, as if he knew that she needed to calm herself first. To _gather_ herself.

"Ever since Gorion died, yes," Elatharia croaked, rubbing at her eyes blearily and trying to think. Behind her closed lids there was that eerie stillness, that hollow feeling in her chest. And only the faintest glimmer of feeling, enough to disorientate her further. "Did I…did I wake you? I think sometimes the nightmares make me shout in my sleep…"

"No," Edwin sounded amused. The quill stopped its gentle scratching. "My years in Thay have taught me to sleep for only exactly as long as I must."

Elatharia nodded numbly though she knew he was not looking. Ought there to be some tension between them? But no. the only thing that had changed was a return to this brutal normality. What little remained of her soul had curled away from her again. For a long moment she simply sat there, staring at the fire, and could not bring herself to move. Eventually, this drew a glance from Edwin.

"My soul is gone again," she told him. He simply nodded, as if he knew. "There's something still there, at the back of my mind, and sometimes it comes back, but not for long. Just for the things that matter, Imoen said." The air was cold against her bare skin, prickly with sweat, and at last she remembered to spare a cleaning cantrip for herself and the sheets she had drenched. Once this was done she dragged the furs back over her bare torso, at last noticing that she was shivering. "I don't think Irenicus had any left. There are times when I feel, but he only ever said that he could _remember_." She eyed her clothes, folded neatly by her bed in a way that she had not left them, and _remembered_ the great waves of golden light.

"I know," Edwin told her. He was watching her mildly, but for that spark of something bright in his eyes. "As a Conjurer, I learned something of soul theory at my time in Thaymount. (As she should surely realise). But I do not need to know much of that to know that whatever it is that Irenicus has done to you is not equivalent to the curse he endured. There would be no golden light of Bhaal to show in your eyes if he had taken your soul." His voice lowered, and she recalled what he must have meant – his skin illuminated in gold, shining in the darkness. It had not been her _vision;_ it had been the light pouring from her eyes.

Soul or no soul, her skin filled with heat at this, her cheeks reddening visibly enough to draw a smirk from Edwin. Elatharia winced, trying to show some apology in her face, remembering that perhaps she ought to feel it.

"I'm sorry. I think maybe I should be doing something else but I…" _Just can't feel it_.

Edwin stood at that, his boots thumping faintly against the floor as he reached her side of the bed, bending briefly to gather up her clothes and hand them to her. She took them, blinking, and wondered at first if he was implying she should leave. Instead he hesitated, as though not sure quite what to do himself. There was something a little confused in his expression when she looked up at his face, though he tried to hide it. She jumped a little when his thumb brushed the markings across her left cheek, and then felt her eyes widen as her body recalled the way his touch had made her feel the night before. He opened his mouth as if to speak but caught the words before they could escape; he visibly changed his mind.

"I think the only thing we should be doing is finding some breakfast," he managed at last.

* * *

"Aerie, this isn't going to work," Elatharia insisted.

The group stood a short distance from the inn, each holding the reins of the horses lent to them by the elves of _Mag in Chatha,_ the beasts huffing and shifting nervously as if they knew what was about to happen. It was still gloomy so early in the morning at this time of year and thick with fog, but her mask permitted her a clear view of Aerie's intense disapproval. If it were not for the avariel's determination on the matter, the Transmuter would have sold those horses to the innkeeper.

"The Planar Sphere is not designed to hold horses. The passageways are too narrow and we won't be able to get them to the atrium in order to lead them out. I left the teleportation stone to bring us back in the Meeting Room…"

"Not to mention the mess they will make when they are inside," Edwin pointed out. Elatharia could only nod. Even Imoen grimaced at that.

"Well there must be something you…you can do," Aerie said.

"We could leave you here with them?" Edwin suggested, just the faintest smirk curving his lips.

"After…after I saved your life?" the avariel sounded more angry than hurt. Imoen grinned by her side.

"She's got a point."

"Alright, alright," Elatharia waved any more words away, eyeing the horses carefully. "So we need to be able to get them out of the Planar Sphere, and we'd rather not let them make a mess."

She paused, just the whistle of the chill wind in her ears while the others watched her in dutiful silence. Inspiration came in a rush, and she began to cast immediately. Dimly she was aware of Aerie protesting as white sparks flew from her fingers and opaque magical energy gathered around their mounts. When at last the spell ended and the white light faded, four wooden figurines stood in place of their horses. Aerie gaped down at them in abject horror.

"What…what did you do?" she exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth. Beside her, Imoen was picking her horse up, holding the palm-sized wooden replica close to her face and inspecting it curiously. Edwin gave a grunt of understanding and a brief laugh, picking his up also.

"I haven't killed them, Aerie," Elatharia promised, "They're just…suspended safely in the Weave until we get to _Mag in Chatha_."

"Are you…are you _sure?_ "

A firm nod silenced Aerie's questions, though she cradled her replica horse protectively once they were ready to depart, each touching a hand to the teleportation stone that Edwin held out. A spellword and a flash of light, a brief sense of weightlessness…and they stumbled on the hard white floor of the Planar Sphere's domed circular Meeting Room. They had just a moment to reorientate themselves in this smooth, brightly lit environment with its dramatic wizard-battle fresco sprawling across the ceiling before a gruff exclamation drew their attention to the central table.

"Moradin's Hammer! Eh, gods – looks like they're back, lad."

Korgan had leapt from his seat and was just trying to hide his surprise, glowering at the new arrivals as effectively as he could. Jan was fiddling with the controls in the far wall with his back to them and did not bother to look around as he spoke.

"Oh good, right on time. Not dead then, Eddie?"

"Most certainly not." The Red Wizard straightened, his glare boring into the back of the gnome's balding head.

"Not sure if that's so good," Korgan grunted. He seemed to think about sitting back down but Jan glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf and the group just setting their wooden horses on the table.

"No no, no time for sitting. I've things to show all of you!"

"Looks the same to me," Imoen said, eyeing the untouched white walls dubiously. That had Jan whirling around from the glass case of cogs, flicking through the lenses on his goggles until his eyes were no longer alarmingly magnified. He pointed one stubby, grease-stained finger her way but there was a mischievous gleam in his weathered face.

"Not so! It may not look like much, but I have reconfigured the entire system of this machine. It is not only now functional…"

"(In theory)," Edwin muttered.

"…but it is also probably more efficient than ever before. Although I'm not so sure about durability." The gnome pushed his goggles onto his forehead and for just a moment a defeated look crossed his face. He rubbed at his nose, leaving a smear of ink – or perhaps grease. "Though for the life of me I can't find Suldanessellar. Hovered over half the Wealdath, and no sign of it. The wards are too strong, for now at least."

"Wait…you've already used the Sphere without us?" Elatharia asked. Jan blinked at her.

"We're already in _Mag in Chatha,_ glorious leader," he threw a wink Imoen's way. "I think that the elves have been prodding the metal walls for perhaps a few hours now."

Edwin snorted, smirking down at Elatharia when she glanced at him in surprise.

"There is something satisfyingly amusing about the idea of those fools being so utterly confounded and perhaps a little frightened," he admitted. Elatharia could only nod slowly, too empty to see the humour.

"Well at least we're here before the others, or we should be. I wouldn't trust those elves with Viconia even with the geas they forced on her." All the same, the idea of going outside to meet Elhan was hardly a pleasant one.

"Now, before we disembark I would like for you to pause a moment in the room ahead," Jan said, a little too fast for the declamatory drama he had been aiming for as he turned the wheel on the round white door to the Viewing Room. Elatharia tensed automatically, trying her best not to notice the glance Edwin sent her way. "And I think you're all going to like this – especially those of us who might remember this chamber for unsavoury reasons. This is much better than Minauros." It was almost as if he had read her mind.

Jan stepped aside for the others to filter through, Imoen and Aerie going first followed by Korgan. The avariel's delighted gasp drew Elatharia forwards as well, and once inside she could understand Jan's words. The narrow walkway was gone, the two glass walls each lowered by ninety degrees to create a solid but clear floor, and the map now lay beneath them – no longer of the cosmos but of endless green trees and a little stretch of grassland by a stone circle and a cluster of tents. The dome of _Mag in Chatha_ was just visible, and when Elatharia stepped back she could see the grey Sphere beneath her feet. Another step back and she almost tripped over Edwin's boots; no doubt he had been staring down upon the map as well. He did not move back, the warmth of his hand settling against her lower back while the others wandered the glass floor, oblivious.

"Oh, this is marvellous, Jan!" Aerie was saying, clapping her hands and grinning across at the gnome, who took a bow. "I just…just wish it could take us to Suldanessellar." Her brow furrowed a little at the reminder of the task ahead, but her eyes soon turned to the trees beneath her and she crouched down to touch the glass. "How wonderful though. It's…it's almost like flying."

"Except we're firmly on the ground, I hear," Korgan put in through the open doorway leading back into the Meeting Room. It looked as though he had gone to collect his backpack and armour. "A durn good thing too. Bah, flyin'…"

"He's right, Wingless," Jan nodded. "It's just a map. That wheel over there, by Sparkles," he pointed in the direction of Imoen, who was peering at the runes patterning the mechanism and sent a baffled look his way at the nickname. "That'll zoom us out for a better l-"

"Oh, is _that_ what it does?" Imoen said, spinning it without further prompting.

The ground slipped away from them at dizzying speed, leaving all of them reeling and Korgan cackling at the sight of them staggering needlessly across the glass floor. Aerie was now kneeling on the glass with her palms pressed down before her, a little green in the face, and Imoen was wearing a significantly more bashful expression. Elatharia had backed up against the wall and Edwin was just reaching for the door frame, cursing. Even Jan looked a little disorientated.

"Well, that was one way to do it," the gnome offered with a crooked grin. Imoen's eyebrow's rose. "Good view, though."

Now the whole of Tethyr and Amn lay below them, the deep emerald swathe of the Wealdath melding into the yellows and paler greens of harvesttide farmlands and grasslands. The Cloudpeaks and Small Teeth Mountains cut jagged lines along both countries' northern borders, and further up lay the greyer lands of the autumnal Western Heartlands, the Cloakwood a smudge of orange-dotted black. The coast was visible now as well, the sea westwards glittering blue. In the south there was just the slightest hint of pale gold where Tethyr's desert began.

"I can see Candlekeep!" Imoen exclaimed, stumbling towards the pale grey dot on its rocky peninsula. But her voice faltered, and Elatharia looked away sharply. _I want to go home. Tell me we can go home._

"We should go and meet the elves," the Transmuter said, her tone perhaps a little sharp. She did not look back at her sister, shooing the others to the opposite door which would lead to the atrium and the Sphere's front door. "And someone take the horses. I'm not changing them back until we're on real ground."

Edwin did not leave with the others, pointing instead to the closed door to the Meeting Room once only the two wizards remained. He appeared to be affecting a look of indignation, though as Elatharia stepped towards him this wavered.

"Did you expect me to forget that you had left one of _my_ teleportation stones within? I do not recall gifting it to you. (And indeed that would be a pointless gesture, when two are required for travel)."

"I think we should leave it here. If we're leaving the Planar Sphere here, too. Who knows what we'll face in Suldanessellar – we might need to escape." Her throat tightened at the thought.

Edwin's hands settled on her shoulders, stopping her advance at arms' length. His expression was grim but determined, his failure to complain or disagree suggesting that her plan seemed sound enough to him, even if he would not admit it aloud.

"This is powerful magic," he said, his eyes blazing at the thought. "This whole Sphere. Even if it were made by others, you and the gnome (and the avariel, even) were the ones who planned its renewal. Logic dictates that there must therefore be great power amongst us, also."

Elatharia fought the widening of her eyes, the frightened look she knew was showing. She wanted to look away, or shake her head. To hide from the truth to come and the truth he had spoken. Instead she took a breath, fisting a hand in his jacket and pulling him towards her. He stepped willingly, watching her face.

"Alright," she breathed. "I won't lie, facing Irenicus is the most terrifying thing I might ever do. It might even be the last thing we ever do, teleportation stones or not. But it's always been coming, and I won't run from it." She held his stare determinedly. "When this is over, I'll have my soul," she promised. "And I'll have my revenge."

Edwin's grinned at that, a hard look of shared wrath.

* * *

It was almost midday when Jaheira and Valygar led their companions into sight of the vine dome of _Mag in Chatha,_ the elvish tents still dotted about now hard ground. The gleam of the sun on metal plating quickly caught her eye; there stood the Planar Sphere, huge and totally out of place against the side of the hill whose top was crowned by standing stones. The construction looked to have managed a softer landing than the one Lavok had given it in Athkatla, at least. But the sight of it still made Jaheira's eyes narrow, and it was from more than just the jagged shard of sunlight glancing off its steel shell.

"Aha! Our friends are here before us, good news!" Haer'Dalis cried as his horse reached the rise just a few paces behind Jaheira. A glance back showed Viconia beside him, a faint smile coming to her face. The look the drow and tiefling shared was more one of relief, however.

"They are ahead?" Anomen demanded, spurring his horse on to join theirs. His hair was dishevelled from the ride, and now he barely slowed as he rode past. "Do you see Aerie?" But there was no chance to answer, for he was already past them. Jaheira caught Valygar's weary sigh as he and Mazzy followed, the paladin now sharing his horse for the last stretch of the journey.

The elves had the grim-faced General Sovalidas waiting for the returning group as they emerged from around the Planar Sphere, two soldiers by his sides ready to take their horses. There was little warmth in the greeting, a positive chill in the air as Sovalidas's pale eyes focused on Viconia.

"Your allies preceded you," he greeted, gesturing for them to walk past him towards Elhan's tent. "And with the Rhynn Lanthorn that we will need to find Suldanessellar. With the horn returned to us our mages can teleport us to the boundaries of the Hidden City's wards. It will only be a short walk to follow the Lanthorn's magic to the gates of Suldanessellar and there is no time to spare. I had begun to wonder if we were going to be leaving without you. The planning is almost complete."

That filled Jaheira with disquiet, and she caught Valygar's arm reflexively. He glanced down at her, as if expecting her tense words.

"We should have demanded they give the Rhynn Lanthorn to us," she hissed.

"Imoen and Aerie are with them," the ranger reminded. It was hard to stay calm at the thought of her revenge being stolen from her. Jaheira shook her head.

"And I imagine that Edwin is returned in full health once more."

A quick glance back to the Planar Sphere showed a smooth white ramp had been lowered from the spherical doorway, which now stood closed. Valygar followed her stare while the others trooped past them, only Sovalidas waiting with his usual glare.

"Perhaps the best thing we can do for now is to ignore our differences," the ranger offered, a little awkwardly. He looked as though he could not believe he was saying this. "We will need the help of wizards to stop a wizard."

"Yes," Jaheira agreed, though the idea of the Red Wizard returned to them was unnerving at best. Just what had happened in the time between his capture and his release?

Elatharia, Imoen and the others were gathered outside Elhan's tent when their companions arrived. Anomen went straight to Aerie's side, taking her hands, and she was promising him that all was well as gently as she knew how. Haer'Dalis and Viconia were already greeting Elatharia, Edwin and Imoen though the aasimar offered a wave to Jaheira as she joined them. And yes, the Red Wizard seemed himself again. Jan and Korgan were saying something to Mazzy, the gnome sparing a few amused glances for the others' conversation. But Jaheira watched it without much pleasure or interest. Her thoughts were on the dark trees of the Wealdath and whatever lay beyond. Now that they were all reunited only one thing remained: the successful defeat of Irenicus.

Only the arrival of High Knight Elhan stirred Jaheira from her thoughts. He greeted them brusquely, offering nods to Jaheira and Aerie but otherwise avoiding eye contact. The druid did not much like the way his vision passed rather pointedly over all of the humans in their group – even Valygar, whose understanding of the woodlands could never be called into question. The High Knight's expression did brighten considerably when Elatharia held out the Rhynn Lanthorn – she did not let go, however, even when he tried to pull it from her.

"We have suffered a great deal for this horn," the Transmuter warned, expression so blank that it was chilling to see. "I will not see you disappear without us – and no matter what you promised I will not trust your word." She hesitated, untouched by Elhan's growing glare and apparently unthreatened by the gathering knights and priests and wizards of this elvish company who were ready to leave with them. A smirk came to her face, so faint it was almost imperceptible. "Unless you were to submit to a geas much like Viconia's."

A hum of disquiet spread through the gathered crowd but for once the entirety of Elatharia's group stood firm. It was a little heart-warming, Jaheira realised. It made her feel guilty and relieved in equal measure, though she winced when Elhan met her eyes in the hope that she might share his scandalised expression. Instead she stepped up beside Imoen, who had folded her arms and planted her feet quite pointedly by her sister. Viconia and Haer'Dalis were standing back but their expressions showed their agreement. Valygar and Anomen were both grim faced but silent, Aerie blinking out at Elhan from between them.

"Looks like ye might have to bring us along, tree lover," Korgan sniggered, leaning pointedly on his axe. "Much as frolickin' in the trees doesn't appeal to me."

"We will keep the Rhynn Lanthorn," Elatharia insisted, her gaze sweeping around the gathered elvish knights dispassionately. Behind her, Edwin watched with careful stillness, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. But there was simply no time for negotiations, and they all knew it.

"Very well," Elhan gritted out, muttering some bitter command to Sovalidas who stood to attention over his shoulder.

The grim general snapped a command into the crowd and after a brief period of jostling three white-robed elves stepped through. One, a male, carried a heavy stone symbol of Rillifane while the two females with him wore the belt pouches of mages. With their approach the Transmuter's grip on the Rhynn Lanthorn tightened visibly. Jaheira had been about to step around Imoen, to ensure that she could see what passed next, but the aasimar gripped her hand tightly.

"I remember you don't much like spells that pick you up and put you somewhere new," Imoen said when the druid looked to her with surprise. "Won't be long now." And the trepidation in her eyes showed what it was she truly meant. So Jaheira just nodded and squeezed Imoen's hand in return – the smile she received from the aasimar was only faint, but at least it was genuine. At least it reached her eyes.

"We are all here I take it?" Elhan demanded of his gathered troops; a number of knights bearing red feathers in their domed bronze helmets raised their hands and the High Knight seemed satisfied with whatever information this gave him. He sent one last distrustful look across the party of adventurers, his eyes lingering now on Haer'Dalis, Viconia and Edwin. He frowned at the sight of the Red Wizard, more suspicious of the tattoos he could see than certain that there was a Thayvian in their midst. "Take us as close to the border of Suldanessellar's wards as you can. Be prepared for combat."

The spellcasters nodded, stepping up to Elatharia and touching the surface of the Rhynn Lanthorn she held. Leaning around Imoen, Jaheira could see how closely the Transmuter watched the elves as they began to call up their power before her. Edwin stepped around her, his hand brushing Elatharia's elbow as he muttered something to her, his eyes sweeping around the expectant group doubtfully. Jaheira did not need to have heard him to guess at his thoughts, for she shared them – here stood their party of twelve, and some five score elves. It had to be the power of the Rhynn Lanthorn that would carry them, for surely the two wizards and the priest now lending his power to their magic could not pick them all up together and deposit them several hundred miles across the Wealdath?

The answer came quite unexpectedly. One moment Jaheira had been thinking of the numbers of soldiers, squeezing Imoen's hand and watching the Rhynn Lanthorn beginning to glow a peculiar sickly green in Elatharia's hands…and then she blinked and blackness spread across her opening eyes. She lost the grip of Imoen's hand, she faintly heard the echo of Valygar's voice, and for a moment silence rang in her ears. She was weightless and cold, suspended but somehow aware of the rush of movement all around her.

Sensation returned with a great rushing in her ears. It swelled to a roar, punctuated by long, resonant creaks and distant shouts. Several more blinks and her eyes adjusted to the gloom; she saw the towering beams of trees rising up above her and all of them blackened and bare and utterly dead. She saw her companions and the elves finding their footing, spread out evenly but more widely than they had been when the spell was cast. There was Imoen, and not far off Elatharia and Edwin already stumbling to each other's sides, peering about with anxious eyes ill used to confusion. Korgan had fallen on to his back in the deep white fluff which covered the ground and a combination of Valygar and Anomen was required to lift him to his feet, cursing loudly. But the dwarf's was the only loud sound in this dead legion of trees. There was only the creaking of the charred wood, and somewhere distant the mighty crash of one falling to the earth.

Ash. It lay thick upon the ground, spread about and clinging to the ferns which rose up from it. It drifted on the air, which clogged Jaheira's throat and made her cough. The whole world smelled of burning, the sky dark with smoke as if night had come early. There was such a deep hush, every movement muffled by the mass of ash, that even Korgan was looking about himself in dawning understanding. Jaheira did not much like the look of awe in his eyes.

A fair number of paces behind her, far enough that his shouts only just carried, Elhan was calling for his soldiers to regroup and join him. His calls stabbed at Jaheira's thoughts – for a long moment she kept her eyes on the ruined trees. A whisper to Silvanus, a brush against the warm power of the earth below that hand-span of whiteness, and a cool breeze whipped outwards from her place. It stirred the ferns and more delicate plants and fungi which had survived this ruination, freeing them of the ash choking the life from them. A hand at her elbow and a deep voice close by her shoulder finally drew her attention. She straightened at Valygar's urging.

"They are saying Suldanessellar is less than a mile east from here," he told her, softly as though it might anger her. But the look in his eyes was steady and _understanding_. "Wards or no wards, Elhan knows this stretch of forest. He says there will be others converging by now."

"We should hurry then," Jaheira nodded, casting one final glance back at the dark, dead forest. It was hard to tell how deep the destruction went. "I have done what I can for this place."

Valygar offered a tight smile and let go of her arm, turning as she did to follow the others. The elves were taking the lead – not marching like humans but drifting in sinuous lines amongst the trees – and Jaheira's others companions were starting to follow, a green strand of light pointing ahead from the Rhynn Lanthorn held in Elatharia's distrustful hands. Imoen was glancing over her shoulder as she followed the others down a rocky incline, eyes wide and nervous in the gloom. Mazzy and Aerie were a little ahead of her with Anomen; Korgan was stomping off ahead after Viconia and Haer'Dalis with Jan scrambling in their wake, Elatharia and Edwin a little beyond them.

Bringing up the rear, Jaheira saw the others hesitating at the treeline even before she heard the crackle and roar of flame – but she smelled the smoke more strongly now, and in the distance perhaps those were even screams. Dashing to join the others, squeezing between Aerie and Imoen while the elves filtered down into the flattened, blackened land below, she saw the slope downwards littered with broken vine houses and charred bodies, splashed with glistening dashes of congealing blood. There were tents in the distance as well, however – new structures, and armoured figures rushing to meet Elhan's soldiers now stepping from the treeline.

This destruction had cut a great black scar in the land. It wound its way downwards almost to the horizon, cutting through this higher section of the Wealdath which was now jagged and burned to a husk. There were visible remains of broken trees, trampled vine houses, dead bodies – here was the land held within Suldanessellar's non-detection wards. Ancient villages now lost to Irenicus's wrath. And there, on the horizon, burned Suldanessellar on its high hill, the roots of its Great Tree winding around and around the slope now gleaming red. It was impossible to see much beyond the rising smoke and thick red-gold of fire. But there was their goal.

Grim-faced, almost silent, the party headed down to join the elves.


	61. Our Burning City

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, your comments are so greatly appreciated! And of course to everyone who has favourited and followed. :)**

 **My apologies for the slowness of this update.**

* * *

 **Chapter 60: Our Burning City**

* * *

The camp filled Aerie with a hollow sense of nostalgia, the feeling that she ought to have been relieved or comforted by the presence of so many elves whose manners and experiences were closer to her own. Instead she felt an aching sense of loss and dread to be amongst them as they went about their drills and practices. After all, it was all against the backdrop of flaming Suldanessellar and its scarred surrounding lands, a black wasteland of burned villages and forest reaching across a half-mile radius all the way to the red hot roots of the Great Tree and the walls of the city upon them. Though she had been raised in the mountains and the open air, amongst crisp white snow and snaking glaciers, the pain of the trees and the people within the fabled Hidden City brought some greater pain to Aerie. She knew, somehow, that those roots blazed red not because of the fire welling from the city they encircled but from the agony of the sentient Tree blessed by the elvish gods.

Though she had never been a priest of an elvish god, she had been raised in the faith of Aerdrie Faenya and she still thought of the elvish pantheon with fondness and respect. She knew this place was ancient and sacred to all elves, akin to Faenya Dáil amongst her people and Myth Drannor of the moon elves. It was the ultimate antithesis of Ust Natha, whose towering and branching architecture still called to mind the woven walls and cradling roots of Suldanessellar. From this vantage point closer to the higher levels of the Wealdath which surrounded the city's environs, she could just about make out the mighty shadow of the Great Tree if she concentrated hard enough. It was so tall that it crested the tops of the ancient trees of the forest around it, though they rose up from much higher ground.

Otherwise, it was hard to make out much beyond the flames and blazing roots of Suldanessellar, for the ground which sloped down towards it was thick with drifting smoke and falling ash borne on the cold wind. Somewhere amidst that stretch of ruination Imoen, Mazzy, Viconia and Haer'Dalis were creeping through the deepening darkness. And there were demons prowling out there, held at bay now only by the holy runes scratched into the blackened earth at the borders of this camp.

Elhan and his knights had hailed those already waiting out here with familiar greetings. It had turned out, as these elves already camped out here had viewed the foreign adventurers with still and threatening suspicion, that this was the base of a group of natives and soldiers who had held out against the destruction now surrounding them. Some had escaped Suldanessellar itself before the gates were closed off with magic and others had joined them from the smaller and now utterly destroyed settlements around the city. But only now with the aid of the Rhynn Lanthorn had anyone come to them from outside the dome of non-detection magic. It appeared they had been quite literally praying for the arrival of the Knights of _Mag in Chatha_. They had not been so hopeful for the aid of outsiders, though they had been quite happy to send Mazzy and the others out instead of their own.

The thought of her friends out there had Aerie hovering at the edge of camp, peering out into the smog just a pace back from the protective barrier raised by the priests of Rillifane. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the shrieking of monsters, and further away an endless dull beating as of a host of drums. The elves had informed her that this rhythm was created by the patrolling feet of the golems of Suldanessellar which Irenicus had turned against their people.

"As strange as it feels to say it, I believe that Mazzy and Imoen will be safer for Haer'Dalis's company with demons afoot," Anomen said, his voice so cautious that Aerie did not even feel a fleeting jolt of surprise. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him standing there in the padded jerkin and faded cloth trousers which he usually wore under his plate mail. His curling bronze hair was heavy and faded with ash and he was watching her from the narrow gap between two tents with a look of near-trepidation. How had she scared him off so badly?

"I…I think you're right," Aerie nodded, though her heart continued to flutter in fear.

Guilty, she held out a hand towards Anomen and offered him a tremulous smile. It seemed to soften his nerves at least, for he stepped forward readily, his hand warm and calloused around hers as he reached her side, his dark eyes narrowing in an attempt to see past the fog and smoke which rendered Suldanessellar a distant and blurred shadow on the horizon.

"Jaheira is making some attempt to win over these…" Anomen hesitated, his expression flickering when Aerie glanced up at him. "To win over the elves. Although I am not sure how successful her attempts may be." He glanced down at her, eyes warm. "Though of course they do not think ill of you. And I can hardly blame them for their doubt at being joined by a Red Wizard, a tiefling and a drow. Not to mention two Bhaalspawn."

Aerie winced, biting down on her lip to hold back her words. Now was not the time for arguments – gods knew what would soon come to pass.

"J-Jaheira used to live in the Wealdath," she reminded him instead. "Not near…near here perhaps, but she is n-not a stranger to their ways. She…she will make them see her point if they d-don't listen." She gave a nervous laugh and Anomen nodded, looking away from her again. A frown furrowed his brow. For a little while they stood there in silence.

"My lady, I…hope you do not have cause to think worse of me."

Anomen spoke the words a little fast, as if he had forced them free with some dread. Aerie blinked up at him in rising alarm, her grip tightening on his hand automatically.

"What…why would say that?" she squeaked, her throat constricting with a stab of guilt. Anomen sighed almost wearily.

"I am perhaps a selfish brute at times, my lady, but I am not entirely a fool. You travelled north with Elatharia with barely a word to me, and you refused to acknowledge the dangers of her company, not to mention of aiding one such as Edwin. And all of it so shortly after we…and I told you that I love you."

"Maybe…" Aerie's cheeks reddened as she looked up at him and her heart sank to see that he would not look back at her. "Maybe if we cannot speak of what…what we did together in w-words then m-maybe it was a little soon? I…I'm sorry I couldn't stay but I just…just needed time to think. We d-didn't give each other much time to think, d-did we?" She tried to smile, but Anomen's frown only deepened. He extricated his hand from hers gently and continued to stare ahead.

"Then you do regret it?"

"N-no!" But the word rang false in Aerie's ears. She took a deep breath. "I d-don't feel it was…was wrong," she amended. He flinched away from her touch, taking a step back when at last he turned to face her. There was something bright and wild in his brown eyes as he looked down at her.

"And you remain silent in response to my promise that I love you," he said, so softly that it hurt worse than a shout. Aerie grimaced, wringing her hands. "I have not known anyone so gentle and good as you – but to act as you did after I said such words to you and now to hesitate I…" he ran a hand through his hair, smearing ash across his forehead. "I might name you cruel if I did not know better." He took another step back. "I had hoped that you were simply uncertain of what we did, not of how you feel. I have heard such things of the noble ladies my friends have known…"

"I don't think it's that…that simple, Anomen," Aerie said, watching him miserably. His eyes flashed at those words, as though something had offended him. "And I'm…I'm not like the women of Athkatla that…that you think you know." But it hurt to see him so upset with her. It hurt terribly. He cringed with every word she spoke next. "It's not…not that I regret anything. It's just I'm n-not sure how I…what I feel." Her tone was pleading now, her voice shaking ever more. "We…we've suffered so…so much and seen such things…I n-need a little p-peace before I can think of anything clearly."

"And you think that you can go into battle with such a weakness?" he asked, eyes narrowing sharply. The words stung but Aerie braced herself against them. She knew the hoarse tone in his voice.

"I'm…I'm needed here, even if you can't see it." She balled her fists by her side, tilting her chin. "And I'm…I'm sorry I can't tell you anything different. B-but when this is all over, once…once Suldanessellar is free we can talk again, c-can't we?" But he was already shaking his head and stepping away from her, his expression closing off from her, and her voice rose and caught to see this. "Can't…can't we?"

"Perhaps, my lady." He offered a stiff bow. "But for now I shall focus on the battle to come, as you say. I cannot promise anything more, for you have done no better than that."

He strode away from her with the quick and jerky steps of one who could not get away soon enough but Aerie did not watch him go, turning back to the fog and worrying her lip for a moment or two before a great sigh overcame her and she buried her face in her hands.

* * *

The air was thick with smoke and darkness – and the creeping dread which followed all full demons and devils. It jangled Viconia's nerves, though her goddess's power hummed about her in the comforting gloom. There was a stillness, soft and muffled by ash, but it crawled with expectation and danger. However he had done it, Irenicus had called to his command an army of monsters from the Lower Planes – the gangly, spiny forms of their foot soldiers prowled the blackened earth around the great elven city, and the closer Imoen led this small group the more of those beasts Viconia could make out, blazing out against the deepening darkness as her infravision took over.

When something snapped in the distance and the shapes of the beasts stilled, Viconia ducked behind the jutting shards of charred wood and vines which had once been a home of some kind; Imoen and Mazzy crouched with her, faces already stained by ash peering out with wide eyes. She felt Haer'Dalis's hand on her arm as he joined them, the brush of his hair against her neck as he eyed the greyness beyond them.

"Barbed devils and babau demons should never work together," he whispered, his tone as grim as she had ever heard it. "Ah, and I spy those flighty turncoats the quasits amongst them also. But these are merely the expendable ranks of the Lower Planes folk. They will have generals amongst them beyond those sweeping gates. But it is through the will of Irenicus alone that these monsters work together, ignoring the Blood War."

Viconia followed his gaze with a grimace, to where the walls of Suldanessellar filled the smoky air, gates fifty feet high dotted with the shapes of the monsters who took turns to prowl this wasteland of ash. They gleamed yellow and red to her infravision and there were too many ahead even for the numbers of elves back at their camp to defeat quickly. And it would need to be quick before reinforcements could swarm from the city and stop the elves breaching the gates. Still, there was no other option – a shimmering dome of power arced over the city, rising from its high walls. Irenicus had strengthened the protection wards across Suldanessellar.

Another snap sounded, perhaps twenty paces across the scarred earth, by a fallen tree now half buried in ash. Haer'Dalis's grip tightened on Viconia's arm, his chin bumping her temple, and she could not fault his tenseness – of all of them, he alone truly understood the slender, hunched babau demon now turning towards the sound by that tree. Its eyes flashed white hot as it took in the land.

It lurched forward when the snap sounded again, swiftly followed by a slow, dull creak. It snarled some hissing words, something that rose in pitch like a command; the thump of heavy footsteps followed. Such sounds were hard to locate with the air so clogged but soon several other demons shone out into Viconia's infravision, loping to join their fellow by that wretched tree, eyes scanning all around and more than once hesitating on the battered wall behind which the dark elf hid with her companions. She was beginning to resent the elves even more for their insistence that a scouting team go ahead and assess the way to Suldanessellar.

Imoen opened her mouth as if to speak in realisation, her hand flying to the bow on her shoulder just a split second before the drawn out creaking ceased, surging into the tell-tale twang of a bowstring. The first demon gave a bark of pain, stumbling back a step, an arrow humming from its slimy grey-skinned shoulder, and at once the nightmarish stillness was full of the scraping exclamations of the demons and more thumping footsteps. The greyness bloomed with bright golden light and above the monstrous speech there rose the shouts of tinny voices. Several elves exploded from the thick, settled ash in once-shining plate and chain, bodies slight and graceful as they hurled themselves and their blades at the demons already braced and angling to meet them.

Instinct took over from conscious thought, Viconia's senses and reflexes long trained in the treacherous Underdark. She heard Mazzy curse and whirled about in time to see three more demonic shapes breaking through the grey fog of drifting smoke – they were heading for the battle beyond the drow's position but they could not pass without noticing the scouts caught in the middle.

Imoen had already vaulted the wall, her attention on the battle joined by the elves, and one of her silver arrows crackled away behind Viconia. But the drow's focus was on the approaching babaus, beasts who had not yet seen her – though now Mazzy was raising a battle cry to Arvoreen and they faltered in their approach, snarling to each other and skidding on the blackened earth as they readjusted for this closer foe, blade-like claws leaving deep furrows in the earth. Sparks flew as Mazzy ducked forwards, the oozing spines down the demon's sides shrieking against her diving armoured form and the sharp edge of her shortsword. Meanwhile, Haer'Dalis's presence at Viconia's side had vanished along with the third monster; she could neither feel him nor see him. It was no matter – the second demon was closing in, the curved horn topping its head lowered for the charge.

A moment of focus and purple flames limned these two adversaries, faerie fire marking them out for Mazzy's lesser surfacer eyes. It took some fearsome calm to keep whispering her prayers to Shar, even while this second demon closed in on her; she saw the darkness gathering at her feet, thick tendrils starting to stretch and reach from beneath her. She saw the bared razor teeth and smelled the monster's fetid breath before she lunged to the side. A spark of pain shot across her arm as she dodged aside, one of the spines at its bony elbow catching her skin, but the demon did not have a chance to change direction. The pool of blackness she had left coiled around its dark spiny legs, breaking through flesh and bone and winding its way up and up. The monster howled and shrieked, thrashing, and Viconia stumbled back a few more steps, her flail gripped tightly in her hands as she watched stinking purple ichor burst and ooze from the demon before her. It took a moment more for her to realise that it was beginning to tear itself free before she hurled herself back into the fray, flail in motion.

Even gruesomely pinned as it was, the demon did not go down easily. It snapped its teeth, flailing the spiny tail at its back as Viconia darted and ducked around it. And all the while she could hear Mazzy's grunts of effort, the screeches of her blade and armour against the monster she fought. There was no sign of the third demon, nor of Haer'Dalis. That ached at the back of her thoughts.

The cacophony of battle was quietening behind her as Viconia finally watched her assailant dissipate back to the Abyss, its beaten and blooded body dissolving in a shine of red light. Mazzy was hunched over the space where her foe had recently fallen, panting hard and with dark blood smeared across her face and clumping in her hair. She met Viconia's eyes as the drow turned about and it still surprised her to see how little the halfling enjoyed battle. Even now, after vanquishing a demon of the Abyss, Mazzy bore a look of weary acceptance rather than battle lust or pride.

Viconia looked around, over the broken wall to where the five elves were just slaying the last of the score of demons whom they had assaulted. One of these surfacers was limping and another was aiming arrows from behind the fallen tree; it was hard to make any of them out in much detail through the smoke even with the aid of infravision but the shine of Imoen's spells and the sizzle of her arrows were unmistakable. They seemed to have things well under control.

"The gloom is treacherous; we should be away as soon as possible – even with these possible new allies."

Haer'Dalis said it close to Viconia's ear, a hint of bashfulness colouring his tone. His hand settled at the small of her back, slow and almost cautious so soon after battle, but she found herself surprised more by her feeling of relief than his sudden appearance. Twisting about to look at him she saw that his shirt was stained and sizzling faintly with the deep purple of these demons' caustic blood – there was a hint of red at his shoulder and a scratch across his cheek. She was stricken with the urge to drag him down to her…but she resisted.

Viconia forced herself only to nod, glancing almost furtively in Mazzy's direction. But the halfling was looking past them anyway, her brow furrowing. Following Mazzy's stare, the drow beheld the elves cheering now as the last demon fell – Imoen was speaking with one of them, gesturing back at the trio of her companions who now approached warily. Viconia pulled her hood low all the same and hung back. Gods knew what these elves would do with a drow. But for these first moments at least attention was drawn elsewhere. For just as they reached Imoen and the elves, a deep voice sounded from the fallen tree; the archer there was just dusting off the ash from his clothes and for a moment all Viconia saw the slash of a crooked smirk.

"Is that you, fair maiden?"

The words might have been nonspecific but the voice had Imoen whirling to face the speaker so fast that it seemed as if she had been struck. She took in a great gulp of air, eyes wide as plates, and finally Viconia remembered where she had seen that archer before.

" _Coran_?" Imoen gasped.

* * *

The last time Imoen had seen Coran it had been through a veil of guilty tears. And now he stood before her, his customary longbow slung over one shoulder as he dusted ash from his grey-green mail and leather. She knew that crooked smile, though he had dyed his teeth with the same green which coiled around his eyes. War paint. But the look was the same, bright hazel eyes soft and knowing in a face well suited to such a look. His cheekbones were high and his ears curved to points in the manner of the elves, though his chin was perhaps a little stronger than was average, his long auburn hair braided over one shoulder in a manner which the human males had mocked him for in taverns. Until they had learned better.

"I see you still travel with a drow," he noted, offering a nod Viconia's way even as his companions watched in confusion, still breathing hard from battle but not relinquishing their grips upon their blades. "Well met again, priestess of Shar."

" _Jaluk_ ," Viconia allowed grudgingly, folding her arms and casting a glare across his companions – it was she who they were watching so closely, after all. The only thing holding them back was Imoen's warning that a drow travelled with her and Coran's quick command to hold those weapons.

"And new folk besides. Greetings, strangers," Coran hailed Mazzy and Haer'Dalis also, his arched brows rising. "You will have to forgive the poor hospitality and take a promise that I will repay the debt another day."

Haer'Dalis was distracted by the warriors eyeing Viconia, but Mazzy approached Coran. Imoen watched it numbly, caught between one step forward and the need to stand still. _When in all the Hells are you struck dumb, bufflehead?_ But the memory of him seemed distant and cloudy. Like a dream. As real as the sun she had imagined in Spellhold's looming halls. As fleeting.

"I see that you know each other," Mazzy noted. "But I see also that a number of your companions are injured." It was true, although none were so incapacitated that they could not threaten Viconia. "We have a camp nearby, perhaps you know it? We should return before more enemies find us."

"And perhaps you could call off your hounds," Haer'Dalis suggested with a hint of a snarl. Was there a red gleam in his eyes?

"Indeed. All very wise, no doubt." Coran barely restrained a role of his eyes, his gaze skipping over Imoen as he looked past her to his fellows. " _Stand down, cousins. I know these folk, and the drow with them. They come from the camp ahead._ " He spoke those elvish words as gently as he had said everything thus far, but whatever authority he held over his allies proved strong enough. They let go of their weapons and stepped back, eyeing each other and muttering together but heading out when Mazzy led the way.

Coran lingered while the others forged ahead through the smog, watching Imoen with a fainter smile now. There was a hint of wariness in his eyes, well hidden behind amusement as he fell into step beside her once Viconia and Haer'Dalis had gone after the others. He was perhaps only an inch or two taller than her and their eyes met easily.

"Never thought I'd see you here," Imoen managed. Coran laughed easily, but she knew that guarded look in his eyes – the one that seemed like calm.

"Here amidst the violence and horror of war? Or here amongst my family?" He nudged her gently with his shoulder, keeping his voice low as ever. "I told you once that I was raised here, not far from the fabled city of Suldanessellar."

"I'm sorry," Imoen grimaced, for it was a comment of guilt as much as it was a comment of sympathy. "Do you…where's your family now? Not…" Her eyes drifted to the charred ruins around them.

"No, not dead," he paused, his tone darkening further. "Not that I know of, though we have not been able to get word in or out of Suldanessellar since the demons and devils barred the gates and the monster who leads them called up the defensive wards of the city. My family will have fled to the Holy Hill at the eastern end of Suldanessellar, with the majority of the townsfolk." He offered a more honest smile, sad though it was, when Imoen placed a hand on his arm briefly – but he was quick to compose himself. She narrowed her eyes at him when he quirked an eyebrow at her. "And now I must know what brings you here – with your sister also, I imagine? I might assume it was the plight of the Great City but your sister never did seem the type for altruism…"

"Hey!" Imoen smacked at his arm lightly, though her heart sank a little to hear those words. "But no, you're right…that we're not necessarily just here about the city. The wizard who's got inside, the one who's causin' all the trouble – that's…that's Jon Irenicus. And we've done got business with him." She spoke the words through gritted teeth, ignoring the rush of _something_ that warred within her.

Coran nodded as if he understood, intrigue crossing his face just as it always did when offered some adventure. It made Imoen think, as she recounted some of recent events to him, of just how different things were now. She told him only that the party had broken up after the defeat of Sarevok and that Irenicus had taken her and some of the others hostage, that they had freed her in Spellhold and now hunted the retrieval of Elatharia's soul. She missed out the truth of her own heritage and any details of her captivity – it was painful enough to see his eyes widen in shock to hear that Khalid and Minsc and Dynaheir were dead.

They walked in silence for a short while after this, picking their way through the worst of the broken homes and trees with Haer'Dalis and Viconia not far ahead. It was only once the ground began to slope upwards more steeply and the dark outline of the resistance camp came into view through the evening gloom that Coran spoke again.

"I do not blame you for the way we parted, my dearest Imoen." The words were so soft she once might have believed she had imagined them, but a glance to his face showed the honesty there.

"Well, I shoulda been better about it. Should've known better, too," Imoen insisted. There was some strange relief in speaking of this, though the memories sent a spiral of tension through her chest.

"Perhaps, but you are young. You will learn." He flashed her a grin, but the look wavered to concern when she blanched, her feet tripping beneath her until she stopped altogether. The others were stepping through into the camp now, but for a moment her every thought was deepest black. "Imoen?"

"I…sorry. I thought I done saw something," she tried to smile but Coran was already shaking his head even before she started to walk again.

"I cannot believe that." He ducked his head to catch her eyes. "It would seem I am not the only one who has seen the horrors of the world of late."

The pain in his voice made her feet speed up. The holy runes around the camp flared under them as they stepped over but before they could catch up to the others, now moving out of the smog onto the level ground at the top of this rise, Coran placed a hand lightly against her shoulder. It was not a grip, merely a suggestion. Imoen stopped all the same, everything in her sinking as she turned to face him. The bright warmth in his pale hazel eyes only brought a lump to her throat. His fingertip ghosted against the braid of hair hanging by her cheek, his expression thoughtful.

"It's done been a long time, huh?" she fidgeted with her cloak, caught between the urge to flee and the need for him to see, and to care without expectation. "Must've been the last person you wanted to leap out and help your folks, no matter how nice you're bein' now." But Coran only smiled distantly, his eyes searching her face as if he was trying to divine some poorly hidden truth.

"What horrors have passed before these starry eyes, I wonder?" he asked, so softly that Imoen felt her breath stop and her eyes burn. She swallowed, feeling all those plans for forced levity slinking away from her grasp. His thumb brushed at a smudge of ash at her cheek. "I see you, a year passed but a lifetime older. Perhaps I am stepping beyond my welcome – perhaps as I have before." But he just offered a bashful wince when Imoen tried to brush those words aside. "I see that you are changed for time eternal, my love…"

He caught his words a moment too late, his eyes flitting back to her anxiously as if fearing he might drive her away. But Imoen found a smile coming to her face, a warmth that she had all but forgotten. She stepped into his embrace with an overwhelming rush of relief. _No one will ever know me, not like that._ But the strength and weight of familiar arms around her reminded her that even so close to Irenicus and even caught in this gloom…there was hope.

* * *

"Ah, something changes at last," Edwin muttered, the low hum of his voice in the chill of first darkness stirring Elatharia from her studies, though in truth as she sat straight her thoughts were fogged as if startled from sleep. The spell was learned now – it was simply a matter of time.

A glance at Edwin's face, illuminated by the large fire here at the centre of camp, and she saw the path his eyes were following. There was an elvish soldier rushing to the command tent into which Jaheira and Valygar had departed with Elhan perhaps an hour or two before, and there was a hum of elvish conversation rising throughout the camp.

"I think they're back," Elatharia said, sitting up fully now and glancing back through the darkness – sure enough, she could make out a number of figures picking their way between the tents at the eastern end of the camp. "It looks like they found some survivors."

"Mazzy!" Aerie came darting past from where she had been fidgeting a careful distance from Anomen. Elatharia heard the rattle of the halfling's armour as the avariel embraced her, though the collision was hidden from view as a number of battered and bloodied elvish males parted around them. Two of the elvish priests who had travelled with the Knights had already come to their aid, speaking quickly in the dialect of the Wealdath.

Turning upon her slab of stone to the face the arrivals fully, Elatharia saw Viconia and Haer'Dalis stepping into the sphere of firelight, the drow squinting irritably and the tiefling looking thoughtful – he remembered to offer a jaunty salute the Transmuter's way and the action alerted Viconia to her presence. They approached the two seated wizards just as Jaheira and Valygar reached Mazzy and Aerie, Elhan a step or two behind.

"Demons prowl the lands between here and the city," Viconia said. "Though they are not altogether challenging combatants, I believe there are too many closer to the walls for anything other than a brutal assault."

"Perhaps we did not need you to tell us that, drow," Edwin sighed, "I can see the demon blood befouling all of you (not to mention the stink). I know babau when I smell them."

"They did bring back some important information, Edwin," a familiar deep voice intoned with just the faintest hint of mockery.

Elatharia froze, blinking past Viconia and Haer'Dalis as they parted to reveal the confident and graceful swagger of Coran as he and Imoen reached the congregating group. If it were not for Imoen's sheepish grimace, the Transmuter might have truly believed this for a hallucination. _For whom had she not hallucinated in the darkness of the dungeon?_

"Coran?" the Transmuter asked stupidly, drawing a crooked grin from him. His teeth were dark green with his warpaint, as had often been his way in battle.

"Many seem to be addressing me thus today," he nodded.

"Oh, of course," the Conjurer pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically, shutting his eyes as if the sight of the arriving sun elf was the worst thing he could have imagined. "He returns. (Why must it always be the most irritating ones?)"

"Did you have a hierarchy? I had thought you labelled all your allies thus," Coran said, spreading his hands as if in genuine bemusement. His eyes slid to Elatharia, sat on that stone slab beside Edwin. "Save for perhaps this one."

Coran offered a softer smile to Imoen though the aasimar was already ducking around Viconia and pulling Elatharia to her feet.

"Get up, you," Imoen insisted, "We've lots to talk about. All of us – right now."

She had not said it particularly loudly but her words drew the attention of Elhan and Jaheira, now starting to move towards her anyway. Anomen, Mazzy and Aerie followed, Jan appearing at the avariel's elbow with a curious glint in his eyes. Korgan remained a short distance away by the fire, but from his silence Elatharia knew he must be listening. It seemed all eyes were on Imoen and the other returned scouts – those elves moving about camp were starting to stare.

"You bring back news of how we me might enter the city?" Elhan fairly snapped, eyeing Coran while Imoen and Mazzy quickly recounted their observation of the demons in the fog and the appearance of Coran and his companions.

"There are many more demons closer to the walls," Viconia warned, her lip curling when Elhan did not look her way. "We could not approach any closer in such small numbers – they have a close watch on the gates themselves, though they are much more spread out beyond that point."

"And the defensive wards around the city have been strengthened overnight," Coran added. "My cousins and I have spent the last several days attempting to sneak our way inside but to no avail, and now the wards have gone up I see no way in but through the front gates."

"A good solid charge! Sounds about right," Korgan grunted from his seat. It drew a faint, thoughtful smile from Haer'Dalis but little response from the others.

"Perhaps if we could clear the fog it would help?" Mazzy offered, folding her arms and fixing her stare on Elhan.

"That fog is not simple smoke and ash," Edwin warned, standing at last. "Irenicus must have called it down to make the approach to the city more unpredictable. Of course he knew that reinforcements would come if his sister did not." He glanced at Elatharia and Imoen. "And if he knows his sister is dead or absent, he will know that you are alive in her place."

"The fog could be cleared, though," Viconia nodded, "I have heard of such spells amongst priests of many vocations." Perhaps for the first time, Aerie and Anomen both voiced their agreement with her. They seemed more set on avoiding each other's eyes.

"But this doesn't explain how we intend to get inside," Elatharia pointed out, following Imoen's uncomfortable stare and finding Coran at its focus. "You say the wards have been strengthened over the city itself and no one can enter except through the gates. We can hear the golems also…"

"He has them under his control, though they were once the city's greatest defence," Coran told her, his look darkening. "Most of the city's population will have fled to the Holy Hill and Irenicus will be glad to have them there. Though his devils and demons cannot reach them in such a place they will soon run out of supplies."

"You speak of Irenicus as though you know him," Jaheira noted. Coran glanced at her in surprise, as if he had expected more of a greeting from her. But from the sadness that followed in his expression it appeared that Imoen had already told him of Khalid.

"All sun elves of Suldanessellar who have lived over the last century know of him," he said with evident confusion. His eyes flickered to Elhan who remained carefully inscrutable. Elatharia met Imoen's suspicious look with one of agreement.

"And yet no one will tell us," Valygar said. "Though there are those amongst us who surely have the right to know." Beside him Jaheira nodded firmly but Elhan's lip curled.

"Now is not the time for bargains of that sort, human. Joneleth Irenicus is our greatest shame, and all those who may speak of him to you are held within that city. Our first thought should be of infiltration."

Viconia sighed audibly at his manner but for the time being at least no one could truly disagree. Elatharia looked to Coran again, pulling her cloak about her more for something to do than from the cold.

"There are no tunnels or hidden entrances to the city?"

"No," he shook his head for emphasis. "Only the front gates. And once within, the golems and outer-planar monsters are many. I barely escaped in the chaos, and by now I imagine things can only be worse."

"Golems of that number will have a source of power," Jan called from behind Aerie and Mazzy, squeezing into view and blinking up at the group as if it were obvious. It appeared that only Elatharia knew enough about this topic to nod in agreement.

"Especially if they were created to police the city – they will be ancient I suppose? Then the wizard who created them is likely dead?" the gnome prompted, and Elhan nodded unwillingly.

"Alright. They will have a control source – much like the phylactery of a lich," Elatharia surmised. "We will need to find it to stop them." Though he sneered at her, Elhan did answer.

"Yes. Though it is not a detail willingly given to outsiders."

"You do not have much choice," Jaheira told him coolly, and he straightened up as if offended but truly there was weary defeat in his eyes.

"There is a wardstone placed at the roof of the palace in the north-east of the city, above the queen's west-facing balcony. If taken to the appropriate place, it will lower the wards on the city and deactivate the golems."

"And where precisely should it be taken?" Edwin drawled, the tone in his voice suggesting that he might well be enjoying watching the elf squirm.

"No place a human should know," Elhan snapped, his eyes flashing over the Red Wizard automatically. Edwin just raised his eyebrow and waited, his smile hard. The leader of the Knights visibly warred with himself before slumping in defeat. "The Temple of Rillifane. The high priestess Demin will no doubt still be there, kept behind her sacred wards unless she has met her end in this destruction. She will know what to do, even if those who might find it will not. I should expect my Knights will lead the way in any battle to bring down the gates before such an attempt of course…"

"Or perhaps there is another way," Haer'Dalis interjected at last. There was something wary in his expression as all eyes turned to him; he looked to Elatharia almost in warning. "Though 'tis not one many of you will wish to hear." He hesitated. "If someone, or a small number of someones perhaps, could fool the guards on the door into believing that we are in fact ones of their horde…those who pass through could then bring down the wards and stop the golems. The rest of this great flock beyond the city may then enter with relative ease."

"And how do you expect to fool them into something like that?" Elhan sneered.

"We have a Transmuter," Coran noted, nodding Elatharia's way.

"There are both babau demons and the devilish hamatula lurking out there," Haer'Dalis explained, and Elatharia's heart lurched into a gallop. Hamatula. _Barbed devils._ That could not be a coincidence. "I know the Abyssal tongue and I bear the aura of a demon, lessened though it may be. It appears that Irenicus has somehow combined the forces of devils with their eternal foes as well, and such creatures often carry an aura more akin to those of the Celestials, diminished and twisted though it may be. It would jar against their senses much as would your aura, my Wildflower," he looked to Imoen. "Your Bhaalspawn essences will have a similar effect."

"I'll do it," the aasimar agreed, though her cheeks appeared to have reddened at the tiefling's comment – perhaps it had something to do with the dawning shock on Coran's face. Of course, he had not known of Imoen's true heritage as a child of Bhaal. "You'd have to do all the talking, Haer'Dalis. But I'll come with you. Elatharia?"

"She will not go as well," Jaheira snapped, stepping between the sisters before Elatharia could answer. Imoen gaped at her.

"What?"

"It appears the druid will not risk having her chance for revenge stolen from her," Edwin put in, though a glance up at him showed to Elatharia that his expression was grim, his jaw muscles clenching. His eyes flickered to meet hers and she swallowed hard. She would have to transmute her own sister into the form of a barbed devil.

"As much as I don't like being spoken for, Jaheira, it would be best if I didn't join them," Elatharia choked out, stepping around the druid pointedly and ignoring her glare. "I can't sneak or climb like they can. But I can recreate the monsters they'll need to resemble." _I know those well enough._

Imoen's glance darted to the ground at that.

"This sounds like madness," Elhan sighed, taking in the group as a whole with a look of disbelief. "But if it is to be only two of you who go then I will give you until dawn to do this. After that point, the elves will be marching on the gates of Suldanessellar. We will take our chances with whatever lies within – our people can wait no longer."

* * *

Imoen had not thought that Elatharia's transmutational skills would ever be used for something like this. Not after all that had happened. The aasimar's stomach was churning as she watched her sister call up the white-blue shine of her power, weaving the air about Haer'Dalis until his form changed. A tall, curved horn sprouted from his head, his skin and clothes melding in to the thick, stretched greyness of the babau, complete with the faint sheen of caustic purple slime which he had described to her. His body narrowed, his arms elongating and his fingers stretching into razor-sharp talons. His eyes flickered and took up a dull red glow, a long spiny tail extending behind him. More spines showed up his sides and back, and when he opened his mouth to speak his face was changed beyond recognition also, his teeth thin and long, his tongue twice split.

The beast that stood in his place was gangly and twisted and stinking, its skin tight and oozing and grey. All of his companions had kept a good distance between him and Elatharia – now they tensed and gaped. For the first time, Imoen noticed how gingerly Haer'Dalis stepped over the warding circle and into the fog of the slope down to Suldanessellar.

"I feel I should compliment you," the tiefling said, his voice just the same as it was in spite of the ghastly visage. His talons clacked as he raised his arms for inspection, his thinned lips parting in what must have been a smile. Imoen winced.

"Don't pull that face, Haerry," Jan called, "It's not so flattering like that." But Haer'Dalis just laughed, shifting lightly on his feet as he tested his new form. A shudder of disquiet ran through several of the group, though Korgan was grinning in amusement and Edwin bore a look of more measured mirth. Viconia had covered her mouth with her hand against the stink, her eyes narrowed.

"Alright, me next," Imoen said, shifting awkwardly as she faced her sister.

Since Imoen's eyes were resistant to Transmutation without something to cover them, Elatharia had leant her mask to the cause just as she had in the Underdark. With the enchantments on the cloth, the Transmuter's expression was perfectly clear to see for Imoen even through the fabric – carefully blank as she was keeping it. The black, branching markings now bared beneath her eyes never caught the light, they _avoided_ it. It was hard to meet her eyes and not think of the past.

Elatharia just nodded, chewing her lip and settling her shoulders for the next spell. Her skin was pale and clammy, her brows pressed into a deep frown, but she took a breath and reached for her spell, her fingers flying through the incantation and her lips moving without audible sound. Feeling her body starting to move and stretch, Imoen closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing level. Though the change was painless it was still disorientating – much more so than her jaunt as Phaere Despana. Barbed devils stood at some seven feet, she had once read in one of the books at Candlekeep, and the possession of a tail was famously hard to grasp for human – or human-like – minds.

"You are familiar with the…" Haer'Dalis had started to say, but he caught his words. His tone had shifted just a little, enough to make Imoen clench her teeth in understanding. Perhaps she had never seen what passed in the dungeons, but she had heard. Irenicus had told her.

Imoen only opened her eyes once her body had stilled, the loose press of Elatharia's mask now gone and assimilated into her new form. And for a moment she reeled back – it was Haer'Dalis who caught her, his talons clattering against the thick hide which now covered her body. She stumbled to join him on the other side of the wards, staring down at him and then across to her companions from this new height. Glancing down at herself she saw that her body was broader, her arms thicker and longer as well as her legs, both ending in gleaming metallic nails. Her skin was ridged black hide, covered in barbed spikes longer than her fingers. For a moment her new tail lashed against her control and she felt the earth shifting against her feet.

"Very convincing, if you could look a little more _balanced_ ," Haer'Dalis suggested lightly, though he let go of her as quickly as he could, stepping away. It was hard to read his expression when he was so transformed but it was easier to look at him and imagine his disquiet than it was to look back at the others.

Jan was skipping past Elatharia, who was staring blankly up at her creations with the others grimacing in horror behind her. The gnome pulled out one of his many palm-sized contraptions, muttering a few quick spellwords and turning a few cogs. A dome of white light flared over him and when he dispersed, leaving all of them blinking past sunspots in the otherwise significant darkness, there stood in his place a small bat-winged creature, no taller than two feet but humanoid, with sharp claws on its hands and feet and a thick greenish hide. Two horns framed a skull face, a broad grin showing a large mouth full of tiny needle-teeth. A flap of those wings and it – he – rose into the air nimbly, clapping his hands.

"It worked! I believe you mentioned that there were quasits also amongst Irenicus's ranks, Haerry?" Jan asked his tone confusingly cheerful in such a demonic visage.

"Indeed I did, my would-be Sparrow," Haer'Dalis straightened, holding out an arm, "Alight here, guiser, and let us be off."

"Remember, we need you to find the key above the queen's balcony at the palace. Take it to Demin at the Temple of Rillifane in the south of the city – and all before dawn!" Jaheira called as Jan successfully manoeuvred through the air to thump into Haer'Dalis's waiting arm. It took him another moment to fold his wings beneath him and scramble his way to the disguised tiefling's shoulder.

"Got it," Imoen agreed, feeling awkward in her new body. She wanted to offer a smile to her sister but thought better of it, turning to follow Haer'Dalis instead. Gods knew what that would have looked like. But a glance over her shoulder showed Elatharia darting past the others and further in to the camp, swiftly followed by Aerie.

* * *

It was hard to reconcile the girl who vanished into the dark camp with the girl who could speak of treachery and killing so easily, a girl who had sided with vampires until it was no longer convenient. A wizard who knew the sight of a barbed devil from memory. But then…there was something about that. Something amiss. It had Valygar wondering as he walked back from the treeline, senses as alert as they ever would be while his eyes were so disabled by the darkness. Whichever way he thought of it, the truth of the arcane arts' corrupting powers was plain to see. One need only looking across the ruined earth to Irenicus's conjured fog, teeming with his conjured devils and demons to the city he had set alight.

The camp was quiet and watchful now, with Imoen, Jan and Haer'Dalis vanished on the path towards Suldanessellar. The elves went about their organised watches and others prepared for the morning. No matter what happened, there would be battle at dawn. Mazzy and Korgan were both checking their armour by the fire, the dwarf forcing her into a conversation about past fights. Aerie had retreated to sleep in the group's designated tent, her spells already prepared, but it seemed unlikely that she would manage much rest. Viconia was prowling the darkness near the warded border, watching Suldanessellar.

Valygar was only a few paces away from the camp when a low female voice became audible to him. Recognising Jaheira, he hesitated. At first it sounded as though she were speaking with someone but after a moment more it became clear that there was certainly no one answering. Turning, knowing that he would surely be spied by her before he could move beyond anyway, he could just about make out the shape of her kneeling before one of the splintered tree stumps which dotted this section of the artificial clearing.

It looked as though the forest had once stretched out onto this lower plain before the demons and Irenicus came, and the entire distance from there to the great city had been made up of elvish settlements. It was easy to understand the shuddering rage in Jaheira's voice as he approached. From the faint tilt of her head he knew she must have already seen him, aided in the velvet darkness by her superior half-elven vision. She did not halt her speech – a prayer – even as he approached, coming to a stop upon the soft layer of ash perhaps five paces behind her.

"…for all of this ruined earth, choked in the ash and flames, and for all those who have died or suffered because of it. And…and for Khalid. Would that you could…be with me now." Her voice faltered, her hands gripping the edge of the tree stump tightly. The firelight from the camp was flickering only faintly across her; Valygar could just make out her bare hands and face, the glisten in her eyes. Her spear shimmered silver all of its own accord by her side. "Khalid? Silvanus, let him hear my vow. If I must I will empty this city of all within to find his killer. So do I swear."

Her voice gravelly with rage, she let out a long, shuddering breath, bowing her head before pushing backwards from the stump and standing with the strong economical ease of one long used to travel and battle.

"Forgive me, Jaheira," Valygar said when she turned to him. He could not clearly make out her expression in this faint light. "I did not want to intrude but I knew my passing could not go unnoticed."

"It is nothing you do not already know," Jaheira dismissed, bending to pick up her spear but pausing in the act and instead sitting on the edge of the tree stump. Valygar could just about make out her gesture for him to join her and now as he sat beside her he could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks. She offered him a faltering smile. "If it had been one of the others I might have stopped – my sight afforded me the knowledge of your passing long before you knew it."

"I had thought so," he nodded. It was hard to smile back when she was so visibly unhappy – it was especially jarring, seeing the tears of one so strong.

"I can hardly believe we are here after these months," the druid admitted, wiping idly at the ash on her trousers. "With Irenicus in our sights, almost." She shook her head, hiccupping a mirthless laugh. "And I was so intent on stopping Elatharia going with them that I forgot to wish Imoen well. She went into the newest stronghold of the man – the elf – who held her his captive for so long without a moment's pause and all I could think of was my revenge."

"You are thinking of her now, even while your grief is at its rawest," Valygar pointed out. She glanced at him as if in surprise, her almond eyes very wide. How odd, to see her so vulnerable. Perhaps it was the darkness.

"How logical you are," Jaheira laughed, a little more genuinely now, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand with the roughness of one who is ashamed. "Khalid always used to chide me for it, though he used to tell me it was something he loved as well. And now I find I am in need of sense and logic which I cannot call up by myself."

"I do not believe that," Valygar placed his hand over hers automatically and for a moment alarm shot through him. But she just smiled and gripped his fingers. "You do not need any of my logic to see the truth before you."

"I appreciate it, nonetheless," Jaheira promised. "As I do your aid in all of this."

Valygar just gave a nod, the fires on the horizon drawing his eye now.

"We must be ready for battle no matter what Imoen and the others can do by dawn," he agreed with her silent thoughts. "And it will not be like the battles we have faced before."

"No," Jaheira agreed, more steel in her voice now. The distant fires were flickering in her eyes as she glared out to the east. "Irenicus will not get away from us again. We will face him tomorrow, I am certain."


	62. To the Temple of Rillifane

**Chapter 61: To the Temple of Rillifane**

* * *

Countless years in the Abyss, countless years caught up in the Blood Wars – such memories did not return with much difficulty, disquieting as they were. Not even decades in Sigil could dim those thoughts, nor yet some brief time upon this Prime land. It was hard not to cringe away from the form of the barbed devil prowling just a pace or two behind him however much he knew that appearance for a lie; it was strangely comforting to have the disguised shape of Jan upon his shoulder. Haer'Dalis had some fond memories of quasits. Tricky, sadistic little berks – but entertaining too.

Imoen was hardly convincing in her new form, if one thought about it. But the aura should be enough, as he had promised. All she had to do was measure her footsteps and stay quiet, and indeed none of the monstrous shapes flitting through the thick fog on their way down to the city did more than pass them a second glance. None came rushing in for battle, and Haer'Dalis listened to their hissed interactions closely. It sounded as though his hunch had been correct – the demons and devils who had been on duty during the day were just swapping with their night-time counterparts and he knew babau demons well enough to understand that they were hardly the best time keepers. They preferred to stalk their designated prey at their own pace.

Suldanessellar was blazing with heat as they breached the thick fog and came to the tangled mass of red-raw roots coiled before its enchanted vine walls. The air was full of the stink of burning, the pounding of the golems' feet thumping through the ground and up into Haer'Dalis's body. It was almost enough for a little while to knock Jan from his shoulder as the tiefling hesitated, watching how a pair of barbed devils pulled themselves up onto the roots and headed for the gates.

"Won't we done be discovered?" Imoen hissed, "Won't those demons at the gate wonder why they don't know us? And why we're together when we're meant to be immortal enemies?"

Relieved when Jan waved for her silence, Haer'Dalis followed the path of her falsified red gaze all the same. A hulking pair of insectoid creatures stood flanking the mighty gates, no doubt assessing those who passed through. Covered in overlapping ebon scales frosted over as if from great cold, their lower bodies were bulbous and curved around into serrated tails. Their faces were long and ended in sharp mandibles, their iridescent eyes multifaceted and unmoving. They each bore a long black trident in vaguely humanoid arms, though their fingers looked sharp enough as it was. The air around them was pale and wispy with frost. And just looking at them, Haer'Dalis straightened in surprise. He glanced at Imoen as briefly as he could, trying to ignore the tension which the sight of the barbed devil forced upon him, tightening his chest and stopping the air in his lungs.

"Those are not the demons which were there before. These are gelugons, 'ice devils', and they do not wear the chains I would expect of those of their kin who dwell in the Nine Hells. Those who are not slaves are neither truly demons nor devils, but herald from Gehenna close to the Hells. They are indiscriminate mercenaries – they will not be interested in what we are or whether we know them."

Imoen did not relax at that – she simply grew still, her eyes fixed on the gelugons ahead. And there was hardly time to consider why; Haer'Dalis led the way up onto the roots as he had seen the devils do before him. The surface of this living pathway was faintly warm and soft – once one stood upon them the way to the gates became clear, and though countless feet must have trodden this way over centuries it was not worn down at all. Perhaps he imagined it, but it felt as though the roots hummed beneath his footsteps. It felt _welcoming_. Hopeful, even.

The smaller doorway set by the gates was still open by the time that Haer'Dalis, Imoen and Jan arrived before the guards and the scene beyond was one of black smoke and drifting embers, vine houses still licked with flames. The hulking form of a metallic golem groaned past in the street ahead, but Haer'Dalis did not have time to consider it. It became immediately obvious that there was something amiss here. The gelugons leapt to rigid attention so abruptly that it made Jan jump, the air filling with a cool, dark malice which slithered over Haer'Dalis's senses.

"Gehenna, did you say?" Jan fairly squeaked in his ear. "Gehenna…Bhaal's realm, Gehenna?"

A glance at Imoen told the rest. Gone was the artificial red of the barbed devil she ought to have been; it was replaced by blazing gold. She was trembling so hard that her teeth were chattering, her transmuted hide rippling and shuddering – it appeared to take effort to turn to face him, but Haer'Dalis knew that look even through the beastlike visage of the barbed devil. Whatever power she had just exerted against those gelugons had come against her knowledge, and to have them obey her would of course fill her with fear.

Daring not to speak in front of those monsters, Haer'Dalis made a point of moving past Imoen and stepping through the doorway; he felt Jan waving for Imoen to follow as soon as he was behind the closest ice devil. She followed readily enough, her footsteps heavy and ungainly in her false form. After a solid push, the door creaked shut behind them once they had stepped through into the dizzying smoke-and-fire of Suldanessellar, ruined towers surrounding this blackened entry plaza.

Here there was only the crackle of flames, the distant clash of swords and the thumping of the golems whose long, dark shadows passed across the alleyways. There were few visible demons or devils, though a few twisted shapes were taking their chances to rest in the hollowed out halls of a few nearby buildings. None were paying the newcomers much heed, too far away to notice any auras and probably too tired to care. Haer'Dalis turned sharply in the opposite direction, taking Imoen's arm – only to find her tugging him through a warped doorway and into a char-scaled room.

A quick inspection showed that they were alone, the scent of burned flesh all too familiar, though they were careful to use the longer reach afforded by their transmuted forms to climb up onto the broken vine staircase and into a high level of this tower. Here Imoen pointedly crouched against one wall, looking up through the broken ceiling to the towering Tree across the skyline. There was golden light blazing from its boughs in odd pulses – Irenicus, no doubt.

"Jan's vanished," the aasimar noted, dispelling their transmutations with a muttered phrase and gesture of her hand, pushing her sister's mask up on to her forehead once it reappeared along with her true form. Haer'Dalis did not lose much height from this transformation but it was a relief to be himself once more. It was a relief also to see Imoen in her true form, black-clad and pink-haired, poised as if to spring with her bow across her back. She glanced at him, her blue eyes still sparking with gold. "Hey, get over here. Gods know who can see you from there."

"My Wildflower," Haer'Dalis allowed, offering her a smirk which only made her eyes narrower. He crouched by her side, ignoring the jarring tinkle of the silver bells which played at the back of his thoughts so close to her. "I believe 'twas my job to get us in and yours to sneak us through?"

"Well I reckon I'll've done all the doing by the time we get to the palace then," she said with the flash of a grin, training her eyes back on the smoky mass of towers. She hesitated, distraction flitting through her eyes, and jumped a little when Haer'Dalis's hand settled on her shoulder.

"For what my knowledge is worth, I do not believe that it was Irenicus who left those ice devils in our path."

Imoen nodded, through her frown was lingering. The silver bells around her soul jangled, dissonant for a moment.

"No wizard can summon so many creatures at once, not Irenicus – not even Elminster," she said. "You reckon he just done summoned the leaders and they brought in the rest?"

"Absolutely, my Wildflower," Haer'Dalis made a point of nodding. He removed his hand from her shoulder as carefully as he could, for her aura was chilling his skin. "And gelugons are cheap, easy labour. Much easier to control than any of one's own kind in such matters, when one's mortal enemies are all about."

"Seems strange that Irenicus did that, right?" Imoen eyes were scanning the horizon now. Her gaze found Haer'Dalis with a sharpness that proved her discomfort when he shook his head.

"It is a common ploy amongst the most powerful summoners. Ask Edwin when next you have a chance, if you do not believe me. Devils and demons are warier when together, but more aggressive also. And it is a constant reminder that they are safe from their frozen Blood War only under the summoner's discretion."

"Oh," Imoen breathed the sound, shaking her head until she found her smile again. "Alright. Never was much of a Conjurer."

She looked back out to the tower ahead. Further in the distance, the city did not look quite so destroyed. There was a hint of greenery, and the shine of white vines. Imoen pointed.

"We should head towards the tree. Coran said that the palace is out there and we can't done miss it."

"I believe I can show you straight there actually." Jan's disembodied voice floated down from the gap in the ceiling. The faint flap of his transmuted wings was the only other proof of his presence above them. "But there's a slight problem – golems in the streets, and a balor on the queen's west balcony."

* * *

"Did they get through?"

Elatharia's hoarse voice came quieter than the crunch and weary thump of her footsteps upon the charred wood which littered the ashen ground. It was hardly a surprise either way. She smelled of ginger from the potion Aerie had pressed into her hands once she crept back, pale and shaking, to the fringes of camp. A glance down at her unmasked face showed that she had recovered, her expression as blank as it often was these days. Her eyes were narrowed as she stared out into the darkness, though the faint glint of green around her pupils proved that her sight was not augmented by any spell and she could not hope to see through the fog and darkness both. Aided by _Darkvision_ and his _Farsight_ rune, Edwin was better prepared.

"I watched their transmuted forms step through the gates of the city. A most curious pause between your sister and a pair of gelugons preceded this, of course."

Elatharia's eyes flashed up to meet his, taking in his smirk and narrowed eyes with a momentary frown of bafflement. The look soon cleared, and she blew out a long breath.

"Minions of Bhaal's old realm," she nodded, casting about for somewhere else to fix her eyes. She chewed at her lip and he saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed. "Irenicus didn't summon them, of course. But I imagine you already worked out the tactical error."

The hint of a smile curved her mouth and her hand brushed against his. Her skin was cold, her fingers thin as they quested against his, parting them and slipping through to grip around his palm. Enchanted rings clacked together (though his were the more numerous, of course). He looked up from the tangle of their hands to see her staring too. He was struck with the absurd urge to tug her closer but no purpose came to mind thereafter. Thus Edwin refrained.

"At least Irenicus can make mistakes, hmm?" he asked, ignoring the heat that the relentless pressure of her skin against his created. (How curious…)

"I would never assume," Elatharia denied. "No one is infallible, or so the great philosophers claim."

That brought a snort of amusement. Edwin opened his mouth to speak but she pulled at his captive hand, guiding him with her the two steps over to the woven crates by a burned remnant of wall, an elvish tent against its alternate side. A spellword and a gesture brought power to her voice and light trembled through the crate. It shuddered and then sprung outwards, taking on the form of a low woven bench; the arrows it had held now clattered together and settled upon the ground below.

"How sparing of you," Edwin drawled, letting her take the risk of sitting first.

The bench held and Elatharia blinked up at him expectantly. The hint of fire there, just a little reminder, had his smile broadening and he sat beside her, the vantage point permitting him a continued view of the city ahead (fogged though it was). He endured her shuffling beside him as she folded her legs up onto the bench, curling against him. It was simply easier to permit it, and more comfortable to settle his arm around her back, his hand at her waist, than endure it pressed between them. Her head settled against the crook of his neck and her fingers followed the curve of the tattoo at his collarbone, tickling and distracting.

"One does not need the great philosophers for such a simple truth, Elatharia," Edwin said at last. He felt the whisper of her breath against his skin as she turned her head on his shoulder to look up at him. "No one is infallible." Her eyes were wide and very close, her lips parted as if she intended to speak. She ducked her head away from his view when he spoke next. "Not Irenicus, and not his barbed devils."

"I know," she gritted out, her hand fisting in his jacket and twisting the cloth (Western Heartlands barbarian…). "I won't freeze when it's needed for me to fight, Edwin. I might not feel much of…of anything. And when I do it might be horror of those demons and _him_ but I won't freeze. I've learned how to be angry and there's still some soul left. There's the Beast in me."

He nodded, and she settled against him more loosely, though the circlet she wore was digging into his neck.

* * *

"That's not the same one that Ardulace summoned by any chance, is it?" Imoen hissed. From the corner of her eye she saw Haer'Dalis glance at her with an amused smile.

"No, my Wildflower." He kept his voice at an almost inaudible whisper. "Can you not see the differences?"

"Yep, sure can. But I'm no expert on demons," Imoen reminded. "Any chance this one might be willin' to spare a Bhaalspawn for the sake of the cosmic order too?"

"I doubt it. Ardulace's summoned friend took issue with the idea of taking you and your sister as offerings. In straight battle, such a beast would relish the idea of defeating a fully ensouled Bhaalspawn."

"Oh great. That's really heartening." Imoen fought the urge to clamp a hand over his mouth when he chuckled, however much he was careful to keep his mirth voiceless. She contented herself with maintaining her vice-like grip upon Haer'Dalis's shoulder, as if somehow that might help them.

It was certainly hard to look away from the balor who prowled the ruined gardens before the sweeping white grandeur of the vine palace behind it – which chimed merrily in the breeze, even if that breeze carried the smells of smoke and burning flesh. Its fiery whip hung limp in its hand for now, trailing a smoking line behind it as it barked a few instructions to smaller passing demons.

The balor had cracked that whip after a few devils who strayed too close but it appeared the demon had sated itself for now – though it appeared the balor had done a great deal of damage earlier. The garden which it had ruined was now strewn with the scorched, broken bodies of the elves who had fought it. They lay in all attitudes, as if the monster had been surrounded by a unified charge of some kind. Whatever it had been, it had failed.

Perhaps twice as tall as Haer'Dalis and several times more massive, the balor was laden with layers of thick muscle, barely contained within its hide, which flickered with deep red light as if lit with embers beneath the skin. Its vast bat wings were folded upon its back and hung like a great leather cloak, twitching every now and then when some new allies passed before its gruesome handiwork.

"You sure you're alright with this plan?" Imoen whispered, cringing her way nearer to Haer'Dalis as the balor's path took it agonisingly close – until the sulphurous stench of its body wafted by and the grunt and huff of its heavy breaths were easily audible.

"Absolutely, my Wildflower. You have no need to take on the mantle of our Mourning Dove." Again he flashed her a smile, but now he followed it with a gesture for quiet. Imoen nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her crouched position beside him.

They were disguised for now by a combination of her best defensive spells and a strategically chosen hideout upon the higher floor of a two storey warehouse of some kind, charred and gutted as it was. The walls were broken and flimsy now, all their sweeping curves and pretty flowers burned away, but they were the best defence against the sight of the balor. Haer'Dalis had been careful to promise that such a monster would have been able to see through Imoen or Jan's best _Invisibility_ spells after a short time; but the balor could not see through walls. Even so, he had only begun his prowling once they had taken up their vantage point and Jan had scuttled off, still in the form of a quasit.

And on top of it all, Haer'Dalis's aura was itching endlessly at Imoen's senses. The backs of her hands were already sore from mindless scratching. How odd that the discomfort only grew worse the longer they lingered together, and that whatever uneasiness he felt did not seem to have so visceral a reaction from him.

The distant snap and rustle of vines drew Imoen's attention immediately – she felt Haer'Dalis tense as well. It took a moment but eventually she saw it, high on the curving vine wall of the tinkling palace – a shining golden disk jolting against its bonds, pulled by an invisible force. The balor whirled about, snarling something in its Abyssal tongue and looking up with perfect accuracy to the source of the disturbance. Gnomish cursing became audible – Jan knew the monster could see him, even if Imoen could not.

The whistle of the balor's whip sang a painfully high note through the air as it arced up and forward, cracking as it came down upon the force tugging at the golden dish. The air shimmered, rippling outwards from the impact with a sheen of blue, and the quasit-which-was-Jan became visible, protected at least from that first attack by his spells. One last tug and the dish pulled free even as Imoen stood, pulling her bowstring back and letting an arrow fly. Just as Jan's wings flapped and bore him upwards and away from the next attempted lash of the whip, leaving only jangling flowers and singed vines, Imoen's silver arrow streaked through the darkness and thudded into the balor's left wing. It froze, wincing as from a faint sting, and its whip slithered back to its feet. It boomed something into the night and there sounded the thud and shuffle of many demonic feet. Shadows moved within the open palace gates and somewhere down the street behind Imoen came the groan and thump of the metallic golems who prowled the city for Irenicus.

Haer'Dalis had been on his feet and leaping down to the ground over the broken wall even before Imoen loosed her arrow. It gave her almost no time to duck back down and focus on the words and gestures for her next spell. Her fingers were shaking in front of her face as she recited the planned phrases.

The balor was keeping its back to her, reaching around to pull free the arrow and snap it pointedly. It kept its horned head angled to follow the flight of Jan, who was not doing a convincing job of keeping his wings under control and cursing in Gnomish besides. There was a reason that Imoen and Haer'Dalis had devised another layer to their plan.

" _Alight on my arm, quasit_!" Haer'Dalis cried, or at least some semblance of those words for he spoke them in Abyssal and Imoen understood only by virtue of previous explanation on his part.

Only briefly rippling with Imoen's magic, the tiefling strode across the open paving before the palace as if all were well, the tiles which had once been white now stained with blood and ash. He held out his arm, looking up expectantly at Jan, whose form shimmered before beginning to descend. Snarling something Haer'Dalis's way, the balor whirled to face him fully, something hesitant in its manner. Imoen heard 'Irenicus' mentioned. It chilled her blood. But there was no time to wait and stare, for the forms of some dozen babau demons were stalking from the open palace and the ground was trembling with the arrival of at least one iron golem, its hulking form darkening the dimly lit square.

Already mouthing the words for her next spell, Imoen turned and hurled herself for the stairway, scrambling down the steps as she heard the balor snarl more loudly now. Its whip cracked and the staircase trembled with the passing of the iron golem, joints groaning. The more noise the better.

Imoen leapt the last few steps and landed on the floor as silently as she could, spitting out the last words to her spell and flinging her arms out, aiming for the balor now unsheathing its blindingly sharp blade and striding forward. Jan was perched on Haer'Dalis's arm, the tiefling taking a sharp step back as the balor approached though perhaps not quickly enough; the demon's dagger teeth were bared in wrath.

The aasimar saw the balor raise its blade just before her _Darkness_ spell popped into being around its horned head and the golem's vast, gleaming bulk stepped in front of the window through which she watched. She saw the balor's blade swing around, however, undeterred by her attempt at distraction, slicing straight into tiefling and quasit both…and banishing the illusion with an audible pop.

Cursing, with no time to look about herself for the real forms of her companions, Imoen dodged aside, pressing herself to the charred wall as she pulled her bow from her shoulder. Tymora be praised, the golem was still standing in front of the window, though it was beginning to turn. And when it did, it was only a matter of how many demons and constructs saw the aasimar staring out at them. But this would take a good aim, and that could not be rushed.

There! The hum of sound as the golem shifted its weight, and a knee joint came into view. Imoen let her first arrow fly just as a small winged form came thumping down the stairs, yelping all the way. The arrow stuck between folds of construct metal, the spark of lightning that went with it jolting the whole leg of the golem. Something juddered, and creaked. Another arrow. It jolted and stopped altogether.

Imoen was cursing to herself and pulling the bowstring back for a third arrow when Haer'Dalis pulled at her arm, Jan already slung over one shoulder. The gnome threw the golden wardstone her way and she caught it one-handed on reflex.

"My Wildflower! We must be away!"

And Haer'Dalis dragged her for the narrow gap in the broken wall, Jan taking aim with his crossbow and releasing the mechanism over his shoulder. The projectile shattered against the gangly form of a demonic foe just as it darted around the obscuring form of the golem; Imoen only had time to see its fellows stagger out of its way and the charging outline of the balor before hurling herself through the gap in the wall after Haer'Dalis.

Panic thundering in her ears, Imoen had no time to align herself in this next street – they had already made their plan, and it was all they had left now as the balor thundered something in Abyssal to its minions and the building in which they had just been standing began to shudder and fragment behind their running forms. Crumbling walls flew by along this narrow alley, ancient elvish flagstones treacherously slippery under their feet.

"Here!" Imoen yelped, digging her heels in and turning for the tower they had spotted earlier. She threw the wardstone into her pack, her bow safely across her back, and jumped for the first handhold without look to her companions. From the sound of things, Haer'Dalis and Jan had immediately met resistance in the doorway of the tower.

Behind her, the building blocking the balor from this street burst apart with a ripple of hot air and the rumble of its snarl almost threw her next half-leap upwards into a doomed fall. _Just remember, get to the top and you'll be able to see the temple. Just you get to the top._ She could not risk the fighting within; she had to be there first, and unopposed. There would be only one shot at this spell.

A projectile pinged off her spellshields just as she was reaching the window of the third floor, and something surged beneath her, several babau leaping for the vine walls below her and intent on following. More demons passed by her wide eyes as she reached the window, but both of them intent on the commotion downstairs. No more followed; Imoen hauled herself through and pulled a wand free from her belt, aiming it at the window almost before she had set foot on the smooth stone floor. A second later and a film of greenish goo sealed that opening; not a second too soon, as it turned out, for a babau's twisted face collided against it with a splat. The barrier hissed with acid and the beast snarled, pulling back before lunging forward again. This time the goo bent under its screeching weight.

Leaping over a desk left upended in some previous battle, Imoen caught sight of Haer'Dalis now backing his way up the lower flight of stairs with Jan at his side and a babau lashing out at them in pursuit. She had time to add a host of magic missiles to the cause, and to note the gash darkening the stomach of the tiefling's shirt a deep red.

"Up, up, my Wildflower!" His voice came out with a hint of strain.

One more flight to go; Imoen ran for the stairs, flinging a desperate _Knock_ spell ahead of herself when the curve of the steps revealed a closed doorway up ahead. The silver sparks of magic fizzed from her fingertips…and scattered into flaring red as the spell failed. Imoen only had time to curse, and to angle her shoulder to the door instead. She felt the impact slam straight through her, a ward going off, and something in her body gave an almighty snap. It took the air from her, and the pain bloomed golden behind her eyes, but the door gave an answering crack and slammed open, spilling her out onto the guard tower's roof.

Wheezing, Imoen staggered and almost fell, her fingertips grazing against the ground. Her shoulder was ablaze with pain, and dark figures were just reaching over the edge of the wall behind her. It took a moment more for her eyes to alight upon the distant symbol of Rillifane, shining with holy power in the darkness. It was here she focused, and not on the monsters lunging for her back, as she splayed her fingers out before her and called up the words for her next spell. She heard the boom of Jan's crossbow and the whistle of Haer'Dalis's blades – she heard the grunt of one or both of them in pain as a spark of white light winked into being before her hands, swelling with agonising slowness before the air ripped and parted before her, twisting space. She fancied she could see an answering silver shimmer by the symbol of Rillifane. The beating of the balor's wings was swelling ever nearer.

"Get in!" Imoen called, whirling to help her friends. They did not need to be told again; two babau were flopping and hissing on the floor, dying, but three more were throwing themselves into battle.

Haer'Dalis and Jan ran past her, leaping through the _Dimension Door_ , and Imoen had intended to follow without pause. But now the demons rounded on her, and the itching, crawling feeling which had been so comparatively mild from the tiefling's aura came over her in a flood. Her limbs tensed, and the demons hesitated. Red filled her vision, limned with gold, and she felt her entire being ripple. The demons scrambled back, and in that split second Imoen felt the Beast writhing for freedom within her. Fear and horror warred with desperation; she begged for a compromise and the Beast permitted it. Her hands grew and stretched, her skin peeling away to reveal jagged black hide. The demons now leaping for her with bared teeth met with Death.

* * *

The _Dimension Door_ closed above her head as Imoen fell through, landing hard on her injured side. Her ears were ringing, her stomach churning. She gasped, for now more numb than pained though her body resisted her call for it to rise. She tensed when hands looped beneath her, that faint crawl of a demonic aura momentarily filling her with fear. But it was just Haer'Dalis, lifting her with a wince of his own from this narrow balcony floor.

"You did it, Sparkles," Jan congratulated from a lengthening distance as Haer'Dalis stood, Imoen's world tilting but remaining horizontal. The gnome had a gash on his forehead and stood once more in his true form, goggles hanging around his neck and his crossbow on his back, the string hanging from it in two broken strands. He was holding the golden wardstone again, fished neatly from her backpack as Haer'Dalis had raised her.

It appeared that her spell had dropped them directly atop the temple, just shy of the shining metal symbol of Rillifane which crowned the conical roof of waxy overlapping leaves which had spilled them onto this balcony. A doorway waited in the vine wall and Jan now knocked politely, more Chimeflowers tinkling with the impact. They were some four storeys up from the front doorway of the temple, which was itself raised atop a flight of stairs. The whole tower was humming with wards, holy symbols spiralling around and around the base of the building, gleaming blue-white in the darkness. The golems were still marching amidst the houses and other buildings at the bottom of this hill but nothing ventured up here. The trees did not look even slightly singed.

Haer'Dalis's fingers tightened against her side and Imoen winced up at him, her sister's enchanted mask – now tied around her head like a circlet – revealing to her his ashen face in the gloom. Her attempt to reach for his back, to at least alleviate some of her weight from his arms, was answered with a grinding in her shoulder and pain so bright that she was momentarily blind.

"You ought to put me down, bufflehead," she attempted anyway, "You're hurt." His blood was wet against her arm. But he just offered her a weak smile, turning fully towards the door as it opened sharply.

"I would, if you could walk," he promised. She kicked her legs to prove that she could, in fact, _walk_ but the action jolted her shoulder and pain rippled down her side. When the coughing fit which followed saw her unable to hear the exchange between Jan and the elven woman at the door, Imoen knew Haer'Dalis was right. She tasted blood with every wheeze.

"…I am Demin, high priestess of Rillifane," their new host was saying as Haer'Dalis carried Imoen inside, onto a smooth marble walkway overlooking a tall, cylindrical room lit only by a few candles. Incense and other less familiar smells filled the smoky air.

The priestess before them wore a long, shapeless gown of orange and white, her skin thin and wrinkled as if with great age. Aside from her braided white hair, she appeared as all of the sun elves; golden in complexion, her features angular and haughty even as she rushed to aid the wounded companions, guiding Haer'Dalis to lie Imoen on the nearest marble bench rather than struggle to carry her down the shallow steps which followed the long curve of the wall down into the main space of the temple. Imoen lay wincing and coughing while Haer'Dalis lowered himself onto the end of this same resting place. When he pulled up his shirt a little it revealed a deep gash across his stomach and lower ribs.

"Hells, how did you carry me?" Imoen breathed, but Haer'Dalis could only stifle a groan and lean back against the railing behind him. Meanwhile, Demin and Jan bustled away down the stairs, some kind of high-speed exchange of information passing between them as they went.

"As much as I'd like to see my friends healthy and bouncy as before, I've got to press you about this wardstone," Jan was saying, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. Demin hesitated at a store cupboard, eyeing the gnome with a faint frown before looking up to the walkway and blinking guiltily when she met Imoen's eye. The aasimar offered a firm nod.

"You were sent by Elhan to bring down the wards," she stated, her voice creaking just a little with age. Jan held out the wardstone, though his thick fingers were gripping its edge tightly. It was smooth and unadorned but heavy, as Imoen knew well. Demin still struggled to answer, as if her great age had taught her that under no circumstances was one to _ever_ bring down the wards of Suldanessellar. At last she nodded, shaking herself and pointing to the centre of the tree graven into the floor. "There. Upon the altar."

Jan skipped straight to his goal, reaching up on his tiptoes to slide the wardstone into place. As soon as he did so power bloomed from that altar, reaching out in a ripple so brief and harmless that Imoen fancied she imagined it. But it left her skin fizzing, and as the seconds went by the endless thump of golem feet outside grew duller, more distant…and stopped altogether. Light so bright that it seemed the sun had dawned early poured in through the narrow windows dotted around the circular tower, illuminating everything in white and leaving sunspots in its transient wake.

The wards were down around Suldanessellar. Imoen blew out a great sigh and let her head drop back onto the cold, hard bench. And…at last the real pain caught up with her. It started in her shoulder, her side, and spread to her forearms which only now did she dare to look upon. The sight was bloody, and brought with it more jangling pain, her hands trembling from the gouges the babau had left behind as the Beast fought with them.

* * *

 _"Awaken!"_

Elatharia opened her eyes to find herself standing, the back of her mind still fogged with sleep. Everywhere she looked there hung gold and white flowers tinkling softly in a warm breeze, long green fronds whispering against her skin as she turned about. Beneath her feet was the thick, ridged brown of bark, a bough so long and broad that she could not see anything but the green of the leaves and the curved surface of this mighty branch. Her sight was awash with diffuse light, tinged with the emerald of the foliage all about. She was high in the air, she knew it without proof, knew it with the same certainty that she understood herself to be most certainly _not_ awakened.

" _Awaken and hear me!"_

The voice came again, louder this time, and the Transmuter twisted around to see the ghostly image of an elven woman resolving itself just a matter of feet away. She was tall for an elf – taller than Elatharia, though perhaps only by an inch or two – and stood with the straight, poised posture of one long taught to hold herself that way. Her face was full of worry, large amber eyes widening to see Elatharia before a smile of relieved disbelief softened her features. Her teeth were straight and white and perfect, her skin unblemished and caught in an eternal shimmer, not quite so obvious as a _shine_. Long blonde hair poured down her back, wilted flowers hanging from its tangled mass. Her dress, long and white, was stained with ash and the red splatters of blood, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Her feet were bare, and black with dirt.

"Who are you?" Elatharia demanded, her eyes narrowing as the elf approached with arms outstretched. "How have you invaded my sleep?"

"I am Queen Ellesime of Suldanessellar," came the answer, the voice far stronger than the opaque image before her. "I had reached out for any aid – my grandfather's blessings have imbued me with some power. I had hoped to reach the sleeping ears of Elhan, perhaps. But then I felt the warmth of a godchild in the midst of all this chaos. One godchild…and then another. But my magic can only permit me the power to interrupt your dreams. Forgive me, but I have little time…"

The elf spoke in flawless Common, her tones reaching that special 'standard' which hinted at no place or time. And now, with greater scrutiny, Elatharia knew that visage. Perhaps the skin shimmered with the distant hint of caught light, perhaps the figure was dirty and bloodied, perhaps the hair was tangled. But she had seen that face before. Elatharia fell back a step and Ellesime's face dropped.

"I've seen you before. In the dungeon of Irenicus," the Transmuter snapped, her heart thundering in her ears with the volume special to nightmares. She raised a hand. "He made you. Over and over again."

Ellesime's shoulders bowed at that, and her eyes closed wearily.

"It does not surprise me. I take it that it is _your_ soul which Joneleth has stolen? He bears the golden light of a human god and even now bends it against the Tree." She hesitated, offering a more tentative smile. "I am most glad that you are here. I had feared this city was doomed. It is only a matter of time before Irenicus breaks through the Tree's defences and takes the power he seeks. When that is done, he will turn all of his focus upon me. And upon the city."

"I'm here to take back my soul," Elatharia said, folding her arms. "And for my revenge against Irenicus, whom you call 'Joneleth'. Perhaps your city deserves his wrath. I don't care. I'm not here to judge that."

"No, no!" Ellesime's eyes widened, her hands stretching out imploringly. "The city does not deserve his wrath! Perhaps…perhaps I do. But not Suldanessellar." Her tone drew a hard laugh from Elatharia.

"You want to save yourself as much as the city, I can see that. Don't lie to me. I've had enough of the Knights keeping their secrets, telling me nothing of Irenicus or his reasons for returning here."

"I am desperate," Ellesime's voice shook, her eyes flashing with brief anger. "No one wants to die by the hand of Joneleth the Irenicus, not even me." She looked the Transmuter up and down, leaving her limbs feeling awkward and heavy. "I suspect you know the truth of such a fear better than most. He may have hidden your scars, but I can see them plainly here, marring the frayed remnants of your soul. I would not recognise you should we meet outside this dreamworld. Your features are lost in layers of past damage."

Elatharia froze, her eyes catching Ellesime and holding them with poignant fear. _Don't look down_. No wonder her body had felt so heavy, so stiff.

"Tell me why you're here. I know what you did to Irenicus and Bodhi – you took their souls and cast them out for the crime of stealing from your Tree. For seeking to steal its power."

Ellesime nodded, her mouth downturned. Such tired sadness filled her eyes.

"I am here to tell you that Irenicus has reached the Tree and taken me with him – should he achieve his aim of tearing it down and drinking in its power, he will be beyond your reach. He will lay waste to this city and trample you without a thought. He will be a god upon the Prime in his full power. Not as your father in his last days."

"You know who I am?"

"I know what you are. Bhaalspawn, half god." For a moment there was a chill in Ellesime's tone, but she brushed it aside with a wave of one bloodied hand. "And I am here also to tell you that the wards are coming down. The city will soon be vulnerable to attack – of just the sort that it needs. I take it Elhan and his men are with you beyond the walls?" A faint smile returned to her face when Elatharia nodded. "Good. And I know I can trust you to seek Joneleth as soon as you are able. Without his soul, and even imbued with yours, he is colder than he ever was. It appears that your essence has only returned to him the power of hatred. In me he now sees only the creator of his damnation. He sees me and sees the source of his new name, the 'Irenicus'. The forsaken one."

"Reckless of you, to steal a soul. Couldn't you see that would never go well?" Elatharia demanded.

"I was advised by the priests, and I was young. I felt betrayed. I wanted revenge." Ellesime sighed it, bowing her head in shame. She was holding something back, but it would have to do for now.

"You need to let me return. We have to attack," Elatharia urged, and Ellesime nodded. A shadow crossed over her face.

"Beware – he has enlisted a dragon to his cause. It waits in the garden, ready for you. And beyond, he stands atop the highest boughs of our Tree of Life, casting his spells."

* * *

Elatharia sat up with a gasp, heart galloping. Her sharp movement stirred Edwin beside her; he blinked up at her with bleary eyes as she stood, pointing at the blazing city beyond the fog. It was still dark, sunrise some hours away.

"The wards, they're down," she gasped, just as Suldanessellar rippled with a flash of white light which had both wizards wincing and cowering behind upraised arms.

A moment later and the battle horns sounded. It was time.


	63. With His Dragon at Heel

**With thanks to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed.**

 **Now, with warnings for violence and gore...**

* * *

 **Chapter 62: With His Dragon at Heel**

* * *

Perched atop the dome of the Temple of Rillifane, Imoen watched it all. Newly healed by Demin and aided by her sister's enchanted mask, she could see through the haze and the darkness as well as any of the demons and devils below. That meant she could watch those monsters scrambling in confusion after they had seen the protective wards fail across the city and the golems freeze and fall to the earth. It had happened in a wave, the ground shuddering and rumbling with every collapsing metal form. Silence reigned for only a few breaths; few creatures were better trained in sensing impending danger than demons and devils.

Imoen saw the lights across the western slope, illuminating the Knights' camp as the elves waiting outside the city along with her sister and their friends gathered themselves for an advance. The white glow of conjured lights swelled as they approached, spreading and oozing outwards once the battle was joined with the patrolling babau and hamatula. It would have been impossible to make out any familiar forms from this distance, even from such a vantage point, but the flare of flame at the northern end of the line told Imoen where her companions most likely were. Few wizards flung flame as relentlessly as Edwin.

The clamour of battle began distantly, the streets below more filled with the hissed commands and questions of the monsters who thought themselves safe behind the city walls at least for the time being. It seemed they were taken by surprise when arrows swooped in from the east, followed by the silent, graceful arcs of elvish blades as the militia of Suldanessellar came down from the Holy Hill which had been the population's prison and sanctuary both. They came without fanfare, without warning; with little more than a rustle of cloth and the singing of bowstrings. Once held back by the golems which could not be stopped, now the elves had new hope. They joined the battle in determined quiet, but the sight of them in their gleaming golden plate and scale left Imoen grinning broadly. She took great joy in lending her arrows to their cause – and a few of her spells as well, those that she could spare.

Soon the air was whistling with arrows, the shrieks and crash of battle all about the city below. Everywhere Imoen looked there was the gold of the militia, though never together in large numbers. Enough to spread out the demons and devils here in the southern end of the city, to press them and distract them for the Knights to come to their aid.

But the city was still burning, the air filling now with the stench of Lower Planes blood but also with the shouts of the elves. There was only one way that the suffering of Suldanessellar could end for good. It lay to the north east, where the great shadow of the Tree loomed limned in gold, the shine of Bhaal's stolen power pulsing across the dark sky. Irenicus. And before him, the pure blackness of the gardens wherein Demin had promised waited the dragon. Perhaps it would be wise to save her spells.

* * *

Gleaming with spell protections, though inevitably few of them her own, Elatharia could not have stood still if she had wanted to. Her newly improved _Haste_ had her heart fluttering in her chest, her limbs buzzing with energy. And if she did not keep moving, if she did not keep casting _Slow_ and her magic missiles into the fray…she would see her foes. At least every scream from the barbed devils steadied the shaking in her limbs just a little more. There was something calming in their pain.

The babau and hamatula did not fall easily. It was probably impossible for those beasts hardened in the Lower Planes to give into battle without answering in kind first. But the elves made steady progress, the front lines swapping and changing and surging, giving every soldier who did not fall a chance to scramble back and acquire some healing from the priests who waited at the centre of this thin line of Knights. Aerie had readily lent her aid to this cause, though her eyes were wide and frightened. No doubt it was a relief for her to keep her thoughts on her healing prayers.

Meanwhile Korgan, Mazzy and Anomen all fought at the vanguard, the dwarf a whirlwind of berserk rage from whom the monsters scrambled with nervous swipes. Paladin and former knight had called upon the power of their respective gods to aid them, their bodies bright beacons in the darkness. Somewhere nearby Jaheira and Valygar were fighting by the sides of the elves and everywhere were the gruesome sights and sounds and smells of battle.

But Elatharia's eyes were on the gates, now open and filled with a throng of monsters. The hulking winged form of a balor rose up above them, carefully well back from the battle. Beside Elatharia, Edwin cursed as it stepped into view. But the sight of the gelugons guarding it only brought a smile to the Transmuter's face. A _Wall of Force_ sent her foes stumbling back from her, along with a few unfortunate elves, and she stepped up onto the giant roots which wound their way around the city's hill to get a better vantage point. Instantly she felt the potential beneath her feet, warmth which whispered of power and safety. But it also felt _afraid_. And hopeful.

The roots trembled beneath her and for a moment Elatharia feared she might be thrown off. Instead new tendrils unfurled, winding their way around the quasits fluttering overhead and pulling them to the ground, catching on the wrists and ankles and necks of the demons and devils which had been pushed back to within their reach, all of them shrieking, resisting…and failing. And the root upon which Elatharia stood unravelled before her eyes, flaring a pained red as it rose up and straightened out, giving a walkway to the gates. It did so smoothly; she barely had to watch her balance.

" _The Tree has come to our aid! To the roots!_ " she head Elhan calling to his men, the Elvish clear enough in his urgency in spite of the dialect.

The monsters waiting with their weapons poised at the gates made to rush outwards only to be pushed back or dragged down amongst the roots, shrieking as their skin caught fire and burned with blue flame. This was divine power, the feel of it unfamiliar and certainly not arcane. It was also desperate, for it clearly came with great cost to the tree. Every root which it turned to the fight shrivelled and withered away when its task was done. The need for urgency was evident, and Elatharia heard the scrambling of feet as the elves and her companions followed in her wake.

A carefully placed _Dimension Door_ saw some twenty of the monsters poised at the gate fall through the ground only to be dropped amongst the roots which burned and strangled them. Edwin and Aerie both took up the idea; soon there were devils and demons dropping with screams to die amongst the roots of the Tree. _With_ the roots of the Tree.

When the demons now backing up at the gates raised their spears, their numbers greatly thinned, Elatharia had little time to consider her options. One projectile soared through the air straight for her; it had certainly been foolish to take the lead. A strong hand tugged at her arm just as she attempted to lunge aside; the extra aid saved her life, for the barbed edge of the spear scraped against the surface of her _Stoneskin_ , leaving in its wake a mist of grey fragments and the blossoming pain which promised a colourful bruise. The weapon clanged against a shield behind her but Elatharia had no time to look around, nor even to thank her saviour.

She stopped her advance and the elves surged past her, several casting strange glances her way as they raised their shields against the arcing spears. A few paces ahead and the advancing soldiers had reached the range of the rest of the demons; they braced themselves against the onslaught of flying spears, and a few were not successful. They fell, pouring blood, and dropped amongst the roots of the Tree.

Amidst the press of armoured bodies Elatharia had to fairly fight her way back to her companions. Edwin and Viconia were some way back and both eyed her with disbelief. The wizard was a little smudged by ash and blood beneath layers of spell protections and the drow's form slithered with Shar's blessings.

"I see you realised your folly, _khal'abbil,_ " Viconia said, her eyes narrowed. Edwin could only offer a faint nod of agreement. He raised an eyebrow when Elatharia ignored the drow and took his arm tightly, pushing through the resistance of his protections. They sparked before permitting her grasping fingers through to tangle in his sleeve.

"You have a purpose to this assault?" he asked.

"Take us to the balor," she demanded, and for a moment his brows knotted in confusion. But then he smirked, glancing between a gap in the raised shields of the elves. One needed a clear line of sight to cast a _Dimension Door_ and Elatharia was simply not tall enough.

"Yes, 'master'," the Red Wizard mocked, pursing his lips in thought for a moment before glancing down at Viconia's uncertain face. "We do of course have a plan, drow. I take it you intend to accompany us?"

Viconia opened her mouth to speak, only to be jostled forwards by a stocky, bloodied dwarf in heavy armour. The look she gave him ought to have withered Korgan's very soul but he just grinned and spat something to one side that looked decidedly like demonic entrails.

"An' ye'll be takin' me. I've always hankered after killin' two balors in one lifetime," Korgan insisted. When his eyes blazed with bloodlust like that it was impossible to deny him. Edwin curled his lip in disgust all the same before beginning his spell, his eyes fixed carefully forward and through whatever gap had given him a sight of their prey.

The elves were inching forwards, arms linked and shields overlapping, by the time the silver shimmer of Edwin's _Dimension Door_ filled the air before them. Korgan readily leapt through first and only then did Elatharia and Viconia follow; Edwin came last for the spell must begin and end with him.

They stumbled for a moment upon the smooth tiled ground of Suldanessellar, the air thicker with smoke here than it had been outside the gates. Edwin's spell had dropped them perhaps six feet behind the balor's folded leathery wings and the stench of sulphur pouring from its flickering body made Elatharia's throat constrict in hope of retching. But there was no time for that.

The gelugons were first to look around, some half a dozen of them aiming spears the way of the newcomers who were now stumbling backwards. Whatever they snapped in the Infernal tongue had the balor shifting on its feet suspiciously and it began to turn about. But the icy mercenaries of Gehenna did not lunge forward, nor offer any threats. They pulled their bulbous, insectoid bodies to attention and hissed something Hellish. Elatharia felt a grin spread across her face. Golden power built and she embraced it. The Beast stirred, and she permitted it the use of her hands.

The Transmuter's forearms were already shifting into long, ridged black talons by the time the balor had whirled on them, brandishing its flaming greatsword and thundering an oblivious command to its mercenaries. Korgan answered with a charge under the blade, the balor's whip cracking harmlessly against his red dragon scale armour and, if anything, only propelling him forward. Still the gelugons did not move and in the moment that the balor looked down, attempting to swat the dwarf barrelling towards it with his axe at the ready, Elatharia spread her hands towards the monsters of Bhaal's realm, so foolishly chosen by this demon. Behind her, Edwin and Viconia were deathly silent.

"Kill your 'master'," she bade as the golden light flared from her eyes. She tasted it on her tongue. And the gelugons obeyed.

* * *

"We should proceed to the Temple of Rillifane," Elhan panted as they formed up around the dead balor. He eyed the gelugons who stood around the fallen monster with more than a little discomfort. The look he turned to Elatharia was closer to hate than relief. Sovalidas was by his side, both of them sporting cuts and bruises across their faces, their armour dented and bloodied.

The demons fled with the fall of their general, retreating northwards. Elatharia did not need the natives to understand that their enemies had fallen back to the palace, beyond which Irenicus continued to cast his spells upon the Tree. That thought in itself was a reminder of how little time they had.

"High Priestess Demin must be alive to have brought down the wards," Sovalidas nodded, leaning on his sword and grimacing at the sight of Korgan attempting to pull his axe free from the head of the vanquished balor. "We should not leave her alone."

"They are not alone, general," Jaheira put in, her skin covered with the thick, flaking protection of barkskin. Every movement crackled as she picked her way around the dissipating balor, careful not to slip on the blood-slicked ground. "Imoen and the others will be with her." She allowed the full force of her steely stare to settle upon Sovalidas and Elhan both, though the sun elves did little more than straighten up and match her glare. "But the temple is the safest place for us to set up a base. Hopefully the militia who came down from the Holy Hill will be of the same opinion."

"Perhaps now is the time to remind you that we have limited time," Edwin said, folding his arms when Viconia looked up at him sharply. The Red Wizard was by now deceptively free of the grime of battle, owed to a few cantrips. "One need only look to the Tree to know that Irenicus has reached his destination. Whatever he has planned is now in motion and we have no way of knowing how long it might take him to complete."

"And by all accounts he is not going to be stopped once his spells are done," Mazzy nodded, squeezing her way through the ranks of elves who were awaiting healing in what little remained of this circular entry plaza. She met Edwin's eyes carefully, her expression neutral. The business-like tone of the paladin mid-warfare ought to have made Elatharia smile, but she only nodded even as she placed a hand on the elbow of the drow standing between herself and the Red Wizard.

"We won't go without Imoen and Haer'Dalis," she promised Viconia, who only offered her a schooled frown in response. "But we will need to be quick about it."

"Agreed," Jaheira gritted out.

"I take it you do not intend your minions to follow us to holy ground," Elhan said, biting back his last word. _Bhaalspawn_. Elatharia wanted to roll her eyes.

"No," she turned to the gelugons and they leapt to attention immediately, mandibles clicking. When she pointed northwards, they turned that way readily. "Find a way through. If you can, mislead as many of the demons and devils that you find. Direct them away from our path."

They went without hesitation, bulbous tails slithering over the ground, and in a matter of seconds all six had slipped through the broken walls of the plaza, vanishing into the smoky pre-dawn. The elves visibly relaxed with the passing of the ice devils, in time for Coran to arrive with Valygar and Anomen not far behind. The sun elf's warpaint had smeared, though the green dye on his teeth was still vibrant when he sent a bemused smile Elatharia's way.

"I know a shortcut to the Temple," he offered, pointing in its general direction. "I imagine your sister is already atop its roof by now, though from the sound of things I believe the enemy is retreating as one for the palace." It was true; the clamour of battle was receding, overtaken by the thumping of many heavy feet.

Adjusting her circlet, Elatharia gestured for Coran and Elhan to lead the way.

* * *

The bodies of demons, devils and elves alike littered the streets around the Temple of Rillifane but not so much as a smudge of dirt or a splash of tainted blood had dirtied the chalk mound upon which it stood. A cylinder of vines and stone, its glass dome crowned by the shining gold of Rillifane, it stood higher than any other building around it. And the surface elves rushed to it with such unquestioning eagerness. Jaheira, Aerie and Valygar followed at their heels, Mazzy and Anomen more hesitant – but curious. Fools. The sight made Viconia's lip curl.

"Eh. Maybe I'll be stayin' out here," Korgan grunted, stopping at the base of the vine stairway, just a few paces ahead of the drow. His axe clanged loudly against one marble newel post, splattering the smooth white orb with demon blood. Viconia's heart swelled to see such irreverence. "Might be a balor or two needs a proper greetin', ha!"

"I am sure your slovenly presence will not be missed, dwarf," Edwin promised as he reached Viconia's side. His dark glance was more thoughtful as it passed over her. His eyebrow twitched and he gestured to the holy markings in the ground just a pace beyond her boots. The bright white of them had her squinting, especially with the sun rising steadily over the houses behind her. "Afraid to tread on holy ground, Viconia?"

The drow could offer little better than a grimace up at him. His smirk grew, though she noted that he made no move to head that way either.

"Haer'Dalis must be inside with Jan and Imoen," Elatharia reminder. The Transmuter only now stepped up to Edwin's side, her eyes trained carefully upon Korgan. The dwarf was settling himself noisily upon a mossy rock in the small moat of a garden surrounding the base of the temple. The thought of Haer'Dalis sent a jolt through Viconia and she was quick to glance away before Edwin could see her treacherous expression change.

Elatharia was correct of course, Shar damn it. But Viconia had been raised on tales of _darthiir_ temples. It was said that a drow may conflagrate upon stepping through the holy barrier of such 'hallowed' ground. The very thought of such indoctrination brought the anger that Viconia needed. Gritting her teeth, she followed Edwin over the holy markings.

Nothing happened. Not a shimmer in the air, not a flaring of light. Certainly nothing so uncomfortable as the casting of that wretched geas which Elhan had forced upon her. Korgan barked a laugh when she blew a subconscious sigh of relief but Edwin by now was half way up the stairs to the open doors of temple. He only turned to look back when he realised that Elatharia had not followed.

She stood staring down at the holy markings with a frown, inching one foot forward. As it crossed the line the runes flared up and she winced, hopping over automatically with a startled yelp. Korgan's laughter died a little and Edwin did not appear to know whether to smirk or frown. His eyes sparked with such fascination that Viconia looked between Transmuter and Conjurer with new understanding. The drow started to speak, looking down the steps to where Elatharia was approaching, her expression faintly pained, but a voice interrupted her from the open gates.

"My Blackbird, I see that you braved the holy ground of Rillifane." And in answer, Viconia wished she had turned perhaps a little slower.

Haer'Dalis was just leaning against the ornate doorway, folding his arms across his chest. He had pulled back his deep blue hair, braids of feathers and all, and there was bruising evident from his chin to his shoulder. A cut marred the black markings at his chin and there was a stillness, a _darkness_ in his black eyes that spoke of the threats still to come. Most noticeably, over his usual cloth shirt he now wore an unfamiliar grey-blue tunic; as Viconia neared him the faint shimmer across the material's surface became clearer. This was elvish mail, tiny overlapping scales of mithral lighter than cloth giving off a faint iridescence in the rising sunlight. It was smooth and cool against her fingertips, flexible enough that she could feel the shape of him beneath.

"It is perhaps a little showy for this humble sparrow," he suggested softly. "But the priestess within saw the extent of my wounds when I arrived and insisted that armoured I must be."

"She was correct," Viconia told him, a quick look back up to his face showing that no, he had not yet smiled. "Is there a reason for your solemnity today? Did you not achieve all that you intended? I see that most of those wounds you mentioned must be healed."

A faint smile touched Haer'Dalis's lips, but his sharp features hardened as he looked over her head to the great Tree dominating the city behind her. He did not answer, for Imoen came darting towards them through the throng of armoured elves still milling around the spacious atrium of the temple. Elhan was stepping up onto a flower-decorated dais, still in his dented and bloodied armour, and by his side was an ancient sun elf female, smaller and frailer by far than him. But in her eyes there was expectation. _The proper order of things,_ Viconia thought.

"Heya, you're all here?" Imoen asked, skidding to a stop before Haer'Dalis and Viconia. She too had changed; it appeared the priestess had gifted to her a simple mithral mail tunic much like Viconia's own, though the aasimar wore her leather jerkin atop it. The pockets were bursting with refilled spell components. "Elatharia get through the wards alright? They set me kinda dizzy when I done teleported onto that roof."

"Teleportation onto a dome of that diameter could be considered cause enough for dizziness," Edwin told her. Viconia had not noticed him and Elatharia reach the doorway behind her. "(But if by 'all' she means 'we' then yes, it appears we are all present)." But the aasimar barely paused to nod.

"Here," Imoen pressed the enchanted strip of cloth into her sister's hands. Elatharia took it and immediately made to fasten it across her markings but paused, just for a moment, before tying the knot behind her head.

"Thank you," she offered, but the words rang hollow. Her eyes were looking elsewhere and nowhere. Behind them no doubt her thoughts were only of Irenicus. Imoen's eyes softened as if she understood, though Edwin looked between them with a faint frown.

The tinkling of carefully rung bells interrupted any more conversation; silence rippled through the hall and a weary looking guard ushered those standing in the doorway inside. Once he had stopped staring at Viconia's ebon skin he and a companion pulled those massive doors shut – Korgan hurled a curse for being closed out but made no move to join them.

The clang of the doors appeared to be the ancient elf's cue to speak. She straightened, clasping her arms behind her back, and began. Only a muttered _Tongues_ incantation from Elatharia permitted Viconia to understand. The crackle of the magic unsettled a few of the elves in front of them and they turned to glare, revealing that Jaheira and the others had found a much better vantage point close to the centre of the gathering.

"Welcome to Rillifane's house, kin and strangers alike. It warms my heart to see all of you well; it saddens me that there are not more with us."

There must have been over a hundred elves in sight; some had gathered along the balconies above and there were more peering in from a larger doorway behind her. But the priestess's voice carried easily around the plain white walls of the circular atrium. The elves did not cheer or clap as humans would have; they simply waited, still. Silent. _Such respect for one withered old priestess of Rillifane._

"But whatever victories we have taken today, our city is still not our own. Our queen is gone, a captive of our greatest foe, Joneleth the Forsaken. His army of demons gathers at the palace, and beyond them there waits a dragon of deepest shadow in the gardens. Only through that dragon will the Forsaken foe be reached. But our queen must be saved. Our people must be avenged. I see there are guests amongst us who feel the same, those who have the knowledge and power to bring Joneleth down at last, Rillifane willing."

A murmur went through the crowd at that, heads turning to look towards the outsiders amongst them. Curling her lip at such perusal, Viconia made a point of looking away. There were more important matters to think of, and she ran her hands over the smooth black material of her black dragon scale thoughtfully. She and Korgan both wore trophies of past victories, but it was never a relief to learn one must face dragonkin.

"Another dragon," Edwin sighed. Imoen nodded forcefully.

"And how do you expect us to reach this dragon?" Jaheira called into the rising clamour. Elhan stepped up to join the priestess.

"Are we to fight it alone? Or will you be lending to us some of your less expendable forces?" Elatharia demanded also before he could speak. His mouth snapped shut at the sound of her voice and for a moment his expression wavered. At last he shook his head.

"No. We are not heartless like our foe, and this is our city. The bulk of our force will go to the palace. Their mission will be to misdirect the army away from the palace, or what remains of it. The rest of us will go with our guests to face the dragon, for good or ill."

Viconia lost interest in the details of his commands to his soldiers; her mission and that of her companions was clear enough. They reconvened at the centre of the atrium once the way had cleared, soldiers spreading out into other rooms of the temple to rest and heal, the fit and prepared separating from those who would not be playing any more part in the battle for Suldanessellar. If nothing else it was a relief to be free of the staring, judgemental eyes of the sun elves, the _darthiir_. Though perhaps Jaheira's glare was little better. She surveyed Haer'Dalis and Imoen with surprise, her gaze attempting to skip over Elatharia entirely. But for the moment a scene was developing behind the druid, and that was much more interesting.

"I…I can fight," Aerie insisted, pale and round-eyed though she was. Her hair was tangled and bloody and it look as though the stream of blood trickling from her hairline was her own. She was dabbing at it feebly and continued until Valygar took the wad of cloth from her and pressed it firmly to the wound. Viconia knew surface potions and ointments well enough to recognise that blue glow as healing magic.

"Perhaps you can," Mazzy allowed, "But you will be better suited here, helping the wounded." She spoke with more steel than kindness and it was hard to tell if Aerie winced from the pain or the halfling's tone.

"I…I've always helped. Y-you're not saying I…I'm not good enough? M-Mazzy I…"

The paladin took her hands, craning her head to look up into the avariel's watery eyes though Aerie was noticeably smaller than Viconia and indeed of a height with Korgan, who was remarkably tall for a dwarf.

"You are the best of us, I think," Mazzy said, "But you are no warrior, Aerie." It was hard to make out her expression around the edge of her helmet, but the change in her tone surprised Viconia. By Shar, was she _serious_? "You are a healer, and we do not have time to wait for your own wound to be mended satisfactorily. Stay. Tend to the wounded, defend them if you have to."

Aerie's next words were choked by a sob, tears spilling over her cheeks as her chin crumpled. She nodded, or tried to, glancing up miserably at Valygar only to see him incline his head and mutter some agreement.

"Al-alright. But when you come back you're…you're taking me to Watcher's Keep. I'm n-not going to let you go alone."

"Of course," Mazzy smiled as she started to turn back to the others, though the look did not reach her eyes. "Be safe, Aerie."

For a moment the avariel wavered, looking to all of her companions. Anomen avoided her gaze entirely and that only sped the flow of her tears. At last she gave a great, shuddering sigh and let Valygar start to guide her away from the group; several offered their farewells to the avariel, although Viconia could not bring herself to stoop to such falsehood. It was a stance she shared only with Edwin…and Anomen. How _curious_.

"B-Baervan be with you!" Aerie blurted, a little too late.

Jaheira turned to face the others with a stillness in her expression which spoke of veiled distress. Her whole body was tense, her fists clenched by her sides.

"We should head out within the hour," the druid stated.

"Eat what you can," Mazzy reminded, her eyes lingering on Elatharia. "And get what rest you can. We've fought dragons before, but we can't underestimate them."

"Wise words, my Tiny Hawk," Haer'Dalis nodded, smirking a little at last when Edwin muttered a complaint about his nicknames. Mazzy hardly flinched.

"It would take no ordinary dragon to choose such danger," Edwin put in, folding his arms when all eyes turned to him. "Certainly all dragons are greedy and arrogant – but Irenicus is reaching for godhood. He must be. He has your soul, after all," he glanced down to Elatharia, who was chewing on her lip nervously again. "And that Tree is a sentient force, as we saw outside the walls. Any dragon who will risk guarding his activities will be prepared for dreadful battle. And capable of far worse than Firkraag."

Haer'Dalis blew out a breath at that, his hand brushing Viconia's elbow. There were no more smiles, no more words. Shar be with them, but if they survived the dragon they could be facing Irenicus within hours.

* * *

The elves were as good as their word, for all of their staring and distrust. The ruined streets were all but deserted as the adventurers made their way to the palace; with Elhan, Sovalidas and some twenty of their knights along, few enemies stood in their way. From the sound of things the clamour of battle had dwindled into more distant parts of the city and Elatharia suspected that the gelugons could be thanked for the misdirection.

"I've never fought a dragon," Imoen hissed, tugging on Elatharia's arm as they neared the sweeping structure of the palace. Even amidst the smoke and ruination its chimeflowers tinkled softly, though the plaza before it was awash in red. The front gates hung off their hinges and all about was the stench of the Abyss. An enormous metallic golem lay nearby; Korgan hit its foot with his axe as they passed and it resounded like a gong.

"They're different enough that it shouldn't really matter," Elatharia said, though the words sounded like a lie. Perhaps they were. How odd, to feel no fear. All she saw was the golden light of Bhaal, behind her eyes and ahead of them, shining brighter than the early morning sun from the vast boughs of the Tree.

"Our Sparrowhawk certainly seems convinced of this one's danger," Haer'Dalis offered from a few paces behind. He hesitated. "And I should probably warn you…the rumbling beneath your feet is not the shudder of battle nor of distant spells. Nor perhaps of an ill-timed earthquake."

Imoen's eyes widened, her hand tightening on Elatharia's arm. At the Transmuter's other side, Edwin's step faltered momentarily and when she glanced at him, his look was full of warning.

"That…that shaking is the _dragon_?" Imoen wheezed, her eyes sweeping around every member of their group. Jaheira swallowed hard but her footsteps did not falter; Anomen's hand went to the hilt of his mace and he hefted his shield pointedly. His expression was one of determination, perhaps even of anger.

"There are more than thirty of us and only one of it," Mazzy pointed out, "Take heart in that." She patted Imoen's side as she strode past, pointing to the palace ahead and looking back at Elhan. "Which way?"

"The gates, at the end by the trees. Yes, there," Coran called. He winked when Imoen and Elatharia both looked around. "It would have been far nicer if you could have seen the splendour of this city before such hard times," he said, just as quickly sombre. He had reapplied his warpaint, though it hardly seemed that the dragon would care. "I know the best vantage points now that Demin has permitted me access to the city maps. You and I will be best suited to high ground, Imoen." He tapped the bow over his shoulder, though his smile was as fragile as Imoen's answering one.

Elatharia stopped along with the pair when Coran drew Imoen back at the gates. This archway of vines stood at the far end of the palace, leading to a set of rounded stone steps which wound their way downwards with mossy rocks to either side. There was only gloom ahead, the smog thick beyond these ancient stone walls while the rest of the city was at least faintly touched by sunlight now after days of ash and smog.

"We'll see you soon!" Imoen said before Coran could guide her to the walls. The aasimar flung her arms around Elatharia, who returned the hug stiffly. Imoen was trembling – and it was not just from the rhythmic shaking of the ground beneath their feet.

"Good luck," Coran added before they rushed away, pulling themselves up onto the garden walls and vanishing amidst the overhanging foliage, leaving Elatharia mute and numb in their wake.

"We'll certainly need a lot of that," Jan said, shrugging when the Transmuter looked down at him in alarm. "I got a look at that dragon when I was masquerading as a quasit. Big thing. Bigger than most buildings." He raised his bushy eyebrows and nodded for emphasis. Elatharia grimaced, watching the elves flit past through the arch with their eerie, grim calm.

Haer'Dalis's hand on Elatharia's arm made her jump; she had assumed that the others had gone ahead, but it appeared that all of them had waited behind when she paused to part with Imoen.

"There is not long to go now, my Raven."

"And we should hurry," Jaheira urged, stepping past them with Anomen, Valygar and Mazzy at her back once the elves had descended the steps. She was gripping her silver spear as if that might hide the shaking of her hands. Haer'Dalis and Viconia shared a look before heading after them.

"Shall we?" Edwin asked, his hand settling briefly against Elatharia's back. "(Or perhaps we should leave this battle to the others and spare ourselves the risk.)"

Elatharia could only grimace at that. There was only one way through to the tree, as the elves told it. Better to fight the dragon together and risk death than risk fighting it alone and _certain_ death.

* * *

"Here you are. At _last_."

The voice shuddered through the ground. It shook ash from the trees and perhaps a few leaves as well; it set the chimeflowers unique to this region jangling with painful dissonance. It slithered and rumbled through the deep gloom, accompanied by the rush of heavy movement and a great, half-seen shadow moving through the fog. And within this fog the air was thick with terror. It froze the air in Elatharia's lungs. It fought to steal the movement from her limbs.

"Bet ye're wishin' ye still had Carsomyr now, Lady Mazzy," Korgan noted, settling his feet in the deep grass. The halfling only grunted a reply. She was just as poised as the dwarf, her shield raised before her while the elves fanned out, attempting to creep outwards in an ever lengthening semi-circle through the fog-and-ash-shrouded flowerbed and trees. The ground shook with the dragon's laughter.

"I would not bother with such stealth, little elfkin. It may lead you to worse…trouble." A long huff of breath and the darkness deepened. The elves hesitated, but not as one. A moment passed and a chorus of muffled screams filled the air. Something snapped, _loud_ and a great twang followed. Elatharia recognised the wet sound.

"Halt!" Elhan exclaimed, eyed widening. He made to step forward but stopped himself at the last second, body going rigid. It was impossible to see what traps waited in this tall grass. "Come back the way you came!"

More rumbled laughter accompanied more gruesome sounds. Elatharia felt Edwin's fingers curling around her wrist, pulling her back with him onto the stone steps which fanned out and upwards behind them. Their companions stood frozen also, save for Jaheira. She knelt, pressing her hands to the earth and whispering frantic, hissing words. Bemused and wide-eyed, Mazzy and Anomen formed up around her with Valygar. When the air filled with the smell of cut grass and the rush of a high wind, the dragon's form surged closer and the shape of its horned reptilian head became clearer, angled with curiosity. It seemed entirely prepared to let Jaheira cast her spell – and Viconia also when the drow took up a prayer to Shar.

"By all means, reveal the board," the dragon said, and its acrid breath had them all grimacing and flinching, attempting to avoid retching. But Jaheira persisted with her spell and the grass began to whirl upwards, shorn to the dark soil and carried away on the wind. The trees swayed and their leaves went as well. As the druid stood, Viconia's spell ended also. Darkness spread from her outstretched arms, tendrils unfurling into the fog. In answer, the gloom began to lift, and with it came the sunlight.

Elatharia understood why the dragon had been so ready for them to reveal the garden.

Bear traps, or contraptions much like them, littered the ground in exactly the semi-circle which Elhan had sent his troops, and several more besides. Far more had fallen than Elatharia expected – not all had the chance to scream before they died. Of twenty well-armed soldiers five remained living, though one was whimpering on the ground, short a leg and the other four were beyond help. The rest were caught in those wickedly serrated traps, armour sizzling gently. Elhan and Sovalidas both gave cries of anguished horror. Someone gasped – a high sound from nearby. _Imoen_.

"Devil traps," Haer'Dalis snarled, prowling forwards now that the fog was lifting.

When at last the dragon was revealed, Elatharia saw that Jan had not been exaggerating. Few beasts could exist so large in the world, surely? White horned ridges ran in multiple, winding lines from the black dragon's head to its clubbed tail, each leg thick as an oak tree and something close fifteen feet. Its scaled body was streamlined but not especially slender. No wonder the ground had trembled so when it rose to its feet. And of course its wings – folded as they were, they still trailed the ground. In their wake the soil hissed with acid.

Korgan's laughter now had a manic edge. It took all of Elatharia's nerve to pull free of Edwin's grip and take a deep, unsteady breath.

"Whatever Irenicus promised to you will not be worth the battle to come," she called, and the dragon's head whipped about to find her. Its eyes were glittering black, with just a hint of gold. It bared its teeth in what must have been a sneer.

"Child of Bhaal. _Hollow_ child of Bhaal," it mocked. "What could you promise to me in return? I would settle for nothing less than your soul. And you do not even have that to offer."

"Can you not see that companions of mine wear the scales of your kind?" she waved a hand towards the others, where Viconia and Korgan stood. The dragon took the sight of them in, watched all of them crouch warily as it took one more step.

"I heard of the death of Firkraag and of my _child_ ," the dragon agreed. It bared its teeth in earnest now, and they gleamed like swords. "It was the reason that I came here. Firkraag was ever an arrogant fool. I would have been pleased to hear that he had been so lowered to murder by a human child of a human god. But my child? I will have vengeance for that. I see your pet drow wears his skin."

Haer'Dalis swore and twisted about, in time to see Viconia dive aside. Elatharia saw little of any of them in what followed, but the dragon lunged, swiping outwards with one wing. The drow darted aside, calling up a globe of darkness which obscured Elhan and Sovalidas also; the clawed tip of one wing followed her, a wall of leather now veiling Jaheira and the others from sight. Silver arrows pinged harmlessly off that outstretched wing, whose extension now revealed several hamatula stalking through the trees ahead.

Just as quickly the dragon leapt back, wings thumping the air. Two trees snapped and groaned to earth. Korgan's roar sounded, unabated, and Elatharia saw him charging forwards, axe raised. Mazzy and Anomen were not far behind, swinging their weapons in vain hope of catching the dragon's front feet.

Edwin's first spell crackled forwards, tearing through the air which rippled with magic around the dragon's body. It shimmered, and wavered. But the spell protections did not break. The Red Wizard cursed. Elatharia realised that his spell had _failed_. His hands were shaking. But he immediately began his next spell, another Abjuration which she could not know, and there was no time to consider more.

Elatharia's first spell did not rattle readily from her lips. Her hands did not willingly form the appropriate gestures. It took _effort_. Still it zipped from her fingertips, materialising in a white flash before the four approaching hamatula. They had attempted to spread out but the dragon's bulk limited the room they had; the trees at the garden's edge would have provided poor visibility. Thus her _Wall of Force_ collided with all four solidly. It did not knock them back nor overbalance them, but it did slow them, their barbed feet leaving long furrows in the dirt. It gave Imoen and Coran time to shower them with arrows, the shimmer in the air nearby proof that they were shooting through a _Dimension Door_ of the aasimar's _._ Thus their direction could not be guessed at.

Meanwhile, the others were dodging and fleeing more than they were charging. Only Korgan and Mazzy had reached the dragon; Haer'Dalis was stalking the hamatula from the trees, which were now trembling as Jaheira hung back, magical energy entirely unlike the arcane or divine rising from her. The air tingled with warmth, even from some ten paces away.

The dragon landed with an enraged shriek, golden lines filling the air above it, and the ground shook enough to knock Valygar and Anomen from their feet. Elatharia might have laughed, had she not been concentrating on another _Haste_ for her companions. Of course, even the ancient dragon had been unknowingly caught in one of Irenicus's gessa.

Elatharia's spell came just in time, sparks of silver light sinking into the skin of her companions, along with the charging forms of Elhan and Sovalidas, whose brow was trickling blood. All of them were duly imbued with speed, and it gave Mazzy the chance to dodge the swipe of one clawed foot; the others at last reached the dragon as another of Edwin's spells found its arcane protections. This time the incantation did not fail. Its scales shimmered, and the blurring around them receded. Korgan bellowed a laugh and swung his axe. It caught in the leg of the beast and held.

Shrieking again, the dragon leapt forward, forcing its attackers to scatter and leaving Korgan dangling, lashing him from side to side in an attempt to dislodge him. And there he soared, laughing all the while, clinging steadfastly to his embedded axe.

Elatharia returned to her concentration, calling up the appropriate arcane words and tangling her fingers into the Weave until it trembled. She pointed her fingertips and took careful aim; every word required precision from such a distance. Thus she did not notice when Korgan's laughter turned into a roar of horror. He plummeted with his axe just as the dragon began to rear up, intending to slam him to the earth. He rolled aside, relatively unhurt as it descended. The others scattered even as Elatharia's spell scored a deep furrow through the earth where the dragon landed. As it did so, she shouted the final words; the earth flared with power and began to closer again. The dragon thrashed and roared; it took a deep breath and poured acid from its mouth, smog crackling with lightning that set the earth to bubbling and her friends scattering.

Jaheira's spell at last ended also and as one the trees dotted around the garden warped and extended at great speed, tangling around the dragon and lashing against its wings, forcing it earthbound. The druid barely had time to dodge its acid breath and hopped aside, her boot hissing.

Yet still Korgan howled, scrambling to his feet and charging anew. For a long, long moment Elatharia did not understand. Not until she saw the limp and bloodied body tumbling free at last of the dragon's hind paw. The armour was rent and torn like paper, her helmet gone entirely. But Elatharia knew the red hair. Mazzy's landing was an awkward, limp thing. She did not move, her body twisted all about. _Something close to halves_.

The others had not seen yet. Viconia and Haer'Dalis were just finishing off the last of the hamatula, the barbed devil cowering under the weight of their combined attacks and the aid of Imoen and Coran. Jaheira, Valygar and Anomen were too busy running away from the dragon's breath. Only Korgan and Elhan could be seen flitting and diving amidst strikes against the captive dragon's stamping, bleeding feet. Sovalidas was slumped against a tree, clutching a hand to his glistening stomach.

Edwin's next spell was familiar from their attack on Firkraag; he called forth a dozen mephits, who swooped down from a portal about the dragon and dug in across its back, hacking and stabbing with glee. As if inspired, one of Jan's explosive projectiles slammed into the dragon's gaping maw, where it exploded. The beast doubled up and bucked, shrieking, but the attack seemed only to enrage it – and to stop the flow of its breath. That gave time for Jaheira to find her feet and for Anomen to join the attack. But for a moment Valygar stumbled. Ah, he had seen Mazzy.

But all of the thrashing was fraying the druidic bonds which held the dragon down. They were down more than half the number with which they began. And Elatharia did not know how much more damage they could take without dooming them to failure. The thing was _larger than most buildings_ just as Jan had said.

Realisation stalled her next spell. It fizzled harmlessly in her hands. _Bigger than_ _ **most buildings**_ **.** It would take vast force to kill a monster like that. She whirled about, ignoring Edwin's startled eyes.

"Jan!" she fairly roared. The gnome appeared with a pop on the wall directly in front of her, crossbow still poised for his next shot.

"Yes?"

"Edwin, the teleportation stone," she snapped, and felt her body ripple with the Beast's rage when he hesitated. Once he handed it to her, she flung it to Jan, who barely caught it. But he did, and he met her eyes with a broad, wicked grin.

"Excellent!" he cackled, shouldering his crossbow and taking a bow even as he disappeared in a shimmer of blue-white magic.

"What have you done?" Edwin exclaimed, eyes wild. He flung a torrent of magic missiles outwards to the dragon to point out his horror, though the sting of their magic against its skull only saw it shake its head and remember to thrash more.

Elatharia did not have time to explain.

" _Lezska estire!_ " she stammered, her fingers barely forming the shapes. She felt her thoughts swell outwards, reaching for her companions. It mattered not that the dragon would hear also. " _RUN!_ "

It was not so much a communication as a command. Few beings were used to telepathy; no doubt they simply heard her word as a thought of their own. For they all obeyed mindlessly, scattering away from the dragon – though Korgan took a heavy kick on the way which almost sent him sprawling onto his bloodied face.

Only the dragon recognised her spell for what it was. Its eyes once more met hers and she had the distinct impression that it was gloating. A shrug of its wings – and the bonds above it broke. Heart thundering, Elatharia caught Edwin's arm and pulled. He resisted only for a moment as she tugged him to the stairs back up, keeping her eyes trained on the dragon even as she backed up at an unsteady scramble.

A jagged silver rend reached through the air above the dragon, soon spreading to a bloom of bright white light. Elatharia saw the gleam of rotund metal materialise above _and below_ the dragon's body. The monster jolted. Its skin stretched, its body trembled. And with a great boom which felled the remaining trees in the garden, the Planar Sphere tore the dragon apart.


	64. He Waits at the Tree of Life

**As ever, a big thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed. :)  
We're getting close to the end! Only a few more chapters now.  
With warnings for gore, violence and everything else you might expect from battle...**

* * *

 **Chapter 63: He Waits at the Tree of Life**

* * *

The explosion shook Imoen from her crouch upon the stone wall at the edge of the garden and spilled her through a crackling tangle of leaves and twigs to the earth. The aasimar had enough time to drop her bow and roll upon impact; when she came to a stop the blast was still shaking around the remnants of the garden.

It was hard to concentrate on anything but covering her ears while the Planar Sphere shrieked and wailed, spinning erratically and churning up mud as it did so, digging deeper into the ground and juddering as several sections of the metal orb whirled upon different axes. Sparks both mundane and magical were flying as it began to grind to a halt. Only once it did so could Imoen begin to uncover her ears and get to her feet and behold the ruined garden, which was now littered with the blood and skin and innards of the dragon. Splinters of its bones jutted from the churned ground, her friends bloodied and battered but stumbling free of the carnage.

"Here."

A hand brushed against her arm and Imoen turned with a start to see Coran holding out her bow. He offered a lopsided grin as she took it, his fingers darting out and pulling a twig from her hair.

"Thanks." She flashed him a tentative smile before looking out towards the others.

Haer'Dalis and Viconia were just creeping around a fallen tree not far from Imoen's position by the wall – the battle with the barbed devils had pulled them well out of rage of the dragon, though both were limping and trying to hide it. The drow looked strangely grim for someone who had just participated in such a victory – it was a reminder that stilled the awe Imoen had expected to feel. A look across the field of battle reminded her of the cost – every elvish soldier who had joined them lay wounded or dead across the ruined garden, save for Elhan. He was bending to Sovalidas, the general too far away for Imoen to make out clearly. But she could see the blood.

Back along the line of the wall, some significant distance to the right, Elatharia and Edwin were descending the stone steps back down to the garden. Imoen noted with relief that they were unhurt. The same could not be said for her other companions, though it was hard to make out much when they were so covered in dragon gore and Sphere-flung mud. Thus Imoen hurried forward to where Jaheira was crouching over Valygar, her magic seeping through her hands and into his arm. It looked, from his glassy-eyed grimace, as though she had just relocated his shoulder.

For her part, the druid's boots were still hissing from the dragon's acid, her knuckles skinned and still trickling blood. Her face was bruised and starting to swell when Imoen reached her side. Anomen was stomping up to join them also – his usual clank muffled by dragon gore. His nose looked broken, his lip split. There was a burn at his neck to which he soon raised shaky hands to, glowing with healing magic once he had slumped against an embedded dragon rib beside Valygar.

No one met each other's eyes. Imoen blinked, looking around. Had she missed something? Something more than the…awful death all around them? Coran's hand on her shoulder was her warning, squeezing firmly. A glance at him showed his green-rimmed eyes were solemn now, and that alone was enough to send a chill through Imoen's heart. At last she focused her gaze upon the stout, staggering form of Korgan. And the load he bore. The torn body in his arms.

The dwarf's eyes were full of rage when they paused over Imoen, drawn by her shuddering gasp. She stumbled back when he continued forward, bending with a grunt to place Mazzy's rent and lifeless body all but at her feet. _Death…is beautiful_. She squeezed her eyes shut against the flash of gold.

"Have a look at this. Here's the best've us, whelp," Korgan spat, his voice gravelly from anger – or grief, maybe. "Not some silly little torn up brat of a snivellin' elf."

"Can…can nothing be done?" Coran asked even as he folded his arms pointedly, meeting Korgan's wrathful glare.

"Nothing, most certainly," Viconia promised, her grimace fixed upon Mazzy's broken form. She extended her hands in a placatory gesture when Korgan whirled on her. "The halfling was a useful ally. I would help her if I could."

Aside from Haer'Dalis, who was prowling the area for evidence of more demons or devils, the companions gathered together around Mazzy's body. It was painful to see the grief in Valygar's eyes, the way that he struggled to avoid looking at the fallen halfling. Jaheira and Anomen were, for once, a little more stoic than the ranger – but not by much. The druid gave a shuddering sigh when at last her healing duties were done.

"Just one more reason to seek our revenge," she said, "All of this is Irenicus's doing."

Korgan looked set to nod – and to storm his way straight towards the Tree – but he turned to Edwin and Elatharia instead, for they had only just arrived.

"Eh, the cowards arrive," the dwarf snarled. "Not a drop o' blood on ye. Not a hair out o' place."

Elatharia appeared momentarily taken aback. As Imoen inched towards her, she noticed the twin points of golden light in her sister's eyes, though the Transmuter blinked them away as quickly as she could.

"Without my dispels the dragon could never have been wounded at all," Edwin was saying, his drawl showing just a hint of a growl. Korgan's lip curled and he spat blood the Conjurer's way.

"Could o' summoned yer Sphere sooner," he added.

"It wasn't really part of the plan at all, Korgan," Jan disagreed, squeezing his way between Jaheira and Elatharia. He looked dishevelled and was swaying a little as if dizzy – one of his goggle lenses was shattered. "Just got down. I wouldn't recommend further use of the Planar Sphere for travel anymore."

Several long moments of tense, seething silence lingered between the wizards and the dwarf while the others righted themselves and Haer'Dalis returned. Elhan was helping Sovalidas to drink from a potion across the garden and made no move to join them. Imoen's ears were still ringing from the blast – everyone looked about as stunned as she felt.

"We need to continue," Elatharia said at length, shifting beside Imoen as if she could not stand still. Edwin glanced down at her as if he sensed the Transmuter's restlessness also. "Queen Ellesime made contact with me last night. She's up there, in the Tree. And we don't know how much longer Irenicus will be."

The golden shine of his spell within those vast boughs continued – and looking up now, it appeared the light was much brighter.

"Yeah, I don't reckon it'll be all that long," Imoen agreed. The very thought had her heart pounding frantically in her chest.

"Onward?" Haer'Dalis prompted, gesturing to the Tree. The others gave grunts of agreement, steeling themselves for what was to come. They wiped away their tears, those that had shed them, and left Mazzy with mumbled prayers to Helm and Silvanus. Korgan muttered something in dwarvish before giving a growl and following.

* * *

Perhaps Mazzy had been right that she stay. Her head wound hastily bandaged and still throbbing, Aerie had thus far found barely a moment to pause and catch her breath – such was the chaos in the Temple of Rillifane. There were many wounded, some more gravely than others, and the sun elf priests were focused on those whom they could soon send back out to fight. But there were so many others as well, the quiet ones whose suffering tugged so hard at Aerie's heart.

Every name, every face – she took to learning them all as she worked to save their lives. It was no easy task, for there were no hands spare to mix the herbs she needed; some of the soldiers fit enough to stand did not even speak a form of elvish which Aerie recognised, let alone the Common tongue. Thus it was that her eyes were focused down upon her work. It therefore took longer than it ought for her to notice something…different. Not quite amiss, but certainly unexpected.

The avariel only looked up as her last patient finally drifted to sleep. Perhaps there had been a lull in fighting – or the next lot of wounded soldiers were coming from further across the city. Whatever it was, she had a moment to stand and stretch, her back stiff and aching, her knees sore from crouching. And as she turned, picking her way between the makeshift cots of the rows of wounded in this main atrium of the temple, Aerie saw a flash of vibrant blue cloth and red hair.

A double-take later and the avariel saw that she had not imagined it – there, amongst the wounded elves and their bloodied golden armour moved a tall human woman. She was directing the next shift of priests to a soldier with a badly broken leg as Aerie drew close enough to hear her voice, and from the difference between the sound of her words and the movement of her lips it was clear that she was using some kind of _Tongues_ spell.

Still not entirely accustomed to the differences amongst humans, Aerie was nonetheless fairly certain that this woman was tall – taller even than Edwin or Haer'Dalis. She certainly towered over the elves about her, especially the avariel now fidgeting by the wall and doing her best not to spill the water decanter as she poured a cup for herself. And as if she had felt Aerie's scrutiny, this human woman turned with a swish of embroidered blue skirts to look the avariel's way. A smile broke out across her features immediately and she stepped away from her colleagues, approaching with a hand outstretched.

"High Priestess Demin told me that there were other outsiders in the city," the woman greeted, shaking Aerie's hand with a firmness that almost overbalanced her. This human's voice was relatively deep, her accent lilting and only faintly familiar. "My name is Melissan. I am most pleased to meet you – and certainly to meet someone who will help the wounded as attentively as you have."

"Th-thank you," Aerie stammered, clutching her cup of water and failing to avoid a blush at such praise. It was awkward looking up at this woman's face, but it felt rude not to. "Aerie," she added in a rush.

Melissan held her smile as she moved to take a cup of water for herself also. Her features were striking for their regularity, rounded and strong rather than delicate or angular like those of the elves. Her skin was icy, though her high cheekbones were dusted with freckles, her lips tilting a little crookedly as she continued to smile.

"I…I hadn't thought th-that there would be any other outsiders here," Aerie said, blinking up at Melissan's eyes expectantly. They were a vibrant blue, thoughtful and expressive – but there was something threatening there also. Or perhaps it was just the setting and the suffering in the room which Aerie felt. _We're all tense_.

"I am a friend of the queen's," Melissan said, mercifully lowering herself to sit upon one of the low walls by the decanter. Aerie noted the embroidered blue cloth tied through the woman's thick red hair to hold it back from her brow but she did not recognise the green patterns. They looked like wards. "I have my own ways of entering the city and was quite horrified to find it in ruins when I arrived. And you? What is it that brings you here?"

Shivering, Aerie opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. What was she truly meant to say? Would the others be pleased to know that she was telling their plans to strangers? Her mouth drying at the thought of her friends off battling Irenicus, she took a fortifying sip of water before once more starting to speak. Only…the creak of the gates was sounding along with the echo of running feet. And that clamour was enough to draw the attention of Melissan quite sharply for the same reason that it had Aerie's heart leaping into the throat. Rarely did elves make such a noise. This had to be of the utmost urgency.

A number of battered elvish soldiers were returning, and amongst them they carried several prone forms upon their foldable vine stretchers. The red plume in the helmet of their first patient had Aerie placing her cup blindly back upon the table and stumbling forward without another thought. There was Sovalidas, gasping through the blood on his lips and clutching at the arm of Elhan who walked beside him.

"Elhan!" Aerie cried, "So-Sovalidas…"

The leader of the Knights winced at the sound of her voice, releasing the hand of the general as he was carried to the nearest free cot – and gods but there were few of those. More bodies passed by – here, closer to the front gates, such morbid realities could not be avoided. There was only so much room in the temple. All the same Aerie gasped to see such broken forms, her hands fluttering to her mouth.

"My…are my friends…"

"Most are well," Elhan promised, stepping towards her with a pained frown now, his armoured hands bloody and stiff but still patting at the air before her a little hopelessly. He held his helmet under one arm, a cut in his cheek and another at his neck. There was gore all over his once-golden armour. Aerie's heart fluttered in a panic even as her stomach roiled at the gruesome sight – and _oh_ the smell.

"M-most? And…and your men…" Her eyes followed their bodies as they were carried aside. "So many…"

"The dragon was an ancient beast." There was warning in his deep voice. Aerie stepped back, eyes widening. "And it had the cunning of the devils on its side. My men did not survive that." His eyes dropped, the wobble in his voice breaking her heart. He shook his head, visibly fighting with his words. "And…your friend. The halfling. The…the paladin," he corrected, sucking in a harsh breath as he looked to the next stretcher.

Aerie stared at him, something dropping straight through her. Horror, that was it. Her eyes followed the path of his, to the body they were carrying away from her, all blood and awful ruination. Just the red hair, and the rent armour, and those open eyes she knew so well. One hand was bare, dangling over the side of the stretcher. Almost as if she was reaching, and Aerie made automatically to follow even as her eyes blurred, her throat caught. Her voice cracked on nothing.

"M-Mazzy?" she asked, as if that might wake her friend.

* * *

"Here. There's a way up here." Elatharia pointed to the eastern curve of the Tree's great trunk, the natural staircase becoming visible to her only as she said it. The circlet was warm upon her brow and it hummed increasingly with magic the closer they came to its parent.

The steps were formed from knots and ridges in the bark, now cast in shadow and thus sharply defined against the tree – which was otherwise miraculously awash in sunlight even through the thick boughs and countless leaves rustling far above their heads. Jaheira and Korgan led the way, grim-faced and grimy, and the others followed in near-silence but for a few murmured words.

The faint roar of magic grew in Elatharia's ears as she took the first step up to ascend the Tree. For a moment her thoughts whirled, her vision swam and _lifted_ as though her mind soared far above her head to hang weightless among the leaves. And she saw _him_ ; she saw Irenicus – determined, focused, arms extended and thin white lips reciting the words to some spell. His eyes gleamed a familiar gold and upon his brow clung beads of sweat. She felt her soul, felt its tug and tingle. She saw Ellesime, suspended in her cage amongst the higher boughs, dirty and trembling – and the queen looked up. Her eyes locked with Elatharia's as if she could see her.

Reeling against the bark of the trunk at her side, Elatharia sucked in a startled breath as her vision was broken. She felt a hand at her waist, hard rings digging into her ribs as the hold pressed her carefully against the tree – lest she have tumbled off the side. She saw Edwin all but glaring across at her from the step below; the curve of the trunk meant that the others were out of sight for now. And _gods_ she was high up. How long had she been climbing mindlessly? _Don't look down_. The very thought made her dizzy.

"I saw him," she gasped, holding Edwin's dark stare. "Him and the queen. He looks…as though his spell is taking a lot out of him," she added as her senses steadied and her breathing levelled. All the same, she clutched at Edwin's shoulder. Her knees still wanted to buckle at the knowledge of such height.

"That would make sense," the Red Wizard nodded, his eyes darting across the curve of the circlet upon her brow. He caught her chin, as if she had not already been staring at him. Standing a step below he had to look up a little to meet her eyes. "But remember your lessons. A mage of his calibre will never permit themself to be cornered unless they have a plan which ought to be unbreakable."

"We're as cornered as him," Elatharia agreed. "But like you said earlier, no one is infallible." He shared her smirk at that, and perhaps also her silent addition. _And we have our own advantages_. The look held, and something about it constricted her throat with nerves.

A hesitation – and she watched Edwin swallow, saw him lick his lips. Nervous too? Something else? She leaned closer, the bark scraping against her shoulder. His lips met hers as if he had expected it, and the slow heat of it pushed aside the panic for just a precious moment. _Perhaps the last time,_ her fear said. _Barely the beginning_ , she denied it, though the reaching gape where her soul ought to have been only _ached_.

Their lips clung even as they parted, the Red Wizard's eyes dazed for just a moment until Elatharia drew back fully. She could hear Imoen's voice approaching upwards and only had time to watch Edwin's gaze turn steely with the necessity of what was to come before she turned up the trunk's uneven stairway and continued to climb after the others.

"You don't need to come with us, Coran," Imoen was insisting. "This…the…he…Irenicus isn't like the other mages we've fought together. He's worse. Just – no, listen. _Please._ I don't want you to get hurt for us when it's not your fight…"

"He sounds like just the man I want to fight," Coran disagreed. "The beast who has set my home ablaze and torn down the majesty of ancient Suldanessellar. And he hurt you. I hear it in your voice. I would very much like to see him fall for that alone, and to have a hand in it if I can…" The sound of their voices ebbed as the steps continued to wind upwards.

"So many hands grasping for one wizard," Edwin muttered behind Elatharia. "There will not be space for all of them."

* * *

When they reached the tangled labyrinth of the Tree's boughs, each easily broad enough for three people to walk abreast, they could feel the tremble of Irenicus's spell beneath their feet. And through the circlet Elatharia could sense the Tree's distress , its terror. Also its hope. Her feet were hot with the need to follow the path it had shown to her, and the others looked on warily as she insisted that she take the lead. They followed all the same.

The shuddering of the thinner branches about them only swelled as they picked their way along the faintly rounded boughs, the sound a dull roar like heavy rain. But at least the sight of the ground far below dwindled, swallowed up by the swaying green of those cacophonous leaves, speckled here and there with white and blue flowers.

When Elatharia first heard the squelch and suck of _something_ , her hesitation at the front of the group had everyone reaching for their weapons. A hand on her arm had her stepping back as Haer'Dalis slipped past her, one blade drawn. With Valygar in his wake he crept upon light feet around the low-hanging fronds ahead – the others followed more cautiously when no sounds of battle ensued, and it was Korgan who voiced their shared revulsion at the sight that greeted them.

"What in the Nine Hells and stinkin' Abyss is that?" the dwarf exclaimed, pointed his axe towards the slimy, death-white maggot undulating against the Tree's trunk. As large as Korgan, it made no move when met with the group and indeed it appeared to have no sensory organs at all. Just a thick, fleshy body gleaming with slime and two sharp black mandibles working against the bark, from which ran glistening red sap. The air was thick with the stench of sulphur – and from within the monster there pulsed the golden light which Elatharia had seen in Irenicus's eyes. Her heart leaped to recognise it.

"We have to kill it," Elatharia snapped, "That's a conduit for his spell. The more we can find – and there will be others – the better. But the death of any one will serve to weaken his casting."

"Heh, ye didn't need to gimme a reason, Bhaal kid," Korgan grunted, surging forward and setting to work with his axe.

"At least he seems to have moved on from his blame, _khal'abbil_ ," Viconia offered while they inched away from the gruesome deed.

Thick white blood and innards gushed over the bough upon which they stood and they all covered their mouths and noses to little effect when faced with the unmistakable odour of rot. They progressed eagerly, the circlet humming ever more as it led Elatharia on. And on their journey, climbing up at intervals to higher boughs which only gradually narrowed, they came across five more of those maggot-conduits. And every time Korgan slew them Elatharia felt the warmth of the Tree ease beneath her feet. She had to hope that they had killed enough to stall Irenicus's spell and not just slow it, and indeed when the rumble stopped all about them it felt _right_.

Climbing up onto the next bough, ridged bark digging into her palms, Elatharia caught a glimpse of a chain and the glint of a metal cage. She jumped back, twisting about to face Imoen – who had reached out a hand to steady her, eyes widening in realisation.

"He's up ahead with the queen," Elatharia hissed.

The others tensed, looking to each other before the casters took these last few moments to call up the protections and augmentations that they had left. While the wizards encased themselves in the flexible shelter of _Stoneskin_ and Jaheira called forth the bark protection of the druids for herself and Valygar, Korgan pulled free a bottle from his belt and eyed it for a long moment before tossing the cork aside and swallowing the contents in a few loud gulps. He did not change visibly but for a more fearsome gleam in eyes.

When at last they were finished, Jan was all but invisible, a blur which redirected one's sight; Anomen and Viconia had covered themselves with the respective shimmer and dark crawl of their gods, the former knight's helmet once more firmly upon his head. Only the faint glint of his eyes showed through the visor. Meanwhile the air crackled around Jaheira, moss spreading beneath her feet as she stepped forward, impatient. And perhaps trembling, faintly.

"Go," Elatharia prompted, though her voice caught on the word. She formed the phrases and gestures for her last _Haste_ spell as the warriors climbed past her and heard their movements quicken as she felt hers change, the white sparks of her spell dissipating on the air with a whiff of ozone.

Viconia and Haer'Dalis passed her next, the tiefling squeezing her shoulder as he went. It left Elatharia with Edwin and Imoen, both gleaming and faintly blurred with numerous Abjurations which she could not know. Though she had no soul with which to fully comprehend the feeling, Elatharia still swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and the writhing in her stomach. Imoen's chin was trembling as she pulled Elatharia into one last hug.

"Let's do this," her sister said, just before climbing after Coran.

Edwin simply offered a firm nod. What was there left to say?

* * *

Up here the boughs knotted together into an intricately woven platform above the top of the Tree's trunk. Leaves and flowers swayed in curtains about this clearer area carpeted with rough, uneven bark. And at the centre, by a white altar crowned with the tree symbol of Rillifane, there stood Irenicus. He had already turned to face them, no doubt as soon as they began to emerge from the tangled vines and branches below. But he simply stood, arms folded, and watched with dispassionate golden eyes. The sight of her own soul set the Beast beneath Elatharia's skin writhing. She staggered as a ripple ran over her, but still reached Jaheira's side at the head of the group. Irenicus's lip curled at the sight of her, his eyes scanning over Imoen and then Edwin. He ignored the others, though Korgan was fairly growling behind Elatharia.

"I suspected you had slain my sister," Irenicus offered at last, his tone utterly void of… _anything_. "A great pity. The debt I had owed to her was the one I had intended to keep. But…it would appear you have been quite resourceful. I will have to kill you before the spell can resume." His eyes flashed over Elatharia at that – as if he could sense her thoughts.

"You will not begin again, murderer!" Jaheira snarled. Her knuckles were white around the shining shaft of her silver spear – but Irenicus cast her only a fleeting glance. Indeed, he offered no more words and gave time for few more.

"Joneleth, no! Think about what you are doing, please…" Ellesime's beseeching voice sounded from above, her cage creaking as it swung into view, suspended well over their heads from amongst the tangle of branches above. But Irenicus did not respond.

The fallen elf's brief gesture and his muffled spellwords were vague and unfamiliar to Elatharia, though she made to move like the others. But beside her Edwin gave an immediate curse, his fingers tightening painfully around her arm as he hauled her with him. Jaheira was yelling a furious battle cry and hurtling forwards, spear raised, and as the ground began to shine beneath her feet Imoen dived aside also. It was a summoning circle, runes hissing into the bark upon which they had just been standing…and multiple arms, thick and heavily muscled, were reaching up from the red void that opened.

"Pit fiends!" Haer'Dalis warned, his blades in his hands and body poised to spring.

Korgan gave a mighty roar and leapt for the first arm even before either monster had climbed out of the portal. Viconia, Coran, Anomen and Valygar scattered more warily, the ranger's eyes darting for a split second to the charge of Jaheira. And watching all of this in a few scant seconds, Elatharia realised Irenicus's plan a moment before he enacted it. She span to face him in time to see a laconic wave of his hand.

Pure power rippled out of from him, colourless and blurred. It tugged at the boughs beneath her feet, forcing the Transmuter to stagger just as it did her companions and stopping either her or Edwin from casting for the moment. The bark shrieked its resistance, but under the force of Irenicus's will it began to give way. It rose up behind Elatharia, the shaking throwing her back against the barrier which rose between her and those who now faced the pit fiends.

It took a moment to realise that Jaheira was not moving – or at least that she was only moving very slowly, caught mid-run towards Irenicus. He was eyeing Imoen as she staggered forward from the barrier of bark but he spoke to all four of those whom he had caught on this side.

"I will not leave you to stumble free again, Bhaalspawn," he told both sisters, "Nor will I wait for your petty vengeance, druid." His glance took in Edwin also, but he offered no words for him. Ellesime was still pleading up above, louder now.

"And I _will_ have my soul," Elatharia snarled. She barely had time to ignite a _Fireshield_ and dive aside before his next spell hit.

* * *

Oh, it was clever – and it caused such merry chaos! Irenicus had called up a pair of pit fiends to face a group now blessed with just one wizard. The canny beasts did so love their magic and now their diminished group must face them with limited means of containing such trickery. Haer'Dalis relished the challenge. There were few things in the planes that called up the blood-boiling wrath of his demonic ancestry like the devilish pit fiends.

The plan was unspoken, born of desperation. Distract one; fight the other. Though there were barely enough of them for the job. Of course it had fallen to Haer'Dalis and Korgan to battle the first pit fiend, a precarious and artful business on the tiefling's part.

 _Duck. Dive. Lunge. Whirl. Slash. Repeat._ Elatharia's earlier _Haste_ had surely just saved his life. That and the armour of the elves which now sparked over his torso, dissipating a wild _Lightning_ spell. His feet scraped against the bark-floor with the impact all the same and a less agile fighter might have toppled. But Haer'Dalis was straight back into the fray after Korgan, whose axe swings were, for the moment, forcing the pit fiend to block and dodge rather than fling its spells.

Haer'Dalis narrowly avoided a meaty arm in the face as he joined the dwarf, but Korgan was ready to accept his part. They could perhaps flank the beast if its crimson hide were not aglow with protections, its barbed wings flickering with white-hot summoned flame.

Back to the dance. _Whirl, jump, duck, lunge. Whirl. Lunge…_

Meanwhile, Viconia and the others were surging and breaking against the other pit fiend with all the stubborn and repetitive force of the ocean. Anomen's helmet was already dented – but his mace was bloodied. Viconia had a slight burn on one cheek and a wrathful look in her eyes that said she had a plan. It looked as though she might be plotting to inch into the devil's blindspot to risk a _Dispel_ while it was distracted by Anomen and Valygar.

"Aha! I strike at last!" Korgan roared.

Haer'Dalis caught a moment to breathe from it, as well. As the tiefling had backed up to give the dwarf room, a particularly mighty swing ripped through a spell shield. His axe had cut through the hide of the pit fiend's leg and torn the lower part of one wing. It cursed in the crackling Infernal tongue, jumping back and baring its teeth even as it crouched, lowering its blade protectively, its free hand forming the quick gestures for a spell. The air started to fill with the sulphurous fumes of the Hells and the hum of rising power built around its claws.

"Oh no ye don't, ye tricky bastard!" Korgan hurled himself headlong, axe raised high. Haer'Dalis's eyes widened. He had been about to dodge the spell but Korgan's flying bulk took it for him, quite unintentionally.

A great crash and a sickening snap followed as dwarf and pit fiend collided, spell or no spell. The tiefling heard Korgan groan, saw his body sag, suspended against the monster's torso. But his hands still held the axe shaft, and the blood spurting was the crimson-black of the Hells. The pit fiend _howled_. It flung Korgan with its free hand, dropping its blade in the process, and now Haer'Dalis did have to dodge. And in the background there came a peculiar mechanical clicking. A ticking the like of which Haer'Dalis had not heard outside of the Plane of Mechanus.

Korgan's limp form scraped across the ground at speed, bumping heavily, armour leaving sparks and a trail of singed bark in its wake. His helmet tumbled free, and in perhaps the space of a breath and no more he slid over the edge of this branch platform. The tiefling did feel a faint pang to see him go.

But there was no time for more than that. Haer'Dalis was on his feet and running to the side on instinct more than knowledge but as he turned, blades still in hand and legs still pumping, he saw the slam of Korgan's axe as it landed in his previous spot, enchanted blade sinking deep and the whole weapon humming with the impact. The pit fiend might still have been howling but it had not lost its intention. And still there was that ticking, louder now.

"Nothing like the present, Haerry! It's _now_ or nothing, actually!" Jan's urgent tone came punctuated by the twang and grind of his crossbow releasing and the gnome flickered into visibility, hovering in mid-air just off the edge of the platform. There was a small device ticking at his elbow, and it was giving off steady pulses of blue-white magic.

As if in explanation, the projectile Jan had just fired smashed into the pit fiend's hand as it was about to retrieve its dropped blade – the other arm hung by a thread of skin at the elbow, ebon bone showing. The devil leapt back as the projectile exploded and Haer'Dalis saw that the sheen of its protective magics was gone. A grin spread across his face and he charged. Ah, there was nothing like the Blood War to addle a pit fiend's tactics!

The beast winced as Coran's arrows at last sank into its wings, which were now their true black leather and nothing more flashy. But it rounded on Haer'Dalis, hearing his Abyssal battle cry…and sensing the demon in his blood. Though it was holding its ruined arm close to its chest, it at last managed to raise its blade in furious expectation. The blinding hatred of devil for demon blazed red in it eyes.

In a matter of moments Haer'Dalis was in reach. Or he ought to have been. But at the last second, so close that he felt the ultra-keen edge of the fiery flamberge part the skin of his cheek, he hurled himself aside. The pit fiend was committed, its spell shields fallen away. Jan's next spell had adhered one of its feet to the bark, although the inconvenience withstood only a split second of pulling. It was off balance all the same.

Haer'Dalis flung himself into a dive, accepting the heavy thud of impact and the scrape of one wing's talons against his scalp; the wetness of blood began a quick trickled down his neck in answer. His right hand blade – _Entropy –_ caught in the leather above him and he was forced to leave it. _Chaos_ would have to do, then. He reached his feet with an ungainly roll, and even before looking he threw himself back at the pit fiend, which was just starting to turn.

His blade dug deep into its shoulder blade as he leapt up and the beast bucked and lunged forward, its tail lashing. Gasping, Haer'Dalis clung on, though his shoulder wrenched and their combined momentum saw his legs fly upwards, forcing him to hook his right over his foe's huge serrated shoulder. It thrashed, and his fingers were roaring with pain. Something popped, somewhere. He braced his other foot against the pit fiend's back, attempting to wiggle his blade free – though the boiling black blood which gushed over the hilt in answer was no help.

An arrow whistled past his hair, the world wheeling sickeningly, blurred and formless all about him as the devil tried to shake him. When that failed, it turned its head and sank its fangs into his calf, easily breaking through the leather of his boot. He felt and heard something start to _rip_. Every muscle tightening in agony, Haer'Dalis heard himself shriek. His heart beat a mad rhythm, his sight turned red. Had he been human, it would surely have been his destruction at last. But he was demon too. And the Blood Wars sang their heavy, battering song in his soul.

Mouth full of his own blood from a bitten tongue, Haer'Dalis wrenched his blade free and caught one horn in his free, shaking hand. The devil bit deeper, worrying his flesh in its venomous teeth. But he plunged _Chaos_ into the side of the pit fiend's neck. The devil jolted, letting go of his leg, and now braced with his uninjured foot against its back and one hand on its horn, Haer'Dalis took to sawing outward.

The blood was scalding even for him, and strength was oozing from him. But he felt the devil go slack, finally became aware of his own growling and his bared teeth. He did not have the strength to leap aside as the pit fiend toppled.

* * *

Jaheira was still caught in that _Slow_ bubble, though she had inched forward perhaps two feet by this time, eyed blazing with frustrated rage. And Irenicus had not yet permitted a moment of reprieve. He was wearing out Elatharia's spells as quickly as he was countering Edwin's. All the Transmuter could do was answer like with like. Fire, lightning, ice. He knew she could cast no Abjurations and for now had enough of his own to ignore Edwin's first dispel – and Imoen's.

The air was thick with smoke, the bark red hot beneath Elatharia's feet. She could feel the tree whispering to her. Her heart was thudding in her ears, her breathing coming in fast gasps. Her spells formed on panicked instinct, no time to do much else. Something would have to change, and fast. Fortuitously or otherwise, it soon did, for Irenicus's next spell was unfamiliar to Elatharia but Imoen seemed to know it.

"No!" the aasimar shrieked, but too late. A blink, and everything seemed to have happened at once.

Gods. _Time Stop_. And more besides. The world was spinning, inexplicably for a moment. Until Elatharia crashed onto her side.

Something had blasted her this way, her ribs blazing with the pain of the impact, though she sprang to her feet aided by fear, long practice and heightened reflexes. She heard Edwin shout to her. She did not truly have time to react. She _ought_ not to have. But the world became clear in that impossible stretch of time. There was Imoen, crumpled just in sight several paces behind Irenicus and well outside of the sphere of destruction that he had wrought during his command of time. Her skin was prickling with pain, and all about her the ground was black, deadened, wisps of rotting air rising up to choke her.

Of course, there was that final spell hurtling towards her, bright as the sun. A fist; ten times the size of a man's. Even as she threw herself aside she knew that it would be too late. But the circlet at her brow was blazing, and not all of the heat beneath her soles was from Irenicus's spell. Some was the Tree's pain. She called for it now, with a panic so deep that the Beast stirred and limned her sight in gold.

Cringing with the expected impact, Elatharia heard a great crash by her ear, the collision rocking her back…against a knot of branches. Unhurt. Hands catching at these new confines, she raised her eyes to see herself surrounded by a weave of the Great Tree's branches, all of them shining white. Through their lattice she saw the _Clenched Fist_ dissipating, leaving blackened branches in its wake. She saw Irenicus's momentary hesitation. He glared at her through a bombardment of Edwin's magic missiles, harmless as they were crashing against his spell shields. He banished the Red Wizard's summoning before it had begun.

"Very well. But you should know that your new haven is your prison also," Irenicus told her, in that tone which made her stomach freeze.

And he was right. Her next spell failed against the confining branches; as did Irenicus's. Thus Edwin was out there alone, with Imoen unmoving and Jaheira now caught in a frantic battle with a burning, disembodied blade. Elatharia's skin crawled, her heart dropping, and she watched Irenicus's form blur. He moved through space, misdirecting Edwin's spell. It fizzed to nothing, for Irenicus materialised a few feet away. His gleaming eyes still so emotionless, he raised his hands and began to chant. Edwin did the same.

Bright light flashed, blinding Elatharia for a moment and the blast of power had her ears ringing. _Wait. Wait. There has to be one shot, one chance. I can't cast it twice_. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the branches before her, waiting for that chance.

The air rippled like a mirage between the two mages. Somehow Irenicus's cheek was bleeding, his pale neck reddened and blistered visibly even from twenty feet or so. Edwin was holding his ground, a war of willpower leaving their spell and counterspell hanging between them, both wizards caught in deadlock. But where Irenicus was unruffled but for his minor injuries, his arms still shaping the form of his spell and his head half-bowed in concentration, Edwin was trembling, his teeth clenched hard. His eyes were gleaming, narrowing and full of rising panic. His sleeves were tattered and the leather of his boots ripped from Irenicus's earlier corrosive wilting spell. And as their magic warred, the black lines of tattoos around Edwin's arms were blazing with red light which grew progressively brighter. Now it was white-hot. A shaky groan of pain escaped him, and his arms began to hiss, his skin to bubble. He was shaking in earnest now.

There was no perfect time. It had to be _now_.

Elatharia dropped the barrier of branches only after she had raised her hands, fingers racing through the necessary gestures.

" _Berezer razk enna jágze!_ "

The branches slithered away and Irenicus turned to face her immediately. Dimly, she heard Edwin's agonised shout as the spell between them broke. She heard him fall to the floor. In answer the Beast rose, trembling and almost blinding in its rage. It rippled under her skin.

" _Razstiker enna…enna jágze…_ " The bloom of red light was building in her hands. _Don't let him distract you. No matter what…_

Irenicus's spell thumped into her, whipping her head to the side and plucking the circlet from her head, flinging it aside as it blazed in fiery resistance.

" _Razka, berezas_." Her voice faltered, mind reeling as she wobbled to her knees. Irenicus's next spell built around her and _gods_ but she had no way to stop it. " _Berezas_!" A host of spinning blades descended, biting into her skin, and her final spellword came out as a scream. But the spell held.

A red burst of light shot from her outstretched palm. It popped the sphere of summoned blades, leaving Elatharia whimpering and gasping, her Robe of Vecna torn and her arms and back blazing with pain. Her destroyed robe had resisted much of the attack, but the true extent of the incisions was currently – and mercifully – beyond her comprehension. In the moments' reprieve she saw wisps of her own hair falling around her where she knelt spattering blood upon the bark. She saw Edwin curled and writhing in pain with his back to her, saw Jaheira slamming her spear through the blue chord of the summoned sword's power, bloodied teeth bared in victory when it clattered to the floor. Elatharia did not see Imoen.

The red burst became a beam as it reached its target, momentarily linking Elatharia's outstretched hands to Irenicus's. She saw his eyes widen when his counterspell failed and turned back on him, fizzing into the thick globe of blue membrane which had thus far rendered him invulnerable to her magic. _Ruby Ray of Reversal_. A spell so rare and so infamously hard to learn that he could _never_ have predicted it. It dragged a shaky laugh from her.

In a matter of three glorious seconds it lived up to its name. It shredded Irenicus's defences as quickly as he could rebuild them. Worming its way through, it found one more spell in its path; it stabbed for the gold in his eyes and Elatharia felt the warmth of her soul. The Beast surged in answer, giving her the power to rise as Irenicus struggled back with a shout. Her thoughts cleared and with it came her true hatred. Snarling, she tugged at the soul bond and felt her feelings flare. For a moment Irenicus was nothing in the face of her will, open-mouthed and arched in pain.

It did not last.

"Enough!" he roared, though his body trembled with the effort of speech. The ruby ray fizzled into nothing and her soul fluttered from her mind once more. She staggered, sagged; almost fell. But ah! There. _Movement._ Elatharia did her best to keep her eyes on him.

Jaheira was stalking closer now also, and growled when he sent a gust of shard-filled wind to slow and cut at her. She dug her heels in and raised her arm to protect her face. But his wards were down. What other time would there be?

Elatharia gave in to the Beast, letting it break through her arms only, shedding her torn human skin. Sucking in a breath, she ran for Irenicus though every muscle screamed against it. He offered her a sneer for that, raising his hands for a spell. Five strides. Three. And his arm caught. His whole body jolted. A gasp of understanding escaped him and something a lot like disbelief crossed his face.

The branches of the Great Tree wove around his wrists. One hooked under his chin.

"Imoen," he wheezed, eyes rolling as if to find her.

Elatharia watched her sister step up behind him, the circlet safely upon her bruised head; she must have caught it with a spell as it fell. Or perhaps the Tree obliged. All the same, her expression was blank, her eyes dull. She clutched a dagger in her shaking hands and she jumped when Jaheira slammed her spear into Irenicus's side with a cry of fury. He choked on a groan, eyebrows raising. But even now no fear showed on his face. Instead his eyes met Elatharia's.

The Transmuter had stopped her phony run two paces from him, and now she watched the stolen gold in his eyes dispassionately.

"You claim to know the truth of pain," she said as Jaheira twisted the spear, the druid snarling hateful words through a harsh sob. Elatharia just stared at this wizard who had tormented her and flexed her hands. The long, clawed ebon fingers of the Beast. "Do you truly know what it feels like to be torn apart?"

The moment her talons sank into his flesh her soul answered. She barely heard his screams, a frenzy overtaking her to get to her soul. She barely heard Imoen's high begging. Instead she saw her sister raise her dagger across Irenicus' s throat and paused. A mercy killing? Even for him?

"No," he wheezed. And then, a little stronger, just before the blade bit. "No!"

Bhaal's golden light poured from his eyes as Imoen cut his throat. It rushed from him like blood, faster than his blood, tendrils reaching for Elatharia…only to recoil. His body shook, gleaming brighter as he resisted death – until the vortex filled Elatharia's vision. She saw Imoen stumble as she did, her sister's eyes bright gold. She felt her thoughts fly _away_ from her battered body. She felt herself pulled headlong into the void.


	65. The Shattering

**Chapter 64: The Shattering**

* * *

"Get the priests!"

Viconia snarled it, already kneeling by Haer'Dalis's still form with Shar's dark healing magic pouring from her trembling hands. Anomen limped to her side, eyes wide at the sight of her intensity.

"Right away!" Jan called; in a whirl of black leather he plucked his ticking anti-magic device from the air and raised Edwin's teleportation stone. A flash and he was gone.

A guttural and extended groan from nearby had Valygar dragging his feet to the edge of this divided platform – a glance over the side showed Korgan draped awkwardly across a quivering bough some ten feet below. His helmet was gone, his face misshapen with swelling and splattered with dried blood. But he was breathing, and starting to curse, turning his head with a wince until his tentative movement happened to give him a sight of the ranger grimacing down at him.

"Priests comin'?"

"Yes," Valygar promised. The idea ought to have been a soothing one, and it certainly looked to be for the dwarf. Korgan gave a rattling sigh that might have contained a laugh.

"Just tell 'em I'm here, ranger."

Valygar nodded stiffly, opening his mouth to offer something a little more substantial than unclear promises of aid. But a rumble behind him had him turning as quickly as he could, his heart dropping faster than he had ever known it. _Was Irenicus…_

The barrier of buckled bark fell with a jangling note of receding arcane magic. It left the living platform flat once more, though the bark was cracked and oozing white sap where it realigned. Beyond, for a long moment, Valygar could make out nothing more than rank smoke and blackened bark. All the same, blinking and coughing he stumbled across the mess of black blood where one of the pit fiends' bodies had lain before its dissipation to the Hells.

Voices sounded. Familiar voices – the urgent alto tones of Jaheira and a quick, low rasp which must have been an in-pain Edwin.

"Imoen?" Coran called, stalking past Valygar at an increasing stride which soon broke into a run. No doubt his elvish eyes had lent him some advantage.

At last the smoke began to clear. It revealed to the ranger a scene of magic-scarred destruction. The bark floor was rippled, scorched and deadened. It stank of rot and sulphur and ash. At the centre of this scene stood a white altar, untouched by the mess, and at its foot slumped three bodies. One, pale and lifeless, was unmistakeably the bloodied form of Irenicus. His eyes had lost their golden shine and returned to a pallid grey, now staring out at nothing. By his feet lay Imoen and Elatharia; it was to the aasimar that Coran darted, kneeling by her and hauling her limp form up into his arms, demanding she wake up. Edwin was crouching a little less demonstratively by Elatharia's side, peering down at her with a hand at her shoulder. His arms were blistered and red; an empty bottle beside him proved that such injuries had been much worse not long before.

"Valygar," Jaheira sighed. He turned to her immediately though she still reached out to grip his arm, her eyes already taking in his pained countenance. He flinched when she pressed a hand to his side but just gritted his teeth and let her cast what she could to aid him. After a few deep breaths her warm magic bloomed through his ribs.

"Thank you." His breath rattled out in a relieved sigh as the pain eased. Jaheira offered a tight smile as she stepped back, still eyeing him critically for a moment or two though her eyes looked everywhere but into his. Eventually her gaze settled upon the prone forms of Imoen and Elatharia. "Are they…?" he started to ask.

"No." Jaheira shook her head. Her face was pale and drawn. There were bruises along her hairline and multiple grazes across her chin, a long but shallow cut striking a straight line from shoulder to ear. Her leather armour was blackened and cracked in places and she was holding one arm protectively against her waist. "They are not dead."

"Stop manhandling her, fool. We do not yet know what has happened here," Edwin snapped to Coran, though the elf now simply cradled Imoen against himself and ignored the Red Wizard entirely but for a dead-eyed glare.

The aasimar did not appear to be badly injured in any visible way; Valygar could make out a bruise at her temple but that was all. Her clothing had not been ravaged by the corrosive spell which had battered the others and the circlet which her sister had been wearing was now tangled in her pink hair. As Coran supported her head in his arm Valygar saw the brilliant golden shine blazing from her open and unblinking eyes.

Elatharia had not been so fortunate. She lay limply upon her side, her forearms mangled and bloody, her robe torn to shreds and all but gone from her upper body. There were deep cuts scoring her back, and the hint of something white beneath. _A rib_. And just as her sister's, her eyes were wide and pouring golden light. Edwin was trying to angle a health potion against her lips but stopped after a moment, blue liquid spilling upon the bark by her head and sinking in. Valygar turned to Jaheira, disquieted.

"My healing magic cannot help her," the druid denied. "There is too much damage and I might make things worse. With Viconia and Anomen occupied we will have to wait for the elves."

The creak of chains above his head had Valygar looking up to see Queen Ellesime, still suspended in her cage and now peering down at them with haunted eyes. She offered him a sympathetic grimace when he caught her eye and she gestured feebly at the chain. There were tracks of tears upon her cheeks but no hint of a wobble in her voice when she spoke.

"The chain is secured a little way off. Perhaps one of you could free me?" she asked.

* * *

Black stone rushed up to meet Elatharia but she never felt the impact. She felt nothing beneath her hands as she rose to her feet, and a dispassionate observation of her unblemished forearms proved to her that this was not real. Or at least…not corporeal. At least this place did not render her the mass of scars that Ellesime's dreamworld had.

The stone chamber which arced above her head seemed real enough, though a simple thought had her view careering outwards from her body, showing her a view of a great bulb of obsidian adrift in a cloud of endless, shining gold. Head spinning, she returned to herself with a gasp.

"Back here, huh?" Imoen was standing to her right, looking about herself with her arms folded across her black jerkin, mithral mail winking at her collar.

A glance down at herself showed to Elatharia that this unreality had gifted her the reinvented shape of the Robe of Vecna. The dress was shredded in reality – more proof that this whole place was a dream. All the same, she gave a start when bright white light bloomed ahead, temporarily showing the lattice of tunnels branching away from this otherwise gloomy domed cave. From that brightness stepped the solar, itself a beacon of blazing iridescent armour, wide eyes like twin suns. It hurt to look directly into its too-smooth face.

"This is no dream, elder godchild. Your consciousness has been pulled here by the one who yet holds the rest of your soul," it told Elatharia, a faint smile curving its lips as it turned its stare to Imoen – who was gaping up at it with a hand shielding her eyes. "And you are right, younger godchild. There is nothing to fear for you in this place. This is your home, your father's realm. And when you come here in person, you will see it for what it truly is." The solar's soothing genderless tone came a little too loud, as always.

"Then where is Irenicus now? How can I regain my soul?" Elatharia asked. Her eyes met Imoen's. "And why is my sister here with me if this is because of his theft?"

"The Forsaken One is lost amongst these tunnels. He flees from what he dare not face. But this is your father's realm, and thus it is yours," the solar's voice dropped, full of a smile. "Put your minds to it and you can find him. His will brought him here, tangled in your soul as he died. And the passage to your father's realm is tempting to all Bhaal's children, especially those not yet familiar with it. Thus your sister's consciousness was drawn here also."

Imoen gave a shudder at that.

"Not sure I'll ever get used to bein' a Bhaalspawn too," she grimaced. The solar ducked its head, leaning down a little as if it meant to comfort her though it stood too tall and too far away besides.

"For now know that this place is a shadow of the truth. You are sojourners looking for a foe. But it will be waiting for you when you are ready."

With a rustle of blue-tipped wings and an inclination of its head, the solar stepped back into its beam of light, forcing both sisters to shield their eyes and turn away. When it was safe to look again the celestial had disappeared.

"Well." Imoen's hand brushed Elatharia's shoulder, a touch which manifested as a waft of warmth over her skin. "I don't much like the idea of Irenicus wanderin' off with your soul. 'Bout as much as I like the idea of facing him again." Her blue eyes gleamed with a silver iridescence even in the dull golden light. And looking at her now, seeing how steady she seemed on her feet in this place, Elatharia knew one thing without doubt.

"You're the strongest one here," the Transmuter told her, and continued even as the aasimar balked and tried to disagree. "I can feel it. All I am is…a fragment of myself. But you have your whole soul. And…you heard the solar. Irenicus doesn't belong here – but we do. And that means that right now you're the _strongest one here_."

A disbelieving smile flickered across Imoen's face, soon followed by a little hint of a frown…and a glimmer of mischief. She stepped back, looking about herself anew, and took a deep, shaky breath. The air rippled with a wave of Bhaal's golden light that soon chased across the room from one side to the other.

The ground began to change. Uneven stone gave way to a fine mosaic floor of black and gold tiles. The tunnels pockmarking the edges of the hall twisted and aligned, becoming rune-carved archways of sparkling grey granite, and the domed roof of this cave opened up into a funnel above which rushed the golden clouds that Elatharia had seen from the outside. It filled the space with light and showed to them the true pattern beneath their feet. There was the golden skull of Bhaal surrounded by a wheel of tears.

"Oh." Imoen sounded disappointed. "That's a bit morbid. But come on – let's finish this."

* * *

Surely the elves ought to have been tired of fire and smoke by now? But no. Ancient traditions were not so easily altered, though it would have spared Viconia the raw stinging in her eyes and the dryness in her throat. It had been bad enough that a day in these parts had lent her a cough that could only be healed by a daily dose of healing herbs. Now these wretched sun elves were insisting upon adding to her discomfort – and all in the name of their 'honoured dead'.

"There is no honour in death," she muttered, watching the flames from a safe distance. _There is no 'honour'._

This was the Holy Hill of Suldanessellar, a flat expanse of tiled ground ringed by a collection of ancient oaks whose thick branches had been woven and twisted into an elaborate terrace of dwellings, all of them crowned by leaves. It looked as though they had been the living spaces for the sheltering inhabitants of the city, those who had not perished in the destruction. And though these lofty treehouses were by no means small in number, Viconia struggled to imagine the three thousand or so natives of Suldanessellar all living up here for even a short few days. And though there was nowhere else for them to go in the aftermath of the battle with the city so destroyed, their 'saviour-guests' had each been given rooms of their own amongst the trees. The sun elves had been so insistent that not even Aerie could refuse, though she had surely tried.

Now those thousands of elves thronged across the paved top of the hill, silent and mournful. They stared into the flames of their burning dead, a fire that would burn into the night and most probably the following day. Mazzy had been given a moment of her own, consigned to a separate pyre that was meant to be some kind of 'honour'. Aerie was clutching the halfling's helmet to her chest at the very front of the crowd and even from this distance Viconia could make out the shine of her tears. The avariel had dressed in the mourning white of the sun elves and the formless cloth made her look tiny.

Most of the others were down amidst the elves; Jaheira and Valygar flanked Aerie, the druid dressed in a white tunic and grey trousers, her best attempt at adhering to the customs of her people with what she had in her possession. The ranger had favoured his neatest black doublet and his least faded trousers and now took Mazzy's sword as Queen Ellesime handed it to him. He was still and grave as ever, but Viconia had the distinct impression that such ceremony disquieted him. Jaheira took the fallen halfling's shield just as grimly. Jan was in the crowd somewhere, also. Or he certainly had been to begin with.

Anomen was also present, dressed in the formal velvet doublet and gold embroidery of the Radiant Heart, though Viconia had heard him refusing to lead any ceremony for the halfling who had been his colleague. He had eschewed his Order's colourful half-cloak also – or perhaps simply had not brought it with him. His dark eyes were fixed upon the fire, his brows furrowed. He was trying to wipe a tear from his cheek without anyone noticing, and failing; he jumped a little when Coran gave his shoulder a firm pat, the elf now dressed in the clean white of his people though he yet wore his green battle paint across his eyes. It would not be long before that one returned to Imoen's catatonic side.

Out of Viconia's sight in a pair of adjoining rooms at the end of this terrace of treehouses, the aasimar and her sister both lay breathing and warm but motionless. Their eyes had been wide open and shining until they were closed manually, but some light still escaped across their cheeks. Meanwhile, Korgan was being treated with the wounded elves, his extraction from the Tree without a fall having been something of a miracle. Edwin was receiving treatment for his burned arms, also. But Haer'Dalis lay in the bed behind Viconia just off the terrace, sleeping for now. Her healing spells were utterly spent and the weariness that was starting to creep into her limbs made her feel ancient.

"I take it that we won?"

Haer'Dalis's hoarse voice had Viconia turning with a gasp – and feeling like a fool for it. He was lying just as she had left him; most of his wounds only freshly closed, on his back upon a soft bed squashed against the opposite wall. His eyes were trained her way, a smile starting to show on his face to see…whatever expression she was betraying to him. Mindlessly she approached. The room was small and plain, furnished only with this one bed and a basin upon a ledge of vines. She reached Haer'Dalis in perhaps three strides.

"The elves burn their dead as we speak," Viconia nodded.

With no chair to sit upon, she knelt by the bedside and began an explanation of events since his defeat of the first pit fiend. He listened and watched, fidgeting a little with the sleeve of her shirt while she spoke. For her part Viconia could not avoid looking over his bandaged form, blue-tinted skin marred with much more colourful bruising, new pink scars bisecting his lowest right rib and arcing over his stomach only after hours of healing.

The damage to his right calf was more tenacious; the elves had stitched the wound after her initial spells and wisely everyone involved had decided to leave it be for the time being. Pit fiends' teeth could carry corrosive substances or even slow-acting poisons. Closing the wound entirely might make healing from something like that…impossible.

"And those elves who survive? What do they think of the drow in their midst?" Haer'Dalis asked softly once she had finished, his fingers sliding into her hair.

"They tolerate me," she said, trying to ignore the tingle of her skin under his touch. "I aided in their victory, after all. Perhaps they are even a little grateful."

"Not grateful enough, I imagine." He said it with humour but his eyes were fierce when she raised hers to look. She swallowed against the treachery inside her and ducked her head. His grip shifted in her hair.

"Viconia." His fingertips eased over her skin carefully, slowly. His voice lowered. "I was not unconscious whilst I lay in pain atop the tree and wandered at the edge of death. I heard your voice. You could deny it all your life but I will never believe that your urgency was borne of anything but _feeling_."

Her throat constricted against the rebuke that rose in her chest. Her lips trembled instead and to her shame a tear slid from her cheek to touch his skin. Her next breath trembled, and he must have heard it.

"No sentiment brought you back. It was my healing that did that," she tried to snarl, but drawing back seemed impossible.

At last Viconia's eyes rose from the safe white sheets beneath her gripping fingertips at the edge of the bed and found his eyebrows raised expectantly. Her heart jolted at that look. _Drow do not quail in the face of sentiment._ But instead a defeated sigh shuddered from her and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, feeling warm skin against her lips. It had not been so warm hours earlier as his blood pooled away, staining the bark of the Great Tree red.

"Perhaps you do not truly realise how close you came to death," she managed, muffled against him. _Perhaps he did not care_.

Haer'Dalis's thumb pressed under her chin, urging her to look up; to move closer. The bed creaked and for a moment Viconia, a drow once of Menzoberranzan, almost overbalanced in an effort not to press any of his barely healed wounds. Her protest died in her throat; her anger fled before it could ever reach her face. He was searching her eyes with his, thoughtful and heated in that way which always seemed so _secret_ between them.

It was impossible not to lean down and press her lips to his; the warm bloom of victory filled her as he groaned into her, pressing her closer. And somehow _he_ left _her_ panting as they parted, her hands sinking into his deep blue hair. A shaky sound, a nervous hum, escaped her as his cheek nuzzled hers.

"I am not a surfacer, my beloved Blackbird. You have nothing to prove or disprove to me," he murmured into her ear.

* * *

The archmagi jacket was all but torn to shreds; its sleeves hung in tatters, any protections woven into the fabric now destroyed. Bah! It had lasted barely more than a year. Edwin discarded it upon the bed of his room in the Planar Sphere and took a cursory glance at his newly healed forearms before reaching for another garment. The skin was still red, a little sore to touch, but the tattoos had realigned and there might only be a faint hint of scarring here and there. Still, it was not a calming thought – that a man like Irenicus could resist his magic so completely that it burned through his own _skin_. For a moment all he could do was stare, blank. No wonder the greatest wizards were those who stayed well away from battle.

 _Enough_. The Red Wizard plucked up the black velvet doublet which he had laid out, pulling the stiff fabric on over his much plainer shirt. (And there were few left after so much _fighting_ ). The silver buttons resisted from lack of use as he forced them through their embroidered holes, each of which was patterned with the same red stitching as the hem and high neck of the garment. Perhaps Mother had become insane in the end but her enchanted thread leant an important – and unexpected – advantage. It did not mean that he wanted to wear it any more than he had to, however. But with the archmagi jacket ruined, what choice was there left?

He still remembered her frantic insistence, her pinching and pulling and pushing until he promised to wear that doublet _always_. A bitter lie. The red lining was embroidered with golden runes, also – though it had been more than a decade later, once he was an official Red Wizard (and old enough for it to _fit_ ) before he realised that those runes were powerful Abjurations of his father's. The Odesseirons did not let their only heir risk death in Thaymount without adequate aid.

Stepping back with a shudder, Edwin reached for his red cloak and made to leave. But his eyes caught on a folded scrap of paper by the bed, held closed under a candle stand. He hesitated. Had someone been in here while he was away? He had not entered since before his capture by Bodhi, but the wards had given no indication of an unwanted presence. There was no visible runic border and the fabric looked mundane enough – the stiff, discoloured _parchment_ of the uncivilised Western Heartlands, he noted. Ah. And of course he knew the handwriting; the swirling italic cursive which would have looked more at home in the kind of illuminated manuscripts one found in Candlekeep or Thaymount.

 _I came here looking for proof of betrayal. I sat in your chair. I'm sorry._ A laugh escaped him, brief though it was. The letters were indented under his thumb, as if scratched at speed. (Ridiculous.)

Quickly enough the thought of Elatharia soon brought a reminder. She yet lay in that elven hut of branches and leaves, eyes ablaze with Bhaal's gold. And no one could bring her back, though her breath persisted; her heart still beat; she could be persuaded to drink a little, on reflex. The unknowable condition had Edwin's hands balling into fists at his sides. He had his theories, of course, but nothing substantial. It was a puzzle enough to see him whirl about and head out of the Planar Sphere.

Outside, the building (device?) was still splattered in dragon blood and gore, though a few weary elves were picking their way about the destroyed garden, attempting to clean things up. Edwin almost felt sorry for them having to pick through it all – would they even be able to tell apart their own dead from the mess left by the wyrm? And of course the place stank.

The sky was darkening now to ember-orange with the sinking sun as he set off. He had eaten what the elves had given earlier, the fare simple and plain but still better than the slop of the Western Heartlands, if not of Amn. No doubt there would be some sombre feast in motion for this, the first night of their mass funeral. (Sentimental, pointless things. One was oft expected to cry. Or at least _care_.)

Little more than a scorched ruin, Suldanessellar was all but silent. The demons and devils had dissipated to their native planes with the death of their master, leaving the elves to their skeleton of a city. Apparently more than two thirds of the population had survived upon the Holy Hill, warded by divine magic from the interference of the Lower Planes' monsters. Still, it was hard to imagine much of an improvement over the coming days. The air was still thick with smoke, the ground carpeted in blood and ash, vine walls burned, broken and fallen.

After such a long day it was a tiring and wholly unwanted walk across the city from the Planar Sphere and up the hill. But Edwin had only just been reunited with his second teleportation stone. He was not inclined to risk losing one in an unwarded treehouse simply for convenience. And besides, the Holy Hill was itself warded against most arcane magic beyond personal protections (some elvish superstition) and an attempt to teleport there would most likely end…badly.

The low hum of elvish speech sounded from quite a distance, their blazing pyre filling the darkening sky with a hellish blaze which the Red Wizard would have expected them to resent. Reaching the top of the hill and trying not to pant too obviously, he saw that the natives had settled down in rings. Cross-legged upon the tiled ground, their heads were bowed to their food of sweet bread and surprisingly filling greenery. He spotted Jaheira and most of the others sitting with the queen but did not permit his gaze to linger long over them, preferring to skirt around the edge of the gathering and make his way up the awkwardly steep steps which led onto the living wood terrace. Up here stood the treehouses forced upon them by the elves.

Voices became audible to him as he approached the open doorway of Elatharia's room. He recognised Haer'Dalis, Viconia…and perhaps a third. It had him lurching to a stop just before the open window, listening.

"I would indeed agree. 'Tis a form of astral projection most likely," Haer'Dalis was saying. From this angle Edwin could make out the back of the tiefling's bandaged torso. He was leaning against Viconia, his arm about her narrow shoulders as if he ought not to have been standing at all. The drow seemed tense, as always, but appeared to be making no move to extricate herself.

"You believe that their souls have drifted with their consciousnesses to…where exactly?"

Oh, he _did_ know that voice. A grim smirk curved Edwin's lips as he strode forward through the door, intent upon that wretchedly tall woman who had…

But when she turned, he did not recognise her face. The rounder eyes were blue and not green, the expression softer and her cheeks fuller. Her hair was a shade or two paler, streaked with blonde and shining in the flickering candlelight. She was even not quite as tall. Again, Edwin froze. And she looked at him as if she had never seen him before, something more like concern showing in her face than warning. _How_? She bore such a resemblance to the woman who had betrayed Bodhi! But his appropriately enchanted ring showed to him no hint of Transmutation about her person, or indeed Illusion.

"You must be the Red Wizard," the woman greeted, offering a cautious smile. Edwin fought a frown and then a sneer as he looked up into her face.

"And who are you?" he asked. From the corner of his eye he could see Viconia staring at him, even tenser than before. All the same, he shook the woman's hand when she offered it.

"I am Melissan, a friend and sometime aid of Queen Ellesime's," she said. Ah, that accent.

"You are from the Moonshaes." Edwin could not avoid a smirk. His observation led to just a brief widening of her eyes.

"I am," she allowed, wary now. "You know the place?"

"A treacherous captain, more like," Haer'Dalis cut in.

" _Stop. Now._ " Viconia's gestures in the drow sign language were so quick and harsh that Edwin almost missed them. His lip curled. Of course they could not fathom the depth of how very _wrong_ this was. And all of it with Elatharia lying there all but lifeless.

"And how long can one maintain an…astral projection?" Coran cut in, impatient as ever. At last Edwin noticed him leaning in the doorway which adjoined this room to Imoen's. His face was pale and drawn, his garish warpaint gone at last. When was the last time _his_ smug smirk had truly been wiped away? It was not as satisfying as Edwin might have expected.

"Days?" Haer'Dalis started to shrug, only to wince from the pain. He gave a wheezing cough and Viconia glared up at him as if he was to blame.

"You should not be standing. There is another dose of healing potion to take before you sleep," she snapped, and the tiefling's brows rose.

"Of course, mistress Blackbird." But he let her lead him out without complaint.

"I fear there is little more to do than wait, good Coran," Melissan sighed, offering the elf a sad smile. He mirrored the look before stepping back into Imoen's room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

For a long, still moment quiet hung between the red-haired woman and the Red Wizard. She held her smile as she perched on the edge of the bed, touching the back of her hand gently to Elatharia's bare cheek. What remained of the Transmuter's possessions – and that certainly did not include the Robe of Vecna – lay by the head of her bed. It was with a creeping feeling of unease that Edwin watched the woman touch Elatharia, who lay so senseless and _unprotected_.

"You know my sister," Melissan prompted at last, her eyes fixed upon Elatharia's face.

"What makes you think so?" Edwin asked, folding his arms. She cast him a faintly disbelieving sidelong glance.

"I have been mistaken for her many times. I know the look on your face."

"And I have heard _your_ name also," Edwin countered. "Elatharia said…"

"Ah," Melissan gave a sigh of realisation. Her thumb touched the Transmuter's bared markings beneath one eye. "Of course. Elatharia, Ward of Gorion. Forgive me." She offered a warmer smile, one which soon melted into grief. "I knew her father. And…" She hesitated. "But such information is for her most of all. What an impression it would give of me, for her to learn it second hand."

At last she drew back from the Transmuter, standing with a swish of blue skirts. Edwin glared at her all the same, his wards prickling as she passed him. (Not without defences then. Hmm.) The concept of waiting for such precious information was utterly ludicrous. But this woman was well protected, and clearly no novice in the magical arts though she tried to hide it. Thus he watched her leave and even gave a forced inclination of his head when she bid him a too-honest goodnight.

Soon his eyes turned back to Elatharia. Astral projection? Of course. He paused by the bed for a moment before turning to sit in the uncomfortable wicker chair by the wall at its foot. He poured himself a glass of wine from the collection in his bag of holding and took to watching the tall flames rising into view through the window. Melissan and her sister plagued every twist of his thoughts.

* * *

The sisters found Irenicus – or what remained of him – stumbling through the dark corridors of Bhaal's realm. He staggered back, snarling, when the tunnel ahead closed off, stone flowing together like paint and sealing shut as if there had never been a path there. A semblance of a spell fizzled to nothing from his cracked hands when Imoen materialised before him, eyes ablaze with golden light. Her expression was sorrowful – or pained, perhaps. Elatharia understood the strength of will it had taken for her sister to come here with her, to face Irenicus like this even in his tattered state.

His scarred skin was fraying and from the hollow shell of his body Elatharia could see her soul oozing through the cracks. Wisps of Bhaal's gold drifted towards her as she stepped up behind Irenicus, strands of light seeping into her skin. Even in such small a quantity she felt her strength grow. The ground beneath her feet took on a greater solidity; she at last saw the weave of power shining within these tiled stone walls.

With his spells failed, Irenicus turned to flee, his attempts to speak escaping as feeble wheezes. The very concept of him attempting an _escape_ was ludicrous, and from the twist of his expression it looked like he thought so too. Regardless he did not get far; perhaps two steps before his gaze settled upon Elatharia, his eyes melted and white. Burned by Bhaal's essence, which was too strong in this place. She met his stare with grim determination and reached out. Into him. Her extended fist broke through the feeble semblance of his form, his consciousness made visible, shattering his skin like the shell of an egg. Gasping, he froze as her hand unfurled.

At last her soul flowed free of him, pouring to her with such a strong sense of relief. Warmth and weight and texture returned. So did rage and grief – and all of the fear she should have felt. Power came with it, the strength which was her birthright in this place. It was almost maddening at first, but when Irenicus's will tugged feebly against her own she bared her teeth and held on. His fragile form shuddered…and dissolved with a hopeless scream. What he had retained of her soul rushed for her, seeping inside with a suddenness that ought to have staggered her. Instead only ringing silence followed – this was not entirely 'real' in the sense of the solid world, after all.

"You are free, godchild. The Forsaken One has been destroyed, his thoughts scattered to the void. You have both earned your part of this place. And a glimpse of those who share it."

The corridor was gone, the solar's voice thundering around them before the sisters could so much as look at each other again. Now they stood in a circular chamber, domed by black glass shot through with gold. Bhaal's symbol grinned up from the reflective tiles beneath their feet and all about them stood stone arches, each framing a glittering granite statue, some twenty of them. And several were very familiar.

"Wait…that's me!" Imoen exclaimed, pointed to the figure to the right of the doorway.

Though the granite deprived the figure of her distinctive pink hair and silver-blue eyes it was certainly her, down to the scar on her cheek and the braid by her face. She held a bow ready, her stance side-on as if aiming. She was dressed in a tunic of fine chain, much like the one Demin had gifted to her, a quiver on her back and a long cloak rippling across her shoulders.

The real Imoen's eyes were wide as saucers when she turned to look at Elatharia but the Transmuter was too busy following the curve of the wall to the next arch. She recognised herself, unmasked, hair unbound and hanging down her back. Her statue-self was standing straight, arms folded, clad in a granite mock-up of an unfamiliar tunic and chain leggings. She had never before realised that she was _visibly_ shorter than her sister, albeit not by much.

"A score of mortal progeny," Elatharia murmured, grasping Imoen's arm as they scanned the twenty statues standing in a ring around them. There was Sarevok, tall and broad in his spiked armour, and there was the elf who had tried to kill her on the night that they had met Valygar. Beside him was the unathletic figure of Lord Roaringhorn, whom she had murdered for Bodhi. Golden light shone from the eyes of some, but not all – Elatharia could only assume, from observing this trend amongst those she knew to be dead, that such a light denoted those Bhaalspawn who were still living. There were eight of them.

"They're in order of…of age, you think?" Imoen asked, but Elatharia could only shrug. "Huh. That makes me the youngest."

They wandered forward to take a closer look and it soon became clear that names were etched in the Infernal alphabet in a repeating pattern around and around the wall of each alcove. Imoen stilled as she turned around a little, her eyes falling on the largest figure, midway along the curve of statues.

"Oh, damn. I don't like the look've him."

Elatharia swallowed, seeing the hulking form of a heavily bearded giant adorned in studded garments – possibly leather – with a vast hammer strapped to his back. Eyes ablaze with the light that denoted him _living_ , he was glowering off at nothing, his teeth bared by scarred lips. And there were others; a female elf whose slight frame and sharp features suggested that she was a drow, a hooded man whose loose robes hid his face and proved he was a monk. Turning as she counted she saw the truth. With the tell-tale golden glow behind each statue's eyes to prove it – and including herself and Imoen – eight remained living.

* * *

The sun elves did not keep the ashes of their dead. They let them disperse on the winds as best they could, and then gathered the rest to be buried in the garden where they planted a new oak tree. It was especially poignant given the total destruction of that garden. The place was flattened and dead…until the druids came. But Aerie had insisted that they find an urn, or something of the sort, in which to keep Mazzy's ashes. She was not sure what the halflings did to honour their dead, but she was fairly certain that she knew what Mazzy herself might have wanted. And the avariel had insisted upon writing the letter to the Fentans in Trademeet herself, though it had been almost unbearable through the tears and the trembling of her hands.

Not twenty-four hours after the death of Irenicus there began to arrive a host of elves from elsewhere in the Wealdath. It appeared that the word had spread of Suldanessellar's need almost immediately, or perhaps that they had been trying to find the city in vain for some time until the wards came down in full. However it happened, the sun elves of this forest came together almost without comment, the greatest of their numbers made up by druids – some of whom dressed outlandishly in leaves and branches and feathers. Others were more conventional to Aerie's unfamiliar eyes, carrying staves of twisted wood and dressed in hide and leather.

The arrival of the druids brought with it great change to Suldanessellar's ruined homes. They sang to their woodland gods, to Sylvanus most of all, and the vines grew back wherever they looked, flowers bloomed, the air filled with the smell of earth and the fizz of magic. It was going to take them days, but that in itself seemed a great miracle. _Days_ to save an entire city. After two Ellesime declared the palace ready for her guests, while most of those who had lived as refugees upon the Holy Hill could return to their own homes.

But there were still the wounded to care for, and still much to do to bring Suldanessellar back to its ancient glory. Many had died and their memories could not be erased, nor the pain of their remaining loved ones assuaged, by the blooming of their city. Irenicus had killed a third of the population and kept the rest hiding in horror from his patrolling monsters. Thus it was that the golems were not reawakened. Their power source was destroyed and their metallic bodies broken up for use elsewhere.

The towns outside Suldanessellar's walls, those small settlements which had been utterly razed, were not brought back to life like the city. Instead the druids spent half a day calling up a field of grass and flowers, a vast clearing in the forest that would forever serve as a reminder. Those who had escaped the carnage now crept back into Suldanessellar's sphere, faces gaunt and eyes haunted, to live within the Hidden City itself.

Over the next few days Aerie hardly saw her companions, though she made a point of going to visit both Elatharia and Imoen – who remained unmoving upon the Holy Hill. But mostly the avariel spent her time with the orphans. Elvish births were rare and in a population which had formerly reached four thousand there were only fifty children. A third had lost both parents in the fighting.

Her companions had dispersed across the city. Korgan was still injured and under the care of the priests at the Temple of Rillifane, while Haer'Dalis and Viconia had retreated to the Planar Sphere. Aerie could not blame the drow for that given the stares of the elves around her, though her limited aid of the wounded felt less fair. Jaheira and Valygar spent most of their time helping the druids rebuild the city and even once Ellesime insisted that those companions who preferred to stay out of the Planar Sphere moved to her palace, Aerie hardly saw either of them though their rooms were next to hers. Meanwhile, the few glimpses she caught of Anomen were painful and awkward. He avoided her eyes and was determined to keep his distance – thus it came as a great surprise when he arrived at the orphanage on the Holy Hill.

It was early evening, the sun starting to set and tinting the sky a gentle pink which played over the reflective tiles across the hilltop. Aerie was just stepping out of the vine complex where the acolytes were caring for the orphans; she might have stayed longer but the priests who worked alongside her had insisted that she go back to the palace to seek some food. It was here, in the doorway, that she collided with a tall figure.

"Oh! I'm…I'm sorry," Aerie exclaimed in elvish, jumping back. Her voice faltered as she looked up and saw that this was Anomen, his brown eyes wide with surprise, a faint darkening of his cheeks proving his own embarrassment. She stepped aside for him automatically, her eyes seeking away from him and fixing uselessly upon her feet. "I wasn't looking where I w-was going."

"I came to speak to _you,_ my lady," he told her, his deep voice carefully formal. It only made Aerie's heart drop further. Posture rigid, he gestured outside before clasping his hands behind his back. "If you can spare the time."

"Of-of course I can, Anomen," she promised. He made no response to her lowered tone, the one that suggested her answer was obvious. "What did you want to…to talk about?"

He did not answer. Rather he waited until she had stepped outside and looked up at him, wringing her hands. His brows were drawn together, his mouth downturned. He glanced away as if struggling and one curl of bronze hair fell across his forehead; he smoothed it aside impatiently with a hand now veiled in a dark leather riding glove. Now Aerie took in the sight of him with new understanding; he was dressed in cloth trousers and a brown leather doublet, his boots polished but not formal. There was a large backpack propped by the wall, perhaps a foot from her ankle, and the armour-filled saddlebags he would attach it to.

"You're leaving," she choked out.

"I am." He stood even straighter, almost at attention, and looked down at her without bowing his head. His gloves creaked as his hands clenched at his sides. "My wounds are healed and I have offered what aid I…can to the elves here. It is obvious that they want me here as little as you do, though their queen offers her rewards with pained duty." He gritted out those words and for a moment Aerie gaped up at him, not sure what to disagree with first.

"I…I don't want you to leave," she denied at last, voice hoarse. A disbelieving smirk, more like a sneer, twitched his lips and he shook his head as if she were stupid. "I don't!"

"Then can you say that you love me?" he asked. The tone made Aerie's heart leap with anger rather than embarrassment and Anomen's eyes flared with victory as he recognised her expression. "No. I did not think so." And he caught his voice before he could say more. Regardless, Aerie knew that mocking tone. She had heard it many times from her captors in the circus. _He is angry and in pain,_ she had to remind herself. His eyes showed that plain enough.

"Where will you go?" the avariel asked, folding her arms against whatever else he might say. But instead his shoulders slumped.

"I cannot return home, indeed," Anomen sighed. "And it is the truth, Aerie. I do not belong here like you do. I cannot…I cannot stay here forever. It is best that I leave promptly." His eyes flitted over hers – and yes, that was pain in his look. "I have heard of a monastery in Amkethran, in southern Tethyr. Perhaps they will take in a fallen knight of Helm." He hesitated. "If you do…if you ever do need me, I imagine you can find me there. Ellesime's ally, Melissan, was quite certain that I will be accepted."

Aerie ducked her head. Her throat was tight but no tears came – perhaps she had simply cried enough of late. She could not think of a word to say, not even of an appropriate goodbye. She heard him picking up his bags, shouldering them before passing her. His hand brushed her elbow once before he walked away.

* * *

Not well used to thinking overmuch about her pain, Jaheira had focused on the rebuilding of the city. She had hoped that perhaps her family might have arrived with the visiting druids, but they had not. Now the news of Anomen's departure brought back all of her pain and the reminder that seeing Irenicus die had done nothing. Khalid was still dead. And Imoen might yet be forever tied to a murderer whom she called 'sister'. And then…

 _"Your Helmite companion left this evening."_

The news, spoken so gently by Ellesime's human ally, had brought nothing but grim resolve to the druid. Anomen gone, Mazzy dead. There were only three of them left standing, and Imoen lying there under Coran's vigil as unmoving as she was blind to her sister's reality. There had been…something else. A conversation? A…pair of blue eyes. Or were they green? It was hazy. Her head hurt to think on it, something scratched at her skin. But before she could so much as hesitate, the thought was gone. Whatever it was, it propelled her forward. A half-remembered voice whispering in her head.

It was not good, nor right. Perhaps it was unforgivable. But it had to happen – and tonight. The thought of avoiding such an _important plan_ had her skin scratching uncomfortably again, her thoughts…blurred. Something fizzed in the air; her protections. Yes, that was it. _…wasn't it?_ But no, there were more important things to think about.

 _This has to be done tonight._ Yes, of course. The voice whispered it.

Done right, it may never even be considered suspicious; it would simply be another leaden guilt for her to bear alone. Her _Barkskin_ ought to camouflage her in the darkness, just the flickering light of the candle shining through the window of Imoen's room to guide her. All the same, Jaheira's hands were shaking and her heart galloping in her chest as she crept along the walkway of the treehouses upon the Holy Hill, something clawing at the corners of her thoughts. Almost as though…

 _You must not hesitate. Hesitation will lead to certain failure._ A flash of green, a sharp pain in her head. The sense that those…that these…were not her thoughts. She shook it away.

She hesitated by Imoen's window but a quick glance showed Coran asleep in his chair by the motionless aasimar's bed, his head leaning back against the wall. Still, he was an elf – and that meant that even the faintest sound of her boots upon the vines of the walkway could wake him. Perhaps he would not stop her, for he had no love for Elatharia, but it was better if there were no witnesses. The very thought of such clandestine behaviour made her feel dirty, made her feel out of place. _Wrong._ But there was a balance to be righted – and Imoen to protect. That was it.

A flash of green. A reminder, like a lash. Spell hooks digging into her skin…

Jaheira reached Elatharia's room without incident, the door creaking only slightly behind her as she fairly tiptoed inside. It was very dark in here, but the druid's half-elven eyes could make out the shape of the chair at the foot of the bed, the door adjoining this room to Imoen's and the table in the corner. She could easily see the young woman lying on her back in the bed, utterly unmoving but for the rise and fall of her chest. Her hair was a dark tangled halo about her head, the indented lines beneath her eyes somehow clearer in the gloom. Her eyes were closed though a faint shine escaped from beneath the lids, limning her lashes in gold. And she seemed so peaceful, so _innocent_ and young.

What would Gorion have done? What would Khalid have said? But such thoughts were no use. It had to be this way. _The woman had said so._ But…what woman?

Taking a shaky breath, Jaheira reached for the cushion upon the chair, squeezing it between her hands for only a moment before steeling herself. Her vision was hazy, like a dream. Her thoughts fogged. Her actions came a little ahead of her decisions. Wait…something was…

She pressed the cushion down upon the unconscious Transmuter's nose and mouth, and held it there. For a moment nothing happened and then Elatharia's body convulsed, her lungs seeking air and finding none. Jaheira's blood ran cold even as she tensed. Her skin was crawling. But she held her ground. Or more accurately, she could not move away though her thoughts screamed at her. Her muscles trembled with the effort to pull back. _Murder! This is murder!_

A light flared at Elatharia's neck, the fizz of magic devouring a simple symbol momentarily made visible through the darkness as white light consumed the ink. Jaheira knew Mulhorandi script when she saw it. _Of course_. The Transmuter convulsed again beneath her helpless hands.

A creak of the bed, another convulsion. For a moment Jaheira's hold on the cushion waned. She could see Khalid's horror behind her eyes. She started to pull back, the fog controlling her movements receding. She never had the chance.

Elatharia's eyes opened and the room filled with the golden power of Bhaal.


	66. The Awakening

**Chapter 65: The Awakening**

* * *

The blast knocked Jaheira back against the door, her breath leaving her in a great and painful exhale. For a panicked moment she was blind, her limbs numb – but she knew the golden shine which had filled her sight, and she had seen this before. _It happened to Imoen in Bodhi's lair._ Elatharia had regained her soul. And she was awake.

A crash sounded from the room next door and in the distance there came alarmed voices. But Jaheira had no time for that. Elatharia was sitting up, eyes wide and blazing with Bhaal's power as the shine diffusing the room oozed back into her. She was dressed in a simple white nightgown of the elves, her form slight and perhaps a little shaky as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. But Jaheira knew the look in her eyes.

The druid grasped for the club she kept at her hip…and found it missing. She tried to recall why she was here. She found the memory missing, too. The hesitation gave Elatharia the time she needed. A simple pair of gestures and a string of spellwords had the air rippling in front of the staggered druid, pushing her back roughly against the door – and holding her there, arms pinned to her sides, struggling.

"What…"

"I thought it might be you," Elatharia said, voice cold. Her lips were just starting to twist into a sneer, though there was a movement of her brows which suggested disbelief, or even confusion. "Trying to spare Imoen my influence?" Her eyes narrowed when Jaheira failed to respond. The gold in the air was fading now. "Oh, I see. A charm, I suppose?"

A flash of memory filled Jaheira's vision – of stalking in here, mindless as a golem. Of plucking up a cushion and starting to smother Gorion's beloved ward. Her breath returned to her then, in a great gasp. Was it guilt or panic that had her fighting all the more against her binding?

"I did not come here from choice," she gritted out, feet kicking uselessly against the uneven roots across the floor.

"And you do not recall who sent you?" Elatharia's sneer was back. She waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't a strong charm. Barely more than a persuasion." She leaned forward, but made no move to stand. Her teeth flashed white in the dim light. "Ah. You did intend to kill me." She rolled her eyes when Jaheira shook her head. "Do you think that the Amnish would have done anything less than send me to the Shadow Thieves?"

"No," Jaheira admitted. The pressure across her body was easing – the spell was wearing off. "I did not intend to hand you over to them." It was not entirely a lie.

"Oh," Elatharia breathed in understanding. "You intended for me to fight you once you sought to separate me from my sister. Blame it on the enemy, say you had no choice." Her tone was mocking.

The spell released, and Jaheira was ready for it. She flung out her arms, Silvanus's power already building beneath her feet, and the roots behind Elatharia's back began to stir, to unfurl. They reached for her arms. The Transmuter tensed, tilting her head as if listening, and her eyes flared gold once more. Her face twisted from disdain to hatred in a second and something cold and dreaded slithered through the room. The roots withered as they barely brushed her skin. The feeling crawled upwards, through the soles of Jaheira's feet. It froze her where she stood, limbs trembling and heart thundering. _This is what the Shadow Druids feel. The taint of death in every spell._ Her stomach roiled.

"I'm not sure what you intended, Jaheira. If you weren't going to kill me, that is," Elatharia said roughly as she leaned forward on the edge of the bed. Her hands were clenching the sheets beside her so tightly that they ought to tear through. Her chest was heaving.

"Let me go. Let me take Imoen and go," Jaheira heard herself beg. "We will not cross paths again. I will not speak of your m…"

"No." Elatharia gave a sharp shake of her head, lurching onto her feet. The cold in Jaheira's veins deepened. Her teeth began to chatter, her muscles burned. She doubled up, clutching her stomach. Something was writhing in there. She opened her mouth to scream and _gods_ but she felt that worms were wriggling their way through her lungs. "No. Just go. Take her and I'll kill you." The Transmuter sounded tired. "But don't mistake this for mercy."

As if Jaheira could. For a moment more she knelt, gagging on the writhing mess inside her, and then with a wave of her hands Elatharia sent her falling back, a surge of skin-crawling malice settling through the druid's skin. The writhing had stopped, the chill had gone. She scrambled to feet, eyes wide, and grasped blindly behind herself for the door handle. _This is wrong. There is something wrong. I am_ _ **changed**_.

Elatharia just watched her, standing still and poised on bare feet, Bhaal's shine ebbing entirely from her eyes. But this was more than a battle now, and they both knew it.

"I won't lie to Imoen," the Transmuter said as Jaheira wrenched the door open. "I'll tell her the truth. She can choose for herself who to trust. Maybe she'll find you, if you're not…" She eyed the druid pointedly, just a little quirk of her lips to show that she knew what she had done.

The sound of voices approaching was louder now. Jaheira recognised the head priest, but also Haer'Dalis – and Edwin. There was no time. She turned and ran, though the passing of Imoen's door was an arrow to her heart. They were coming up the road, striding across the plaza below. Soon their conjured lights would show her, fleeing along the walkway. She could not take the easy path.

It was a drop of several feet to the tiled ground below, and even the roll upon landing did not spare her the pain of it. She wobbled to her feet, dizzier than she ought to have been, and lurched for the treeline. Silvanus's power was stronger here, almost comforting as she hurtled through the dark tangle of branches. They parted to allow her passing, the ground never once conspiring to trip her when Nature so quickly came to her aid.

Jaheira did not slow any more than she had to, though her lungs burned for air. No voices called after her – it seemed that speed and darkness had been on her side. But all the same, there was no time. And thank the gods for the late hour, for when she left the shelter of the trees at the foot of the hill and hauled herself over the wall onto the street there was no one to see her stumble and fall, retching.

The writhing subsided and she was already on her feet, clutching at the wall of the nearest vine house and wheezing in a blessed lung-full of air before her trembling legs obeyed once more. It was a relatively short jog to the palace from here, for Suldanessellar was not a large city and her escape had cut the journey shorter still.

The guards at the gates nodded to her once she arrived, though their eyes lingered. She was still out of breath, and perhaps her face had betrayed her fear. She made a point of nodding back, but once inside the sweeping entry hall of the palace she turned straight up the stairs, whose steps even now were lit by conjured light. Once she had navigated the maze of corridors to her room she grabbed her cloak and her backpack and her spear, thankful that she had never unpacked. The habit of always _leaving_ could not be taken away so easily. She was just scooping up her forgotten weapons belt when she noticed the figure moving into her doorway from the hall. She gave a yelp and leapt back before she recognised Valygar.

"Jaheira?" he asked in the voice of one who had barely awoken, one hand running through the sleep-tangled braids of his hair. But he was still fully dressed in shirt, trousers and boots, his pipe clutched loosely in his other hand. His brow furrowed to see her so alarmed, his eyes wide in the dim light afforded through the open door. He took in her backpack and cloak. "Where are you going?"

"I…I have to leave," she gasped, fiddling with her weapons belt before strapping her spear to her pack. "I cannot stay. Something has…" She reached for his arm as he stretched out his hand to gesture for her to slow down. "They are going to kill me. We have been…I have been used!"

His brow furrowed and he stepped forward.

"What?" Valygar asked it in a tone barely above a growl. "Who? What do you mean?"

But Jaheira could only shake her head, the pounding of her heart deafening in her ears.

"There isn't time."

"Then I will come with you."

* * *

It was too dark now to take in much around her. Elatharia stumbled to the door from memory, for without the expanding shine of her returned soul she was as blind as any human in the gloom. Her legs were still shaky, her stomach painfully empty, but she recognised the voices outside. The door was lighter than she expected, a weave of vines and nothing more; it swung open a little wildly, revealing to her three approaching figures illuminated by a pale conjured light.

"Surely even you could think to raise the superstitious wards for something of this _magnitude,_ you inc…"

Edwin stopped his tirade when Elatharia stepped out onto the walkway, the Transmuter clutching at the railing when she realised how high up they were. Seeing the Red Wizard looking up so sharply from the glowering face of a robed elf whose brooch identified him as a priest of Rillifane, Elatharia automatically fought the urge to smile. Perhaps the amusement was a little abrupt, so intense as to be _painful_. The realisation of feeling was more than a little dizzying. Her heart jolted sharply when Edwin stalked toward her at some speed, leaving the priest sputtering after him. Had everything always been so extreme?

"What happened?" Edwin snapped, peering into the dark room beside her with alarm in his eyes before turning to look down at her fully. Even as he spoke his fingertips pressed to her jaw, turning her head to the side. His eyes fell to her neck, where the skin still fizzed from the ward there.

Elatharia opened her mouth to answer but her voice caught. His touch had unbalanced her; she caught at his arm on reflex, feeling like a fool for staring up at him like this. But the world was changed, half-felt memories rising up at his touch even as she still trembled from her awakening and from the shock of Jaheira's forced attack.

"So the Raven is awake," Haer'Dalis offered from further down the walkway, something amused in his tone. Elatharia was vaguely aware of a minor commotion in the next room along, the priest of Rillifane conversing with a dazed-sounding Coran. The tiefling's tone lowered. "And the Wildflower also. Well met again, Imoen."

Edwin was still staring at Elatharia, pulled close by the necessity of her hold on him. His eyes narrowed as they wove their way back to her face, his lips pursed in faint irritation. The pale light which had followed him here cast dark shadows over the angles of his face, the red embroidery and the brighter scarlet of his cloak standing out starkly against deep black velvet which was soft under her tightening fingers. The railing was pressing into her back and she felt too hot. Breathless. _Is this emotion? How could I forget?_

"I can't say anything here," Elatharia croaked in answer to his almost-forgotten question, biting her lip and wincing when Edwin's eyes flared.

Imoen's coughed laugh had Edwin drawing back, pulling Elatharia up with him by virtue of her grip on his arm rather than intention. The Transmuter peered across the walkway to where her sister was leaning on Coran, the amusement on her face proving that she had no idea of what passed just moments before between Elatharia and Jaheira.

"Was there a hello in there somewhere?" the aasimar sniggered. But she looked pale and as unsteady as Elatharia felt, seeing Imoen's knees almost give and Coran's arm hooking around her waist in answer. The sun elf looked little better than his charge, however. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes a little glazed. When he glanced between the siblings there was little comprehension in his expression. And now, meeting her sister's eyes again, Elatharia saw the wariness there. _Something is wrong_ , that look said even through the teasing.

"You should not be up," the priest of Rillifane was saying in heavily accented Common as he squeezed past Imoen and Coran. The disapproving look on his weathered face did not seem suspicious at least. He spared a glare especially for Edwin before turning a slightly softer look between Imoen and Elatharia. "There are priests in their chambers just across the plaza." He gestured behind himself, to the hanging vines which obscured those buildings from view at the far side of a tiled stretch of ground. "If you return to your beds I can inform them…"

"We've been lyin' down long enough, I reckon," Imoen disagreed, her tone sweet. The priest still frowned at her. "Our other friends need to know we're back. And I'd really like to know what's happened."

"How long have we been…like that?" Elatharia hissed to Edwin while her sister continued to persuade the priest of their wellbeing.

"This is the fifth night," Edwin told her. She blanched.

"It only felt like a matter of hours!"

"And where exactly _were_ you, Elatharia?" His eyebrows raised expectantly.

"I'll tell you just as soon as I know who's still with us," she countered. Jaheira had gone for certain. She needed to know who she could trust – and that revelation came to Edwin visibly. He nodded, once, and turned to face the others fully. Haer'Dalis was eyeing them with a look that had lost most of its amusement.

"We should find our…companions at the palace," the Red Wizard stated. "Immediately."

But it seemed that Imoen had already made their case, albeit with only a begrudging agreement from the priest. He hurried away to inform his healers and, he claimed, to send word ahead of them to the palace. Only once he had gone did Imoen look to Coran, concern visible in her expression.

"You feeling alright?" she asked. The sun elf did not even bother to deny it. He grimaced.

"I believe I was…rendered unconscious by some spell," he admitted, rubbing at his brow with his free hand. "I awoke on the floor with a ringing in my ears to the sound of raised voices. There was a golden mist in the air, but it dissipated."

"Elatharia's soul," Imoen nodded. A faint smile curved her lips when his eyes widened. "Happened to me too, a little while back."

"And you do not believe you are under any compulsion now?" Edwin asked, already extricating himself from Elatharia's grip to twist at the necessary enchanted ring. Coran did not bother to answer, offering a dramatic gesture with his free arm as the spell hummed over his skin with a faint blue radiance. Edwin's easier posture thereafter suggested that the answer had been in Coran's favour.

"Then what happened?" Imoen prompted, looking between the Red Wizard and the Transmuter. "Were you attacked?"

"We should discuss this in a safer environment," Edwin advised. "Or at least one more populated by our allies."

"Agreed," Haer'Dalis nodded, stepping aside for them to pass with a flourish. He steadied Elatharia when she attempted to follow the others, keeping a hand on her elbow until they had descended the stairs onto flat ground. "Perhaps you now realise that astral travel is not akin to sleep, my Raven?" he asked when she faltered, Edwin looking back at them suspiciously. He gave a roll of his eyes when Haer'Dalis bent with a grin, hooking one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back.

Elatharia yelped, grasping at the tiefling's shoulder and glaring at him as he straightened, hoisting her effortlessly into the air. But she did not complain – he was right, after all.

* * *

Ellesime's head servant was awaiting them as they arrived, now all on foot, at the moonlit square outside the great sweeping shadow of the palace. Holding a ghostlight torch which cast his angular visage in eerie blue light, he introduced himself as Irhan to the newly awoken sisters.

"The queen has had a long ordeal and we cannot awaken her at this time but she will greet you most warmly tomorrow," he promised in a voice not quite free of the croak of sleep. The priest's messenger had evidently only just preceded them. "Your companions are waiting in the rooms that we have prepared for you." He paused, his face twisting only slightly. "Though it appears that Jaheira and Valygar left the city a short time ago."

"What?" Imoen exclaimed, lurching from Coran's side even as Edwin's fingers curled around Elatharia's elbow. The Transmuter did not need to look at him to see that he was well on his way to understanding the truth even before she had explained it to him. "Didn't they leave some…word? A note?"

"I am afraid not, my lady," Irhan sighed, quick to gesture to the doors of the palace with his torch when he noted the bare feet and thin white nightgowns of both sisters. "Sir Anomen left this evening for Amkethran. Perhaps they intend to join him? But please, come inside. We have prepared warm baths and fresh clothes for you. And tomorrow the queen will be honoured to meet with you."

Imoen had gone quiet, her shoulders stiff, and she headed past Irhan first with only a quiet mutter of thanks. Once the others followed, the chamberlain was quick to lead them through the dimly lit night-time halls of the palace, just the sweeping arches and long corridors visible with little detail in the faint blue light. There were mosaics on nearly every floor, walls decorated with half-seen metalwork and always just audible was the tinkling of the chimeflowers across the roof.

Not used to palaces, Elatharia had not entirely expected the place to be so labyrinthine. It reminded her a little of Candlekeep, for lack of a better reference. She found herself glancing up at Edwin as they walked, thinking of his life in Thay. What was his father's palace like? Bigger than this? Colder?

Irhan left them outside a pair of gilded vine doors – he had barely turned the corner before those doors were swinging open, warm firelight spilling out into the pale corridor, and Aerie was hurtling through, a mass of blonde hair flinging herself first into the arms of Elatharia and then Imoen. The Transmuter was still staggered – though Aerie was hardly heavy – when the avariel at last disentangled herself from Imoen, blinking up at them both with teary eyes. The pressure of her hug had left a lingering ache in Elatharia's sides, a reminder of wounds she had no recollection of being healed.

"I'm glad you're ok," Aerie was sniffling to them both, tugging on Imoen's arm and thus leading them all into the room. Haer'Dalis closed the doors behind them and stood there, arms crossed and a smirk just starting to show while the sisters took in their surroundings and saw who remained.

It appeared that the elves had given to the sisters a spacious square sitting room, dominated by a broad and well-stocked fire which showed to Elatharia a tall, white fan-vaulted ceiling and fine mosaic floor. The coloured glass was cold against her feet – she stepped readily onto the rug at the centre of the room. Here a pair of low, embroidered couches stood facing each other and upon one sat Viconia. The drow was poised as if about to stand, her sharp smile – some poor attempt to hide her _relief_ – fast fading into a wary frown. She was dressed plainly in a white shirt and dark leggings, though her flail was propped up by her knee.

Aerie was still fussing over the sisters as both sank into the nearest couch, its low back almost toppling the weary Transmuter. Her eyes finally fully adjusted to the flickering orange light, she noted Jan coming to join them from the glass doorway. Somehow she had the feeling he had been perusing the detailed metalwork of the frame and not the view of the regrown moonlit garden beyond.

"…Korgan is still injured, although the p-priests say that he should be able to…to walk in a day or two more," Aerie was saying even as she thrust a bowl of steaming porridge (or perhaps the elven equivalent) into each sister's hands. "I…I hope you're hungry. W-we made this when they told us to come here." She shrugged awkwardly, eyes still sparkling and voice unsteady. Her glance wavered over Haer'Dalis, who remained by the door behind Elatharia. "Haer'Dalis said that astral travel c-can't sustain you any better than sleep without f-food."

"I think you're done right," Imoen mumbled around her first mouthful. Coran had come to perch on the arm of the chair beside her but Elatharia made a point of shuffling further along and her sister made space for him. He still looked unsteady – and perhaps a little queasy as he watched them dig into their sugared porridge and nuts with zeal.

Aerie plopped down onto the opposite couch once Jan had placed himself between her seat and Viconia's, but the avariel could only offer a half-smile of relief. Her eyes were still sad. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated – it was too much for one so impatient as Edwin. He snapped a spellword and the room bloomed with bright light which left them all wincing – and Viconia cursing him.

"Perhaps it would be wise to impart all of the necessary information, rather than stuttering over the news which we already have?" he asked, pacing to the doorway on the left and then its twin on the right. Elatharia realised at last that each of these openings led to a bedroom – this was a group of rooms intended for both sisters.

"Wh-what do you…" Aerie started to frown and Elatharia sighed.

"We know that Anomen is gone, and that Valygar and Jaheira just left too," the Transmuter explained. She paused, and then took a deep breath with them all staring at her like that. "I'm not surprised about the druid – she just tried to kill me." The otherwise still silence was broken by the click of Edwin's boots on the mosaic floor. And then the clatter of Imoen's spoon when she dropped it. The others were blinking at her with almost unanimous disbelief. Elatharia winced. "It was a charm of some sort. It's the only reason I let her go alive."

She proceeded to tell them of her awakening, missing out only the details of her magical response – for those were hazy to her too – and also the burning at her neck which had awoken her. She found herself rubbing at it while she spoke, her eyes drifting to Edwin. He had placed himself in the armchair adjacent to both couches, his cloak removed and flung over one of the armrests.

"And you…let her go without any recrimination?" Viconia asked slowly. "How curious." The twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested that she knew the Transmuter's omission to be as good as a lie. Of course she had not let Jaheira go so simply.

"But…wh-why did she flee if…if she wasn't guilty?" Aerie asked, wringing her hands. Her eyes were flitting from each companion to the next, wide and almost afraid. "Do you…do you think she was going to do some…something similar even without the charm?" She added it in a whisper, leaning forward as if the very mention of such an idea were blasphemous.

"No!" Imoen insisted, hugging her bowl of porridge but not eating any more of it. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head firmly when Elatharia turned to look at her. "No. No way. You and Jaheira didn't get on but she would never've killed you. Not _murder_." She shuddered as she said it. Elatharia saw the points of light that flashed across her pupils.

"I agree," the Transmuter admitted, to a pained groan from Viconia. The drow leaned her forehead against her palm to emphasise how little _she_ agreed. "And regardless, it was a spell that led her there. Unarmed. She fled, and that's her choice. Looks like Valygar went too."

"I find myself unsurprised," Haer'Dalis told her, making his way to join them and leaning against the armrest by Viconia. "They would follow each other anywhere, I wager."

That drew a sneer from Edwin but the truth of it settled over them. Elatharia wondered why it made her feel so…sad. And tired.

"D'you think we're in any more danger? Anyone got any idea where Jaheira and Valygar might've gone?" Imoen asked, forcing herself to take another spoonful of porridge though her mouth remained downturned while she swallowed.

"To your second question, Irhan's suggestion seemed as good as any," Haer'Dalis offered with a shrug.

"For now I don't think even she knows where she's going," Elatharia said. "And as for the danger. Well…would the queen have sent her chamberlain out to meet us if she had hoped for Jaheira to kill me?"

"Even so, whoever did send her is likely still in this city," Edwin put in. "We are no small force of weak novices. Ward your rooms – staying in the Planar Sphere tonight might draw too much attention."

"Well versed in preparing for assassination, Eddie?" Jan asked, flashing a grin when the Red Wizard's eyes slid to him without any effort even to change his expression in the process.

"Yes. Very." He pronounced the words distinctly and without irony. Elatharia fidgeted. "And now perhaps we could hear of what passed during your astral projection, hmm?" Edwin asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

* * *

The bath had only just been warm enough to avoid reheating it when at last Elatharia retreated to her bedroom. It was a long copper basin, no more outlandish than anything she had experience in Amn or even the Western Heartlands. Still, she found herself watching the droplets tumbling from her fingertips like magic, the conjured light catching and refracting through them as they fell. Perhaps she lingered in the water a little longer than she had intended; hidden away behind this screen at the far corner of the room with only three plain white walls around her she could have been _anywhere._ Though she had felt the shortness of her hair, cut by Irenicus's summoned blades, she could otherwise pretend that nothing was different – for a breath of two more. Change was always daunting, apparently. Even if one had prayed for it. And she would have, if she thought any of the gods might have listened.

Eventually the water started to feel cool against her skin and she rose, ignoring the towel left out for her on a simple stool in favour of a cantrip. The buzz of magic tickled against her skin briefly as she padded out across this cold floor and into the main room. Even here the elves did not bother with a carpet, nor even a fireplace. The chamber was dominated by a long window, framed with vines and softly tinkling chimeflowers. There was no glass but this late in the night all she could make out was the glint of the Planar Sphere's metal curve in the garden below. The trees were rustling in a gentle breeze which wafted into the chamber. Shuddering, she headed for the pile of clothes left out on the low, expansive bed…but paused when her reflection caught her eye in the mirror by the window.

She had seen the new web of pink scars which covered her forearms, but now beheld those which curved around her sides. Turning, she saw with a pang that they scored her back, faintly sore to the touch even after days of healing and rest. Her skin was paler than it had been in tendays, her ribs and collarbone standing out more than they ever had. When had this happened? But of course, food and hunger had not mattered much with no soul.

Her cheekbones stood out more now, too, the lines of her jaw perhaps a little sharp. She watched her own eyes narrow in scrutiny as she tugged at the jagged mess of her hair which now hung in a dark, gold-slashed halo around her ears and no longer. Her markings remained the same, rough to the touch and ebon like the hide of the Beast. Angling her head and stepping closer she finally saw the curved symbol upon the side of her neck, emblazoned in white like an old scar across her skin, perhaps half the width of her palm. It was Mulhorandi certainly but the meaning was unfamiliar. A quick Divination proved that it was no longer imbued with any magic, though the spell failed to tell her its purpose.

She stared for a moment longer – until the sound of voices through the closed door broke her trance. Just Imoen and Edwin from the sounds of things. Shaking herself she crossed to the bed and slipped on the belted robe left for her there, intending to join them immediately. There were things to discuss. But before she could turn away fully she noted the deep black of the high-necked tunic carefully laid out upon the bed. It was so dark that she had mistaken it for simple cloth in the bright light, velvet perhaps. But upon closer inspection, rubbing the fabric between her fingers, she noted that it was leather. Black dragon hide, more accurately. The buttons were just as dark, catching and _draining_ the light as she angled them. Dragon bone.

A faint laugh escaped her. The elves were apparently as obsessed with their morbid trophies as Korgan with his red dragon scale armour. But it was a priceless gift, lined with cool silver fabric of mithral thread to match the fine silver chain of the leggings beside the tunic. The belt caught her eye and her stomach dropped. Those were red dragon scales. At least some of the ones which Edwin had guarded so jealously.

Balling her fists she stood straight again, determined to swallow down the heavy rhythm of her heart. She did not see her mask anywhere and for a moment she wondered if the elves had played some cruel joke on her, until she finally noticed the black velvet strip – now stitched to the inside of the plain brown bark circlet which had once been Bodhi's, and which had saved _all_ of their lives in the end. Her heart betrayed her further, her fists clenched tighter. For a moment of blind rage she wanted to rip it free. _I have to cover the markings. I have to. I always have._ But a breath, a blink and she started to smile. Things had changed. She had more scars. She had destroyed Irenicus. She had forced Jaheira from her. She had her soul. Perhaps it was time to leave her face bare.

* * *

Edwin had dismissed his conjured light and the fire was gradually dying down, filling the room with a soft orange glow and casting long shadows across the pale mosaic floor when Elatharia stepped out to join her sister and the Red Wizard. He was still sitting in the armchair, glaring into the flames across from him, and Imoen had her legs tucked under her on the couch. Her hair was still damp from her bath and she wore a simple cloth tunic and leggings, the pale colour washed out by the firelight. Both looked up at the sound of Elatharia's door creaking, whatever Imoen had been saying ebbing away at the sight of her.

"We were just talkin' about what to do next. While we waited for you n' all," Imoen offered. "I done said that you'd be wide awake yet." There was a faint waver in her voice, her eyes glittering just a little as she tracked Elatharia's progress towards her couch. The Transmuter hugged her robe to her and stopped at the armrest without taking a seat.

"She is demanding that we find her precious druid-mother," Edwin complained. "(Just when we are free of her!)"

" 'Mother'," Imoen scoffed, flicking her hair back defiantly when Edwin levelled a dead-eyed stare her way.

"We shouldn't follow her, Im," Elatharia sighed. "And not just because of how _little_ I want to see her again." She saw Imoen tense at that, eyes wary. "I think whoever sent her to me intended for me to kill Jaheira, not the other way around. She was confused and unarmed when I woke."

"And did what?" Imoen asked, her voice low.

"I…restrained her." Elatharia could not avoid her gaze flickering to Edwin. He quirked his brow, just slightly. "And when she realised what she had done, she fled. If we follow her then we'll just be doing the obvious."

"Huh. And you're sure you didn't try to kill her in all of that?" Imoen's eyes narrowed even as Elatharia's brows raised. Had her sister just said that? So casually?

"I am sure." It was true, after all.

"I have a perfect candidate for prime suspect (if you would care to think in a straight line…fools…)," Edwin put in. He pressed his lips together momentarily, failing to hide a smug smirk. "The woman who names herself as Ellesime's close ally. Melissan. Of the Moonshaes." Elatharia's breath left her with painful abruptness.

"Melissan is here?" she wheezed. "And you didn't tell me?"

"When precisely would I have had the chance?" Edwin asked.

"Melissan who…saved us when we were little? Who gave us to Gorion?" Imoen sounded breathless too. "You think she done tried to get Jaheira _killed_?"

"She is not as trustworthy as she would appear to others," Edwin shrugged, "And she was fawning over your catatonic body a little too pointedly, Elatharia. I would wager that she knows who may have tried, if she did not do it herself. And…if she had intended for you to live, does it matter?" For those words Imoen cursed at him but Elatharia tilted her head. Edwin's eyes warmed when she gave him the faintest smile. "Either way – she claims to know something of the woman who helped us bring down Bodhi. She says she is her sister, no less. They look very much alike but I could detect no Transmutation or Illusion upon her person."

"It couldn't hurt to speak with her," Elatharia agreed with his unspoken suggestion, ignoring Imoen when the aasimar threw up her hands at her tone.

"She implied that was her intention," Edwin nodded.

"I guess we should see what she wants," Imoen said at last, drawing the unwilling words out as she stood and pointed at each wizard in turn. "But I'm serious. Don't even make jokes about things like that when it comes to Jaheira." She hesitated a deliberate moment before waving to the door to the rest of the palace, rolling her eyes at Edwin when he started to speak. "S'all warded and locked, right?" She stretched and yawned. "Maybe I am gettin' a little sleepy. Night."

Elatharia responded in kind automatically, watching her sister until the door to the aasimar's room clicked behind her. Only once Imoen was gone did the Transmuter cringe in disbelief, twisting her hands in the thin fabric of her robe and trying her best to ignore the faint twinges of pain that lingered from her healed wounds.

"Does she really think we're joking, after all this time?"

"No, I believe not." Edwin stood, a stark change in height which forced her to look up at him steeply from this close. "She knows you very well, I think. But she is hoping to stop you. She has a certain…gleam in her eye. Cunning, one might call it."

"That's very flattering of you," Elatharia noted, arching a brow. "Is this your way of promising not to kill her for taking a different side?" At that, Edwin's smirk flashed into a grin.

"Perhaps." His word faded, his eyes flitting to her lips. When she started to chew on them nervously he raised his hand as if to stop her but she caught his wrist, bringing his fingertips to the side of her neck instead. Even self-directed as it was, the contact sent something warm and distracting through her. She swallowed as his thumb brushed pointedly over the mark there.

"You drew this – to wake me if someone attacked me," she prompted, eyes wide and fixed on his even as she angled her head to the side. Her hands were gripping his arms absently. Her eyelids flickered of their own accord when he ducked closer, his attention apparently fixed on the Mulhorandi symbol on her skin. "And…and to send a message to you if I woke?"

"Yes," he murmured, his eyes finding hers. She stilled, if that were possible.

"Is it…what is it?"

"A scar in the pigment of your skin," he said flatly with barely a flicker of expression. "Something part way to a Red Wizard's tattoo. (It is certainly of the same school.)"

"Doesn't that break the rules?"

"A little." He shrugged, his eyebrow quirking when her hands started to slide up his arms. She felt heat rush to her face but stepped closer.

"And those red dragon scales?"

"They were surplus to my needs."

"Hmm."

Elatharia was halfway to a smile when Edwin kissed her, dragging her to him so quickly that her bare feet nearly slipped on the tiles. Warmth bloomed through her as she responded, her hands sliding beneath the neckline of his doublet to grasp his shoulders and pull him closer. For several blind, gasping seconds she was immune to her precarious balance, distracted by the press and yield of his mouth until the kiss deepened and her toes curled on the floor. Elatharia almost slipped, drawing back from him and briefly jolted by the tightening of his arms behind her back. Then she saw the gleam of gold in her eyes, reflected in his, half-lidded as they were.

"This is not the first time I have seen this," Edwin noted, his voice rougher than before. " 'Godchild'."

His breath left him when she kissed him again and she found a laugh bubbling up from her as she stepped back, pulling on his shoulders to urge him to follow.

"No, but I have the whole soul now." She grinned. Ah, there it was. Victory. She curled his fingers around the ribbon of her robe as she stepped back toward her room. The knot slid free.

* * *

The sun elves of Suldanessellar did not dress like the humans of Amn, nor yet like the avariel of Faenya Dáil. Where the noble Amnish favoured layers of embroidered cloth even in the height of summer and the winged elves wrapped up in pale wool and furs and feathers, the natives of the Hidden City drifted about the gardens and the palace corridors in colourful draped fabric that ought to have been too thin for the time of year but for the perpetual warmth radiating from the Great Tree. Many adorned their hair with jewels or beads, some with flowers.

Aerie was more than a little relieved that her hosts had not gifted her with such items, for the low-backed dresses of the elves would have displayed the scars of her wings quite vividly. She was more embarrassed that they had insisted on making anything for her at all. Evidently someone had been paying close attention to her possessions, and that was a little unnerving also, for she was awoken in the early morning by a knock on her door which proved to be a nervous servant bearing a delivery of clothes. She wondered at the etiquette of royalty in this place – _that_ felt strangely human.

It made her blush as she slipped into the fine fabric, almost afraid to look in the mirror. Though the fine white dress was much like those of the sun elves the additional blue tabard covered her back, belted by a rope of mithral to match the spiralling embroidery which was clearly intended as a polite reference to the avariel. Still, a rebellious part of her left her long hair down, woven with feathers and beads in the manner of her own people. It was at least a relief to wear sandals again.

Irhan was waiting for the group to convene in the corridor, the chamberlain resplendent in robes of black and gold. Edwin was leaning against the wall beside him, arms crossed, looking irritated by the wait. He wore his embroidered doublet and long gold-lined cloak just as he had the day before though the shirt visible at his collar was a vibrant red. His boots were different, torn as they had been in battle against Irenicus. From the overlapping design, these at least had been gifted to him by the elves. He made no effort to look Aerie's way, though Irhan's critical stare had her blushing again.

The others joined them shortly. Viconia was tense and quiet, dressed in her black dragon scale and mithral shirt with her yellow cloak about her shoulders. She muttered mutinous complaints when Irhan insisted she could not take her flail. There was much shuffling and retreating from several of them when the chamberlain insisted that, in fact, no weapons were permitted.

Jan seemed quite entertained by the fine elven robes given to him, silver and lined in black. From the way he fidgeted with the high neck and long sleeves, Aerie wondered if this weren't _nerves_. In contrast Haer'Dalis wore the fine black trousers and mithral shirt bestowed upon him with confidence, grinning when Aerie glanced at him. Elatharia and Imoen emerged last, the aasimar still fussing over her attempts to even out the jagged mess that Irenicus's blades had made of her sister's hair. Both Bhaalspawn wore the low-backed draped dresses of the female nobility of this place, thin cloth unadorned by decoration save for woven belts and jewelled clasps at the shoulders. Aerie winced to see the pink lines of scars across Elatharia's back, just visible at the edges of deep green cloth. The Transmuter did not wear her mask, her faint frown perhaps showing the strain of such change, for the cloth now settled against her brow beneath her bark circlet.

"I was kind've hoping that they might tell us what to say," Imoen admitted to Aerie once Irhan had begun to lead them onwards down the long, winding corridors of Suldanessellar's pale, airy palace. "I'm already worried I'll trip in this. What if I done say something wrong?" She swished the skirts of her soft pink dress for emphasis, nudging the avariel.

"The…the elves aren't as f-formal as the humans," Aerie offered, smoothing out her tabard needlessly. "Although…these sun elves do seem v-very interested in dressing well."

"Sure do," Imoen nodded, glancing over her shoulder at Viconia. "Remind you of anywhere, Vic?"

"Oh, I had almost started to believe you were afraid to point it out, _abbil_." The drow sounded pleased.

Aerie tensed, not sure she wanted to understand. Imoen offered her a grin and a shrug when she looked up at the aasimar as if she could not sense the avariel's disquiet. With Jaheira, Valygar and Anomen gone, with Mazzy dead...it was Aerie who lingered out of place. For, once they reached the circular open-air vestibule before the throne room, there waited Korgan. The dwarf was still badly bruised, leaning on a stick and grimacing at everything that moved, but he hailed his companions. His grey hair was combed and plaited at least, a few extra beads in the braiding of his red-streaked beard.

"Heh, might've missed ye there. Dressed like fools, the lot – unless it be armour," he added with a nod to Viconia. For his part he wore a long cloth tunic and trousers. His injuries would not permit him the use of his armour yet, though he said nothing of it.

"Of course, my War Dog. But one wave of your stick and I am sure any foes will run screaming." Haer'Dalis winked at him when he glowered.

There was little time for further reunion as the vine gates opened, bells tinkling across their frames as they moved. An instinctive silence settled upon the group when Irhan gestured for them to go ahead. The hall beyond was as vast as the main chamber of the Radiant Heart – and as colourful. The ground was carpeted in moss, the air humid and sweet-smelling from artful clusters of flowers which lined their path to the tall silver throne. The queen rose from her seat as they entered, the blossoms upon her sandals chiming gently as she descended the steps. Where the light streamed through the clear glass roof and reached down to touch her, it held on her copper skin a moment longer than normal. Aerie had heard the tales, of course, that the queen of Suldanessellar was not entirely mortal. She had not considered them true until she beheld Ellesime in her throne room, shining with captured light and dressed in gold to match the artfully braided hair woven into her living crown of vines and flowers.

It took a moment for the avariel to realise that she had hesitated, to see that her companions were moving past her. It took another before she registered the golden-armoured guards lining the way and the sun elves gathered in poised silence behind them, all of them tall and haughty to Aerie's frightened eyes. The wave of a hand caught her eye – there was Coran, smiling to Imoen from the crowd and earning a few sidelong glances from disapproving kin.

"Welcome, saviours of our city," Ellesime greeted, meeting them halfway when Imoen and Elatharia slowed several paces from the steps to her throne. She took each of their hands, holding her regal smile, but Aerie saw her pause as her gaze met Imoen's. Though she could not see the latter's face, she noticed the aasimar take half a step back, and she clearly registered the sorrow which softened Ellesime's eyes. It lasted barely a second, the moment of _understanding_. Her voice was as strong as ever when she continued. "Suldanessellar is forever in your debt. I am most glad to see you both recovered." She focused her smile once more upon the sisters.

"We should thank you for the gifts," Elatharia said, something about the tilt of her head proving her smirk. "Though the choice of adding to the circlet was a little presumptuous."

"Yes," Ellesime ducked her head albeit briefly. "It can be changed if you desire?"

"No, that won't be necessary." But the tone was sharp.

"As you wish." Ellesime nodded, her gaze sweeping the crowd. Her voice rose accordingly. "With the city under reconstruction and those who led our saviours awakened, it is time to announce a celebration – of victory, and in memory of those who lost their lives for our great city." Aerie shuffled when Ellesime's eyes skimmed over her, pointedly taking in each guest. "And you shall be our guests of honour tonight."

Viconia muttered a curse behind Aerie as applause broke out – not the wild, loud cheering of humans but a painful reminder that they were being _watched_. For once the avariel was in accord with the drow.

* * *

"Wait – if you would, both of you," Ellesime called to Elatharia and Imoen while the crowd was filtering out. Their friends hesitated even as Irhan ushered them through the main gates. Edwin's wariness especially set the Transmuter more on edge, as if this ridiculous dress was not unsettling her enough. Still, he relented to the chamberlain's insistence and the doors shut between them. Only the guards remained with the queen and the two Bhaalspawn, at least until Ellesime returned to her throne, ringing a small hand bell by the armrest as she sat.

A door opened in one vine-shrouded wall, and Elatharia knew the tall woman who stepped through even without Edwin's description. The Transmuter tensed, tilting her chin against this newcomer's warm smile. She could see Imoen staring at her in confusion from the corner of her eye.

"Melissan," Elatharia said, pouring sarcasm into her tone as if that might hide the strain. "It's been a while."

"It has," the woman agreed, inclining her head to the queen who watched with careful stillness from her high throne. "Twenty years, even. I am amazed that you remember me at all. You were so small."

The air prickled as she grew closer. It settled against Elatharia's skin with a familiar sinking feeling. _Anti-magic_.

"Forgive me. A necessary precaution, I am afraid." That smile was too steady. Elatharia felt Imoen's hand gripping her elbow. "So that we may converse alone." Melissan glanced up at the queen and Ellesime responded with a quick wave of her hand. The guards whirled about and headed for the doors behind the empty stands where once there had been such a colourful crowd.

"You think we might try to kill you? Why? What've you done?" Elatharia demanded. The queen tilted her head, a sorrowful look in her eyes.

"No such offense is intended, Elatharia," she assured, placing a slender hand above her heart. "I have been honest with you. But Melissan warned me that Bhaalspawn of late have been plagued by brutal transformations. This is a precaution only."

"And how does 'Melissan' know that?" Elatharia turned to the woman in question even before Ellesime gestured her way.

"Through my sister, I am afraid. I believe you have already had dealings with her? Or someone…close to you has."

"Who is she? Why would she know anything about us?" Imoen asked. Her expression wavered when Elatharia turned to look at her.

"She was the one who tried to sacrifice us before Gorion and the Harpers got there," the Transmuter recalled.

"That is true," Melissan nodded. "She is Amelyssan 'the Blackhearted', the high priestess of Bhaal. She has been meddling in the affairs of all the Bhaalspawn ever since – and you have certainly not been immune to her influence." Pity crossed Melissan's pale face. "And for that I can only apologise for the chaos which she has brought you. As I understand it, she was trying to bring back your father by sacrificing as many of his children as she could, along with some others. There were only three true children of Bhaal there that day."

"Me, you…and Sarevok," Imoen breathed.

"You were very fortunate that we arrived in time to save you," Melissan nodded. "I have been doing my best to slow her efforts, for whatever she intends cannot bode well for any of us. I beseech you to meet me in Saradush once you are ready. You are safe here in hidden Suldanessellar but the world continues outside. You cannot hide forever, and there is much strife ahead. Not all of your siblings are so…reasonable."

The words settled heavily. Imoen was nodding, wide-eyed, but Elatharia could barely listen. Melissan's previous words would not leave her.

" 'The'?" the Transmuter asked abruptly. She rolled her eyes when Melissan gave her a hopelessly confused look. "You said your sister is…was…'the' high priestess of Bhaal."

"Ah, yes." Was there a hint of a smirk on her lips? "I did. She was. He had given her his favour and she led his followers – from Zhentil Keep before the First Banedeath drove them out. She was his greatest power on Faerûn. And she is your mother, Elatharia."

* * *

Elatharia had little recollection of their retreat from the throne room. Melissan had smiled that saccharine smile and expressed her understanding that this was a revelation. Ellesime had ushered them away with something a lot more apologetic in her eyes. It had been more than enough of an excuse to get out of there – and the irrational need to _escape_ had never been so overwhelming. Not since she had regained her freedom, at least.

"Edwin was right," she murmured once Imoen had all but guided her back to their sitting room. Her pacing legs redirected her away from the couch upon which her sister sat, framed by the daylight vibrancy of the garden through the window. "He said as much before." Her words were fast and clipped. Imoen was staring at her.

"Hey. Why don't you sit down? I'm not sure I…"

"But it doesn't explain the markings." They were rough and indented under her fingertips. _A sign of Bhaal's blessing_ , the book had said. And something about seven feathers. Revelation came with a gasp; she clicked her fingers as she whirled about to face her sister. "Eight of us remain but…what if the seven feathers are some kind of prophecy? What happens…what happens when there are seven of us?"

"Yeah, but there were nine at some point, and eight before that…"

But there was a fragility to Imoen's voice. Wariness in her eyes. The truth sang in their blood; it felt right. Elatharia's pacing stopped, her heart sinking even as she saw Imoen's expression starting to drop further, the aasimar looking down at the fine skirts tangled about her knees.

"Huh." It was more of a hiccough of denial. "Well. Something bad's comin' then."

"Melissan just told us as much."

Elatharia flopped onto the couch beside her sister, leaning against the low backrest and staring up at the white fan-vaulted ceiling. She jumped a little when her sister leaned against _her_ , Imoen's head resting against her shoulder. The aasimar's arm tightened around her waist briefly.

"I guess we're used to trouble by now." A faint laugh escaped Imoen. "Seems like maybe we're built for it, after all." She sniggered a little when Elatharia patted at her head. "Just like old times, right?"

"I don't know about that," the Transmuter sighed. She was already thinking of Saradush, and their six living siblings. Of their companions who remained, and those who had left. Of Melissan and Amelyssan and the seven feathers. "I think maybe we should think about new times. The past doesn't seem so great when you look back on it."

Imoen's shrug jostled her a little.

"Agree to disagree, big sister." The fragile ring in her voice sent a pang to Elatharia's heart. She held her tongue. But the silence did not linger long; Imoen raised her head to look her sister in the eye. "Hey, do you think Jan could get a portal to that place…that realm of Bhaal? The solar said we should be able to go there for real now, didn't…it?"

"I think so," Elatharia nodded, grimacing at the thought. "In theory. Why in all the Hells would you want to go back there?" She rolled her eyes when Imoen grinned at the inadvertent pun.

"I've just got this feeling. Like it's important somehow. Like it wouldn't hurt to be able to get there, even if I'd rather not stare at Bhaal's skull ever again. Ever."

Elatharia failed to avoid a smile.

"Alright. Then yes, there are portals in the Sphere's basement even if it won't travel physically itself anymore. Jan said something about the dragon's magic breaking the building's…outer travel wards…or something."

"Aww, big sister," Imoen sat up to prod at her side. "Always so good with your theory." She just laughed when Elatharia glared at her. "Now you look like Edwin but a lot less scary."

The teasing only brought another half-hearted eye-roll from the Transmuter. Her sister had to sit up fully to see the grimness of her expression.

"Hey, what is it?"

"My mother. I…" Elatharia sighed. "I always thought she would have been a servant of Bhaal – a willing parent. When Edwin showed me the writings about the high priestesses with markings like mine I knew it for certain. But…"

"She done tried to kill you when you were little." Imoen nodded, the mirth in her eyes long fled. "And maybe she was the one behind what happened with Jaheira last night. If she wasn't then she probably knew that someone was coming for you…maybe for us… and we _might_ die."

Elatharia nodded. Her heart was flipping in her chest.

"There is a lot we don't know. I suppose that's a good enough reason to go back to Bhaal's realm. If Amelyssan tries to kill us outright, or if one of the other Bhaalspawn does it, we'll need to be ready." Elatharia met her sister's eyes and held them until she nodded.

"We've managed this far without a mother between us." Imoen shrugged, carefully cheerful. "I reckon we'll be alright together, right?"

* * *

 **Author's note:  
Just the epilogue to go!**


	67. Epilogue

**So, we've reached the end at last. I just wanted to say that it's been a pleasure to share this story with all of you and that your reviews, favourites, follows and general support have been greatly appreciated. I will be returning at some point with the sequel, The Memory of Gods.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

* * *

 **Epilogue**

* * *

The gardens of Suldanessellar were far more extensive than Elatharia had initially realised. Now regrown with druidic magic and kept warm by the Great Tree which sheltered the whole city, they were a series of subtly well-kept orchards, flowers and mossy statues which the natives had now lit for the night with drifting conjured lights. The air was warm, even at this time of year – warm enough that her bare arms and the draped cloth down her back did not trouble her. Back in Candlekeep a raincloak would have done well to provide the same relief.

It was no myth that the elves enjoyed feasting and dancing – these were the two main functions of this celebration, either or both well attended in every stretch of the garden. Long tables had been set up around the perimeter stacked with fruits, cakes and savoury snacks. They were certainly well-stocked with wine as well. Elatharia soon found herself clutching her glass like a shield – the moment she had first set it down a servant hurried over with another…and perhaps a _Minor Drain_ would have seemed a little unappreciative as a means of putting him off from his insistence.

The whole city seemed to have come to the gardens. There was no especial interest shown to the 'guests of honour' who filtered in with wary eyes and soon settled, unremarked, at a table by the nearest orchard. Haer'Dalis, striking in brocaded midnight velvet, had eagerly gone on a tour of the place and came back some time later with a platter of cakes. When Viconia refused to join the dancing amongst the orchard he pulled Imoen with him without much more than a smirk. She went willingly, albeit with a roll of her eyes, the peach skirts of her latest 'gifted' gown doing their best to slow her.

"He does not even know what a courtly dance is," Viconia sighed, leaning forward and taking a bite from the confection she held as if that might hide the fixation of her gaze. "Oh. Perhaps he does."

Elatharia hid her smile behind her hand when she followed the drow's stare to where the tiefling had whirled Imoen about, the aasimar already laughing in delight and offering a twinkle-eyed half-bow when she hopped about to face him fully. The Transmuter turned her attention back to her friend when the drow huffed.

Viconia had evidently succumbed to the insistence of the elves, dressed in a deep purple gown of the native type with silver clasps at the shoulders to match the beads woven into her thick white hair. Elatharia knew she should not have been surprised that such glamour came naturally to the eldest daughter of a House which had once been amongst the most powerful in Menzoberranzan. Viconia's glare was even more telling, however.

"Are you…jealous?" Elatharia asked.

"Absolutely," Viconia fairly spat. "It is his intention, after all." She sighed heavily. "They would be lovers if they could get away with it."

"But…it's Imoen…" Elatharia made a point of strengthening her voice. "She's like that with everyone. _He's_ like that with everyone."

Viconia arched a delicate white eyebrow before shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. A moment more of watching the twirling pairs amongst the trees and Elatharia soon spotted Aerie, flushed and giggling as she stepped away from a partner and paused to compliment the harpist before catching sight of the drow and the Transmuter sitting at their table. She hurried over, though Viconia groaned to see this as the avariel sat in a swirl of blue and white fabric, leaning forward to pick up a cake.

"This…this is a l-lot nicer than anything we've been to before," Aerie gushed, eyes bright and as happy as Elatharia had ever seen. "I w-wish you could have seen the festivals in Faenya-Dáil…" But that had her trailing off, sadness flickering across her face even before Korgan crashed heavily into the other end of the table and tore their attention away from the dancing and the gentle music. He cursed, slopping more wine from a gilded jug onto the smooth stone surface before heaving himself into one of the woven metal chairs. His stick clattered to the ground and he spared a curse for that too.

"Any left for me, Korgan?" Jan called even before he emerged from around the dwarf's chair, clambering onto the next seat along and sparing them all a toothy grin before reaching out his empty wine glass for the dwarf to fill. The gnome wore the same silver robes from their audience with the queen, though now they lost out to Korgan's rather imprecise serving skills.

The lights were a little dizzying, not to mention the music and laughter and constant passing by of the natives. Elatharia found herself staring, thinking – but not talking. Viconia continued to glare at Haer'Dalis and Imoen, while Aerie soon left them to dance with Coran, who quickly won her over with his broad smile. Elatharia had not seen the avariel blush so much since she first met Haer'Dalis – although perhaps the wine had something to do with it.

When at last she saw Edwin, Elatharia found herself rising from her seat and treading the cool grass towards him. He stood plucking at the foods which Korgan had not destroyed upon this closest feast table, now dressed in a crimson doublet embroidered in gold, his trousers a perfect black, tucked into the new elvish boots. He had pushed his sleeves up to the elbow while he picked through the food and she could see the smooth, tattooed skin of his forearms no longer marred by Irenicus's burns – save for a faint white line or two which she had found herself tracing in the morning before either of them had been fully awake. He glanced at her sidelong, abandoning his search for food when his eyes caught on her dress instead. She felt her skin warm and fought the smirk that tugged at her lips.

"Imoen said that you were offered the chance to wear red this evening. I see that you declined," he noted wryly. Elatharia groaned.

"She told you that?" she asked, toying with the fine white and gold fabric rather than meet his eyes. "Red felt wrong when I'm no Red Wizard."

"We are not in Thay." His tone said he was goading her. His fingertip ran along the metal curve of her clasped belt.

Elatharia opened her mouth to respond, looking up at him, but was quick to close it again. She just narrowed her eyes at him, not sure what to say and all too aware of the blush colouring her cheeks. He smirked at her even as his eyes focused on her lips.

"I do not think we should linger here in Suldanessellar long," he admitted into the lull. Her eyebrows rose at the change of subject but she only nodded as he leaned back against the table beside her, his arm warm against hers. "And I believe you have something to tell me?"

He listened with only a brief flare of pride when Elatharia recounted to him Melissan's news – and her warning. He nodded thoughtfully when she mentioned her theory about the seven feathers, though with the revelations about Amelyssan such information seemed all but redundant.

"And what do you plan next, oh 'leader'?" Edwin prompted, looking down to where she was slipping her arm through his. She could feel his eyes on her, though she was staring towards the table where Korgan and Jan looked to be doing a good job of alienating Viconia and an unsteadily returning Aerie.

"She wants us to go to Saradush as soon as we can. She says something is going to happen, that there are big things in store for the Bhaalspawn. But I don't think we should go right away, even if we don't stay in Suldanessellar. It's too predictable, just like chasing Jaheira. We need something to keep us away from this trouble, at least until we can determine what's going on for ourselves."

"Perhaps. (I see no alternative, at least.)"

"Great praise," Elatharia laughed, though the sound quieted when she looked up to see him still watching her. His eyes were curious. Heated. She winced, abruptly self-conscious. Of course it would be like this – how long had she been wandering the group like a zombie, soulless and cold? Her stomach flipped when his fingers laced with hers, albeit briefly before he turned to pick up his wine glass.

When they joined the others at the table Imoen and Haer'Dalis were returning also, breathless and grinning. The tiefling offered an exaggerated bow which the aasimar returned before he fixed his attention on the glaring Viconia. With one artful tug he had her on her feet and standing before him.

"Forgive me, my Wildflower," he said without looking away from the drow. "But this dance must go to my Blackbird." Viconia took his hand grudgingly, only to gasp when he pulled her to him, whirling her as the harpist started his playing once more. The elves were already staring even before they reached the orchard.

"I'm not sure what I just got tangled up in there," Imoen admitted, sharing a grimace with Aerie. She cringed even more when Elatharia explained the issue. "She's done crazy. And he's done crazy for her," she declared after a long gulp of wine.

"I am not sure what that means to someone like him – or someone like her," Edwin noted, twirling his glass when Imoen gaped at him.

"Well. I've sworn off things like that for good, so no need to worry." The aasimar turned about as if looking for something else to distract her. Elatharia's heart dropped to see that.

"…and I'm hopin' we're not to be stuck here much longer, Bhaalkids!" Korgan slurred, waving his hands expectantly when all eyes turned to him. "Well? Ye got some pay to be owin' me. And a lot more besides!"

"Well…" Aerie's voice caught. "I was thinking th-that we c-could go to Watcher's Keep. They have been asking for aid w-with little success for so long and…and it was Mazzy's greatest wish to go. I have her…her ashes. We could take them…"

Elatharia glanced at Edwin.

"They do have a lot of ancient artefacts there," she murmured, leaning in to him and quickly straightening again when Imoen raised an eyebrow at them. The Transmuter cleared her throat. "I think you're right, Aerie."

"Really?" the avariel fairly squealed it. Edwin failed to hide a laugh.

"Yes," Elatharia said.

It would keep them well away from Saradush and Melissan for a time, at least.

* * *

 _4_ _th_ _Uktar 1369, Year of the Gauntlet  
(Twenty days later)_

The night air was blessedly cool on his cheeks, which had been burned by long hours of sand and sun even behind the cloth he had pinned across his face. His teachers had not been lying when they spoke of the vast swathe of Tethyr's southern desert, nor yet of its endless blue skies and scorching heat. Long before the end of the first day upon his camel the novelty had worn off.

Anomen left his guides with a gold coin each; they plucked them warily from his hands once he had hefted his bags. Such wealth was rare in these parts. He had turned away even before he bid the cursory thanks and farewell; the pots and pans of those Calishite travellers were already clanking softly in the still night air as they led their camels away, muttering to each other. The saddlebags were too heavy to carry far but even at this hour Anomen could make out his destination, a great black shadow darker than the inky night sky which glittered with those countless stars.

Amkethran was a small village, a group of stone homes huddled up here on this rocky ridge by a semi-subterranean oasis with little to recommend it for travellers. His guides had been repeating all of this to him as if he were stupid, every day since they set out from Myratma. He knew. That was fine. By Helm it was a blessing, though he was not here only for the solitude. He was here for the monastery which loomed ahead, built on the very edge of this cliff and carved from the very same pale sandstone. Torches flickered by its high gates but otherwise little was visible in the low light. It was a great void against the starlit sky.

Raising his own torch he hefted his bags one more time before forging ahead. It felt good to have hard stone beneath his feet after days of shifting sands but he hardly wanted to trip on a grasping root or bit of scrub – especially not as the guards stood to attention with his approach. Both were unarmed, eyes glittering with warning in the firelight nonetheless. They were tall, burly – and clad in thin white robes without a hint of armour.

"None may enter the monastery at this hour," a voice called from the bell tower above. Her accent rolled with the hard consonants of Calimshan. "Turn about."

Anomen peered up at the tower's window in vain. Not so much of a hint of movement answered him. He coughed against a dry throat and squared his shoulders. Melissan had promised this for him.

"I was told to come here by a friend of your leader," he called upwards. "My name is Anomen Delryn. I am…I was… a Knight of the Radiant Heart. I am here to join Balthazar's Order."


End file.
